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                           They Don't Come Any Larger
                Chapter One in the continuing adventures of Mr.X
         
              It was a cold night in Sabre city. The kind of night 
         when honest citizens huddled close in their homes, watching 
         "Moonlighting" and drinking kool-aid. The wind blew threw 
         the barren trees forming visages from the countless bad 
         horror movies we all go to see. But a few people did dare to 
         walk the streets. Yes, the geeks, noids, and depraved all 
         dared, they didn't have the brains not to. Who could keep 
         the teenagers, partyers, and criminals behind bars? But more 
         insidious than the rest was doc Skin and his portly co-hort 
         The Berg.
         
              Yea, It was up to me, Mr.X, the Sam spade, David 
         Adison, and Dick Tracy; of this two-bit city, to keep these 
         city slime in line. I was sitting behind my desk in my 
         $100,000 office kicking back when a new case came bursting 
         in. It was Ma Shlepberg, a local rep. for a  sporting goods 
         company. The company was an off-shoot of a mental brew-thru 
         owned by none other than doc Skin. She was quick to talk 
         telling me that the doc was trying to muscle her out of her 
         new position because she new too much. Simple case, familiar 
         plot. No sweat. I took the case, I was going to nail these 
         lying bunch of non's once and for all!
         
              My first step was to gather dirt on these dweebes. I 
         picked up the 'ol raprod and called the local P.W.N.B.T.D. 
         (people with nothing better to do) office. Hell, I was going 
         to need help and this was the best place to find it. I 
         talked to a guy who gave me the names of a "few good men" 
         willing to help. I called up the people on the list and told 
         them what was up. Only four guys volunteered. Fine by me, I 
         didn't need any wimps on my team, people who couldn't take 
         the heat.
         
              We fanned out across the city to find what we needed. I 
         grabbed my Nikon Super Automated Do-Everything camera, my 
         all purpose 17 to 500mm lens, and of course my .50 Calibre 
         auto pistol in case somebody wanted to give themselves 
         trouble. I headed down to corporate HQ to confront doc Skin 
         and his henchmen. As I drove up I noticed the sign on the 
         building-Adolescent Instructional Brain Cramming Corporation-
         "We're good at what we do and we're fair too." I laughed at 
         this as I parked and went up to see the big guy.
         
              The receptionist was just what you would expect, tall, 
         blond, and perfect. Just the kind of girl you'd like to- no, 
         later, back to the story. She wasn't to keen about letting 
         me in but I persuaded her by just ignoring her and going 
         right on in.
         
         "What's the meaning of this?" barked the doc.
         
         "I'm here on the behalf of Ma Shlepberg," "I know what 
         you're up to but it won't work, you're through in this town 
         bucko so pack your bags!"
         
              I snapped a few pictures as his head turned a bright 
         red. He drew a Big Gun from the top drawer of his desk. 
         This, I thought, would be a very good time to leave.
         
              I floored my car out of the garage with three old, 
         black, Lincoln "biscanes" on my tail and a hail of bullets 
         raining down on all sides. BOOM, was the only sound I heard 
         as my 1965 Corvette Stingray lost a tire and careened off 
         the road and into a large ice cream truck, sending 
         tutti-fruti everywhere. I pulled my way out of the wreckage 
         and watched with ddoouubbllee vision as cars tore off down 
         the street in the opposite direction from which I came. Yes, 
         I realized, my patented Acme Hero Anti-Death Suit had saved 
         my life yet again. They were going to pay dearly for this, 
         "they ruined all that tutti-fruiti and broke my camera," I 
         thought, as I sunk into an black oblivion...
         
              The moist touch of a towel awoke me from my 72 hour 
         sleep. My head felt as if an elephant with hiccups had sat 
         on it. Take it from me, it's not a nice feeling. As I forced 
         my eyes open to view my towel bearing savior, the words 
         "ooh, dat eesh niice!!!!" came to mind. She was a vision. 
         5'6". Brunette. Brown eyes and a bod to match it all. "Move 
         over Annete Funichello", I thought.
         
         "I'm Bessie", she purred. "Dont try to get up", she said, as 
         I did just that. "you've got a terrible boo boo on your 
         head".
         
