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March 16, 2003
Spicy Radio Tales of Deduction
Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to another rip-roaring week of the Sleepy Time Detective Hour. Take your time to adjust the volume on your radios and get comfortable because in a short while, the action's going to start-- and once it starts, it doesn't stop until the mystery's been solved, the crooks have been caught, the dames have been kissed, and things are more or less back to normal.
This week is part two of The Detective and the Boot of DeJames Horricock. We rejoin the Detective at the scene of the crime... a corner diner, late at night. The wait staff and kitchen staff have all gone home, the tables are laid out with silverware and the Detective and No-Nose Charlie are standing beside Manager P.J. Amberdoose, who is wearing a robe and pajamas.
A: And this is exactly what I found, Detective, when I came in to investigate the burglar alarm. I rushed right over from my house, which is why I'm not properly dressed.
D: That's... quite all right, Mr. Amberdoose. So you say that when you got here, all the lights were off, the doors were locked, there was no sign of forced entry, and the only thing out of place... was that boot?
A: That's correct.
C: And the leg was in there, just standing up like that in the boot?
A: Yes.
D: Oh, man. That is just disgusting. Charlie, I-- I think I'm going to be sick.
C: Where's the restroom in this place, Ambernoose?
A: In the back. Right next to the sign that says Restrooms with the big arrow.
C: We'll be here when you get back, boss.
(FX: The sound of rapidly moving feet, a door being pushed open then falling shut.)
C: No sign of forced entry?
A: That's right, No-Nose Charlie. All the doors were locked when I got here, no more than twenty minutes after the alarm went off.
C: Land sakes. We hate these kinda cases, no kidding.
A: Oh?
C: Yeah. They usually end up involving some sort of twisted, murderous supergenius who, I dunno, lured his victim here with a forged love letter, found some way in through the roof to lay in wait, released a basket full of specially trained Burmese giant pythons, let them eat the guy, then used his almost supernatural skills with the lasso, earned during years spent as a cowpoke in Montana or somewhere, to drag the pythons back up so he could make his escape in a personal helicopter he designed all special so it doesn't make any noise in flight. Or something like that.
A: That's what you think happened?
C: No, that's just a fer instance.
D: Sorry about that, a few seconds ago. It's just... I can get a bit squeamish. Now that my stomach is empty, however, let's get to work.
C: You're not feeling woozy or anything, boss?
D: No, Charlie, thank you. Just help me lift this boot... carefully... I want to see what's underneath. If anything...
C: If you need to lie down, there's lots of booths.
D: Just hold the leg... like so.
A: Why... there's something written on the sole of the boot!
D: I can just read it... "Property of... DeJames Horricock!"
A: The eccentric millionaire? The one who went missing last night, whose will was read over the radio stipulating that in case of his disappearance, if he was presumed dead, that there would be a scavenger hunt and the person who returns with the most items on the list inherits his entire fortune?
D: The very same DeJames Horricock.
C: But what's his leg and boot doing here, Detective?
D: Well, Charlie... it's become our job to find that out. Mr. Amberdoose... could I trouble you for a glass of water?
C: Sit down, boss. Maybe you should put your head between your knees. You always get some good thinking done like that.
(FX: The sound of a tap running.)
A: Here you go, Detective. But I have one question: why would anybody feel the need to write their name on the bottom of their boots?
C: Maybe, boss, he suffered from bouts of amnesia from an incident that happened during the war? Maybe he was hit by a blowdart by some forgotten tribe while on a scouting mission against the enemy and every once in awhile, remnants of the poison still in his bloodstream are knocked loose, affecting his memory?
D: I suppose that's possible, Charlie. But let's stick to the facts, shall we? One: Millionaire Horricock has gone missing. Two: there's a scavenger hunt that relates to his estate, which might prompt someone to make him disappear. Three: Horricock's boot was found here, at the Eight Dogs Diner. Four... we don't have a four yet.
C: But we will, boss, knowing us.
(FX: The sound of a foot tapping. A few sniffles. The clank of two pieces of silverware.)
A: Maybe, while you're thinking, I can fix you gentlemen up some eggs?
C: That would hit the spot, for sure!
D: Fine, fine.
(FX: The swinging of a door. The muffled clank of cooking instruments.)
C: You think Ambernoose is involved in this, boss?
D: I don't know, Charlie. It's too early to tell.
C: Well, I may not have a nose anymore, but like some amputees, I sometimes feel like it's still there. I get phantom smells and let me tell you, boss... I smell trouble!
D: Who, in the name of all that is good in this world, would leave a leg behind? It's disgusting! Why did I ever become a Detective? Huh?
Why did the Detective become a Detective? Does No-Nose Charlie really smell trouble? What sort of eggs is Ambernoose cooking up in the kitchen? And isn't this story overdue for a dangerous dame to show up?
Make no mistake, next week... we'll have answers! Be sure to tune in, when you'll hear the Detective say:
D: The murderer... was YOU!
(FX: Gasp!)
D: Or maybe not. I dunno. I'm still brainstorming.
Don't miss it!