              Well, following the rules of being a "tough guy" I 
         ignored her pleas and forced my self back into my slick 
         Anti-Death Suit. She fixed me a little breakfast (which the 
         FDA would probably have put into quarantine) and told me 
         just the facts. According to her, she found me trapped under 
         only what could be described as a sickly looking, blue, 1976 
         Toyota Mark II. Using her "muscles in all the right places," 
         she dragged me free and into her pink, convertible, 
         volkswagon bug. She brought me home , cleaned the 
         tutii-fruti out of my ears and put me to bed.
         
              As I strapped on my pistol and all the other nifty dyno 
         gadgets I carry with me, Bessie slunk her way over to me.
         
         "Let me go with you, I've always wanted to live a life of 
         danger," she said.
         
              I just couldn't tell her that eating her cooking was 
         just that, so I consented to let her come along. We hopped 
         into her other car, a slick looking Ford Tempo. A real 
         get-up-and-go-nowhere-machine, 0-60 in 3.8 minutes. I used 
         her "Cellular One" as we sped down route 66 back towards the 
         big city. I called the guys that were doing my dirty work 
         and told them to meet me at my office for a big pow wow-war 
         council.
         
              After a long and dangerous trip (women drivers!), we 
         made it back to my office. Sending Bessie out of the room, I 
         got everyone's attention and  got down to business. Lance 
         Speedstick informed me that we could expect to get any aid 
         necessary from the homosexuals and transvestites of the 
         underground in cracking this case. And they would all love 
         to "kiss ass" to help; scratch that area of info, 
         definitely! Next was I.R. Cool, our liaison to the cities 
         teens. They were smart kids, they new nothing and had 
         learned it all in high school. Unless it dealt with parties 
         and alcohol you could count them out. Biff Appleton had 
         talked to the yuppies of the area. No good, they were all 
         worried about what color wall paper to put up and paying off 
         their new BMW's. Last but not least Senator J.D. Bedfellow 
         had contacted the local politicians, all of which refused to 
         comment unless they were being indited. This was a blow, it 
         looked like I was going to have to do all the butt kicking 
         my self! Lord knows I was just the guy to do it.
         
              I adjourned my meeting and took Bessie with me back to 
         my apartment to get all my supper bad guy beating equipment. 
         As we drove along I reflected upon my long career...well, so 
         maybe this was  my first case. I studied under Sherlock 
         Holmes, yea, that's the ticket. We arrived at my penthouse 
         to find it gone, along with the rest of the building. Forgot 
         to lock it up...Well at least I knew what my next case was. 
         That was the last straw, I was mad, and the only person to 
         take it out on was doc Skin and The Berg. As we pulled up in 
         front of their corporate office, I slipped into my new 
         Acme-Battle Suit. With a hearty "Up, up, and gone!" I flew 
         out of the car and into the 80th story window (I really wish 
         they'd open the windows in these stupid stories!) to face my 
         foes. "It's a pigeon, it's the Concord, NO! it's Shtupor 
         Man!!!"
         
              I went right into action, with a giant "S" on my chest 
         and a billowing pink cape.
         
         "Hold it right there you "Aunt Jamima" looking somebodies!"
         
              First, knowing that the bullets from my .50 cal. pistol 
         would never penetrate the fat on the Berg, I lifted him up 
         and threw him out the window to land with a large "splat!" 
         on the roof of a taxi 80 stories bellow. Bang, the sound of 
         a gun shot! Doc Skin smiles as a Ronco Mini-nuke smashes me 
         in the chest doing full damage. Ouch! Faulty #


&% damn 
         suit! And I lost the warranty too. But never fear my super 
         good guy power prevailed as I lunged at the laughing form of 
         doc Skin.
         
         "This is for the people and all those other kumquats 
         everywhere!" I screamed as I fired round after round into 
         his shiny dome looking head. He fought back hard, hitting me 
         with a large kosher salami stick. In the end though, he just 
         couldn't beat me.
         
         "Gurgle, glup, ach, phtt," gasped the mangy form of doc 
         Skin. Victory at last!
         
         Epilogue
         
              Well another case through. Ma Shlepberg is now 
         president of the brain mashing firm. The Berg was used to 
         fill pot holes around town. And you can bet he filled them 
         all! I sit here, gorgeous babe at my side with my feet 
         propped up on doc Skin's hide, a real nice rug. Not to 
         shabby for a stud and a half like myself...
         
         To be continued!


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                             Murder in the Cesspool
                Chapter Two in the continuing adventures of Mr.X
         
              I was in the jungle. The heat was unbearable. The 
         mosquitoes were biting like blood sucking beasts. I lost 10 
         pounds in an hour. I chopped through the jungle but in five 
         minutes it would grow back. I could hear the tribal drums 
         beating. Dooom, dooom....dooom, dooom...things weren't 
         looking good, the natives were getting closer...doom duda 
         duda doom ding-dang a walla-walla bing-bang...
         
         "Bessie turn down that radio!".
         
              False alarm I thought as I turned off the Hypno 3-D 
         climate control. The room faded back into the familiar high 
         class ritzy-do place it was.
         
              Things had been slow these days until the phone rang. 
         "Bring, Bring." Whata coincidence, eh? I picked up the ol' 
         raprod to hear the bellowing voice of Capt. Lardbucket. He 
         explained that they had a case right up my alley. Simple yet 
         difficult. Easy yet hard. Totally ridiculous. A man had been 
         found down at the old Cesspool boat house with a "Twinkie" 
         lodged in his skull. Hmmm, this was interesting.
         
         "Ok, Ill crack it wide open, just send me some help, all my 
         regulars are on vacation. Suit up Bess, We've got a case on 
         our hands thats a real hum dinger."
         
              Bess looked real hot in her one size to small Acme 
         Heroine-Anti Death Suit, as we jumped into our super speed 
         Ford Tempo. Normal time to the boat house in heavy traffic 
         was 10 minutes, but in our suped-up baby it took us 45.
         
              The place was a hole and crewies were everywhere. Our 
         police liaison, Special Agent Kay was already there beating 
         the info out of these jocks.
         
         "I'm Kay, just call me Special."
         
              He had a young looking, intense eyed, red head in tow 
         who he explained saw the murder.
         
         "Spill it," I said as she did just that by throwing up on my 
         shoes.
         
         "Gee, that wasn't nice." sighed Bess. The excitement was to 
         much for "Red".
         
         "I'm real sorry Mr.X, I'm Robyn, I take care of the place 
         for the owner, old man Dugwump."
         
         "Just the facts mam." I sighed.
         
         "Here's what I know: I was out back storing oars and all 
         that other crew jazz when I heard a spine chilling scream. I 
         turned and ran towards the noise where I saw a man slam a 
         large "Twinkie" into the victims head."
         
              That was either one strong "Twinkie" or one soft head, 
         I thought. I wanted to examine the body but it had already 
         been fed to the hungry light weight rowers. That reminds me, 
         I haven't had lunch.
         
              On my meager budget we stopped at Le Sleazebag 
         Ristoraunt for a quick repast and then it was on to old man 
         Dugwumps to see what he had to say. Dugwump wasn't very 
         interested in talking, but we convinced him he'd like to 
         cooperate with us by having Bess blow down his front door 
         with a Ronco Economy size Disposable Bazooka. I just love a 
         babe who can make me feel sooo niiish and handle one of 
         those babies too. He said he knew nothing, but we didn't buy 
         that. We decided to search the dump he lived in and see if 
         we couldn't find something to nail him on. Special Kay 
         sniffed out the "Twinkies" in a sec. They were hidden under 
         his "Fruit of the Looms" next to his rubber duck. "You've 
         found me out, but you'll never take me alive!"
         
              It all happened in an instant. Dugwump snatched a 
         petrified "Twinkie" from Special's hand and proceeded to 
         hold it to Bess's head.
         
         "Ok you bung's, anyone moves and the dame gets it!" What 
         could I do? I could shoot through Bess killing 'Wump, but 
         that could get messy.
         
         "It's your move Dugwump," I sneered.
         
         "I'm getting out of here and she's my ticket, as for you all 
         , your history!" Uh oh, I didnt like the sound of that...
         
              Next thing I knew we were all tied up, literally, with 
         an old B&W T.V playing the current days soaps, this was 
         worse than being strapped to a bomb! There was only one 
         thing to do! I carefully removed the All Purpose Cutting 
         Tool from my Dyno-utility Belt. My bonds were broken and I 
         proceeded to smash that damn boob tube into a million 
         pieces. VRooom, Screech, was the sound that greeted us as 
         'Wump tore off down the street in my hot Ford Tempo, Bess 
         trapped in the trunk. I had no car. How was I going to win 
         this one? This was one of those times when there is only one 
         thing that states all the facts: "Oh, shit!"
         
              Enough standing around, it was time to move, save the 
         dame and beat the bad guy! A quick but thorough search found 
         us a bicycle. This would have to do. Special Kay pumped the 
         pedals while I rode "shotgun" on the handle bars. It was all 
         up hill, but through amazing biking or incredible luck we 
         managed to catch up with 'Wump.
         
         "Faster, faster!" I screamed as Kay shifted gears and pumped 
         harder.
         
              'Wump decided to get tricky by going off road and down 
         the side of a hill towards a small highway. Have you ever 
         rode a bike down a flight of stairs? Thats my interpretation 
         of our ride down the hill as we weaved in and out of trees 
         and assorted bushes. Once we hit the highway it was full 
         speed ahead and into high gear as I readied my means of 
         stopping the fleeing car ahead. I snapped the safety off on 
         my Extra-Compact Ronco Pocket-Machinegun. Budda-budda-budda, 
         was the sound as hot brass flew over my shoulder and lead 
         into the rear windshield of the tempo. Screeech, smash!! As 
         the the car ran off the road and into a fire hydrant, 
         killing several small dogs and causing a large fountain of 
         water to form over the dead car. Destroying public property, 
         that does it! Dugwump was mine!
         
              Special skidded to a halt in front of the car just as 
         Bess kicked the trunk lid open. You can never keep a good 
         women down...We quickly went to work sorting through the 
         wreckage in search of Dugwump. It wasn't a pretty sight. 
         Evidently when the crash occurred 'Wump was holding one of 
         the murder weapons in his hand as he drove, preparing to 
         throw it at us no doubt. But when he crashed , his head was 
         thrown into the steering wheel and into the "Twinkie" held 
         in his hand, killing him instantly. We couldn't find enough 
         of him to fill a dixie cup. That'll teach him to wear his 
         seat belt!
         
              There wasn't anything left for us here, but I had a 
         hunch that this case wasn't over just yet. We hopped on the 
         scooter and faded back to my place to think things over. 
         "Somethings just not right about this whole thing," I 
         thought. I was pondering this whole mess, playing a few 
         games of Pac-Man with Bess while Special ate me out of house 
         and home, when it came to me-"Eureka!" I exclaimed.
         
         "Mphttt?!" Cried Special through a mouthful of "Hostess Ding-
         Dongs".
         
         "Grab your hats people theres a mystery to be solved!" We 
         took the express elevator down to the garage and hopped into 
         Specials parked Ford Taurus. Special floored it out of the 
         garage, the car shifting gears like a sling shot, giving me 
         and Bess minor cases of whiplash.
         
              We shot on over to the dame we had talked to earlier's 
         house to give her the third, fourth, and fifth degree. The 
         door to the place was already open. It was dark, and so 
         quiet you could hear me thinking. Click. Blam-blam-budda-
         budda-boom! Tinkle, tinkle, crash. Suddenly theres light.
         
         "Oops,"says Special.
         
         "You can say that again."
         
         "Oops."
         
         "You've successfully killed a parakeet, one china cabinet, 
         three old Elvis Presley glasses, and a small, defenseless, 
         stuffed, "Teddy Ruxpin."" Oh well, Special was his name...
         
         "All you had to do was knock, detective," Robyn said as she 
         slunk in from the other room.
         
         "Ok sister, tell us the whole truth; I know that you're 
         holding more than your stomach back!"
         
         "What do you mean!" she exclaimed.
         
         "Dont play dumb with me babe, it wont work, I'm dumber than 
         you are so I can see right through your little scheme. 
         Dugwump was your lover who you finagled into doing your 
         dirty work for you, if he got caught, you'd still be in the 
         pink. The man he murdered was the only other person 
         qualified to cox the winning, nationally famous, light 
         weight four, besides your self, of course. And you wanted it 
         all, fame, power,and glory, but you didn't count on me and 
         my superior intellect figuring out this plot. Pack, it up 
         babe, your doing hard time!"
         
         "You'll never take me alive!"
         
         "Well what ever, doesn't matter to me."
         
              And we were off, the chase was on! Robyn ran from the 
         room thru the doorway with us right on her tail. It's a 
         wonder what the though of jail will do to make one run so 
         fast. We had gotten down the stairs and onto the dock of the 
         old boat house (which was conveniently placed right next to 
         her house) just in time to watch her jump into a motor boat 
         and go tearing out into the Poluteomac river as if jaws was 
         after her. And lucky us, there wasn't another boat anywhere 
         in sight! Time to strain the old brain and come up with 
         another save the day plan...Hey, why not use my Acme-Battle 
         Suit?! Goggles on, the next thing I knew I was zooming along 
         the waters surface like a human torpedo. 
         
         "Hurry up, stupid, she's getting away," special yelled from 
         his water skiing position behind me. 
         
         "Bess, use your Ronco-Bazooka, and stop her already!"
         
              From her position on Special's shoulders, she'd have a 
         great shot at our little murderess. FOOMP-Woosh, and another 
         case was through.
         
         Epilogue
              Well, another one done. The dames doing hard time 
         busting rocks at the pen. She confessed to everything, 
         saying that she couldn't take anymore of this silly story. 
         Anyway, she was still going to be rich and famous by the 
         time she got done suing me for the destruction of her 
         priceless Elvis Presly McDonalds glasses. As for Special, he 
         was a great help and he should recover fine from his little 
         tango with the buoy we hit, he may walk a little stiff 
         legged for a few weeks, but that wont stop Special. Bess, 
         she's still a little wet be hind the ears but a dry towel 
         and some chicken noodle soup will cure that. As for me, it's 
         miller time and so with that it's back to my jungle, a place 
         where I can escape the one outside on the streets, boom-
         dadda-boom-ding-dang, "Bess!"...
         
         To be continued...
          


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                               A Pop in the Chops
              -Chapter Three in the continuing adventures of Mr.X-
         
              Things had been good to me lately, my reputation as a 
         crime fighter was spreading all across the city like the 
         plague. The Mayor had been kind enough to give me a key to 
         the city, nice, since I was always locking myself out. I had 
         even been asked to appear on the 200th annual Jerry Lewis 
         Telethon with the national poster child for homosexuality, 
         Michael Jackson. And it seemed even the neighborhood dogs 
         liked me since I hadn't came up with a wet ankle on the way 
         to my car in weeks...Yes crime was down.
         
              As I sat and cleaned my fancy highly expensive camera 
         equipment, the phone rang. Bring, bring. "Wah wawa wah, wah 
         wah."
         
         Click. "Captain Lardbucket needs you right away down at the 
         precinct, sweetie, something about bodies exploding."
         
         "Ok Bess, I'll get my gear and we'll get going."
         
         "Sorry dear, I have a roast in the oven, so you'll just have 
         to take care of this one your self." Darn. Whata bummer, no 
         good looking dame on this mission.
         
              After I refreshed my self with a little physical 
         pick-me-up and said good-bye to 'Bess, I hopped into the 
         elevator to the garage to get in my new car! The sight of it 
         gave me "duckpimples," it was a beautiful, bright, cherry 
         red, hearse with a big, fuel injected, turbo-charged, top of 
         the line dual exhaust 440 Magnum . I just love lots of 
         adjectives when it comes to my cars...Strapping myself into 
         the aircraft style seatbelt and g-suit, I flicked the switch 
         to start her up. BahROOOM, bludda, bladda, bludda. 
         Screeeeech, boom, was the sound as I pulled out of the 
         garage on the way to my next case, leaving ten feet of 
         rubber and creating a small vacuum behind me. It was good to 
         be on the open road once again. People greeted me with wild, 
         happy waves as I cruised down the sidewalks of South Weener 
         Way Avenue, the wind and exhaust wiping in my face. Police 
         officers of all ranks jumped up to attention when
         
         I pulled my car up onto steps of the 87th precinct.
         
              Captain Lardbucket was in a state of apoplexy, 
         screaming at the top of his lungs to the various personnel 
         who rushed about doing his bidding.
         
         "Glad your here X, this is the evidence, see what you 
         think." He threw me what appeared to be a five pound bag of 
         grade "E", ground chuck, extremely rare.
         
         "Thats whats left of the victim, he was identified by his 
         girl as Alex Lyman." Needless to say the bag proceeded to 
         make a sickly splat, louder than the remains of my lunch, as 
         it struck the floor.
         
              I recomposed myself and prepared to get down to 
         business. Lardbucket, decided to tell me the whole history, 
         so I to could see how stupid this was. Lyman was a local 
         crew stud down at the Old Cesspool Boathouse. He had a lot 
         of potential to go places as long as he didn't blow it. Uh 
         yea. His only weaknesses were his love for art and 
         chocolate, yes, he was a chocoholic. He would do anything to 
         get his fix: eat it, smell it, even shoot it up directly, a 
         sick habit that many GiveAdamnericans had. His evil habit 
         shortly caused the rotting out of his teeth as he lost his 
         self will and forgot to brush. About a week ago he was 
         fitted with dentures, false choppers. Everything went fine 
         until this morning when he was forced to eat hard candy 
         because of a lack of "choco" on the market. The official 
         statement from his ex, (a girl I knew well but hadn't seen 
         much of lately) Kate, was: "One minute he was sitting on his 
         bike chomping away, when next, blewie! His whole body was 
         raining down on the hood of my Volkswaggen Rabbit! Whata 
         mess, I still cant get all the blood stains out of my 
         jeans..."
         
         "Can you help X?"
         
         "Yea, I'll solve this one, it sounds interesting, but I'll 
         be needing some help, my groups busy again."
         
              Lardbucket gave me Special Kay. He wasn't busy, never 
         was, and anyway, he always loved a little bit of excitement. 
         As my second replacement 'bucket suggested a guy named 
         Datta, Tej Datta. I had heard of him, he was a smooth, 
         totally under control guy, and street smart to boot. I met 
         both out front. Special was looking jockular and ready, 
         Datta was cool as ice, chanting lines from the Rolling 
         Stones tune "Satisfaction". We hopped into the hearse and I 
         backed out into traffic, people honking with crazed 
         excitement upon seeing me on the trail of a new mystery.
         
              I decided that the two best possibilities were the hard 
         candy or dentures, they were the only two things new to his 
         character. Doing 150mph on 395 at approximately 5:25, we 
         rocketed towards Lymans apartment. He lived in east b.f., 
         better known as Borelington, a suburb located across the 
         Poluteomac from the District of Confusia. The house was a 
         mess. Medals, trophies, and ads for ivy league schools such 
         as Princeton, an area branch of the grand Diesel Institute 
         of GiveAdamnerica, were everywhere. We spread out to rummage 
         through the ruble, looking for any clues that could lead us 
         to an answer. The answer came as a piece of paper lying next 
         to an old "Hershey Kiss" wrapper. It was an ad for the "Rot 
         'em and Drop 'em" denture makers, a company known for it's 
         use of inferior materials. Not suprising since Lyman's habit 
         would have used up most of his cash and "Re a De" was cheap, 
         cheap enough to take the poor suckers last dime and give him 
         less than that back. Now the problem was to find the place 
         since it was an underground establishment.
         
         "No problem X, I can find it," said Datta. I knew he would 
         come in handy.
         
              After a quick stop at the "Seven Eleven" for Specials 
         mid afternoon post lunch pre-dinner snack, we shot towards 
         Datta's connection at the Crossed Sabres newspaper, a real 
         rag, nothing like the Northern Virginia Sun or National 
         Enquirer. Now thats respectful journalism!
         
              The place was crawling with reporters, and worse still, 
         photographers with big lenses. The kinda people that I felt 
         right at home with and, as it seemed, Datta's kind of people 
         also. We headed for the second floor in search of the person 
         with the info. But, yes, you could of guessed it, a gang of 
         female admirers attacked us half way up the stairs. I 
         finally had to drag Datta from the crowd at gun point, 
         threatening to plug any dame that tried to stop us. That 
         didn't put me high on their list but at least we got on with 
         this fool mission. We found his contact hiding out in the 
         paper's political office. She was tall with curly brown hair 
         and a smile that would have brought a dead man to life.
         
         "Hi Tej, what can I do for you?" She chimed.
         
         "Hi Kathleen, we need the location of an underground 
         establishment, and with your knowledge, I figured that you 
         might have it. Here's the name of the place." With that he 
         handed her the paper with the name of the dental works on 
         it.
         
              She set the compromising pictures she held in her hand 
         down and examined the paper closely.
         
         "Sure, I know where they are, but it'll cost ya. You know 
         how it is, if they ever found out who told you, they'd kill 
         me!"
         
         "Ok X, give her the money and get the info, I'm taking 
         Special with me downstairs to get some photo supplies I 
         need." 
         
              Datta and Special filed out the door and down the 
         stairs. I reached into my pocket and forked out a "Benjamin 
         Franklin," and handed it to Kathleen.
         
         "That'll be fine X, the place your looking for is on the 
         corner of Washed-out boulevard and Kirkwood road. But I 
         don't know how your going to get into that place, securities 
         very tight."
         
         "Don't worry about me doll, it'll be a piece of cake!"
         
         "You don't talk much, but some how I believe you, I bet you 
         can handle your self pretty well, if you have a chance, give 
         me a call sometime, we'll do lunch." I smiled and headed on 
         down the stairs to get Tej and Special so we could get over 
         there and confront these bozo's.
         
              I decided to call it a day and get some rest before the 
         big finale. I dropped everyone off and headed back to my 
         penthouse suite. I got home to find Bess sick with a head 
         ache. Just my luck! The next step before my blessed relief 
         was to get on the blower and call the people on my special 
         "support squad" to let them know that I would be needing 
         their special abilities. Afterwards I leaned back in my easy 
         chair and thought over my present case and wondered if it 
         was all worth it. Sure, what the heck, fame, glory, and lots 
         of money would make any stupid shmuck agree that it was all 
         worth it, an that was me.
         
              At first light I gathered my men together out behind 
         the Flab Slab Gym. I was leaving Special behind to guard the 
         car and and be our back up in case they brought out the big 
         guns. In his place I was bringing Sasha Ivanchocuv and Steve 
         Veit, a couple of ace tunnelers, at home in the sewers and 
         lovin every minute of it.
         
         "So who are we after? Whats the case? Do I get over time?"
         
         "Just shut up Steve and I'll give you the details." Kid asks 
         to many damn questions. Sheesh. "Ok, the plan is this: we're 
         going to go in via the storm drain which runs right below 
         the building, there is a man whole cover that leads right up 
         into their underground garage. From their we'll take out 
         their security system and then go looking for evidence. Both 
         Tej and I have our Super Automated Do-Everything camera's so 
         we'll be taking shots of whatever we find. Ok?"
         
         "Hmmmm, I think we had better think about this some." 
         
         "But it's a perfect plan Sasha, it's the best we've got." 
         
         "Hmmm, well..." Theirs just no pleasing people these days.
         
              With that the professionals went to work, Steve used an 
         old pair of pliers to lift the lid off the sewer, and in we 
         went, led by the faint beam of light coming from Sahsha's 
         flashlight. Ahh, just what I love, a nice walk though sewer 
         water that has detergents, chemicals, animal pollutants and 
         other foreign items floating in it. Now thats the way to 
         start a day! It took us only five minutes to reach the man 
         hole into the building, a little muscle and we were inside.
         
         "Ok you guys, keep it quiet! Steve, stay here and guard the 
         exit, we'll be right back."
         
              From here it was up the stairs to the Switch box room 
         that contained the security box.
         
         "Ok Sasha, take care of it." 
         
              Blamm, budda, budda, boom, buzz, crack, as Sasha 
         whipped out his Jennings pocket auto and let the whole mess 
         have it.
         
         "Well they'll never know we're here now! What a pro!" 
         Knowing that we would have little time before we were 
         swamped with more corporate thugs than you could imagine, we 
         took off to do our thing and blow this popcicle stand before 
         things got sticky. Wa-ooga, wa-ooga, wa-ooga. Well maybe we 
         had no time. We took the next five flights of stairs in a 
         dead sprint and turned smack dab into what we were looking 
         for.
         
              The room was filled with billlleeons and billleeons of 
         false teeth waiting to be put into the dentures that the 
         many poor fogies and troubled people of the city needed. Tej 
         went to work right away firing away with his camera and 
         motor drive, sounding more impressive than a submachine gun. 
         I decided to inspect a box that appeared to contain the 
         materials that were used in making the teeth. H-I-G-H E-X-P-
         L-O-S-I-V-E-S (please keep out of the reach of children). As 
         I snapped a few pictures of my find every thing fell into 
         place, while, at the same time, everything else fell apart.
         
         "Gang way, incoming," were the words Tej yelled as about 15 
         guards opened up with their Acme power guns, doing their 
         best to turn us into swiss cheese.
         
              Three against fifteen, was not my idea of even odds, 
         which meant I was going to have to do one of my amazing 
         super good guy stunts if we were going to get out of this 
         one alive. As my partners blazed away with their guns, I 
         drew my .50 caliber autopistol with "butt kicking rounds" 
         and returned fire. The enemy dropped back in abject terror 
         as we pressed forward in our attempt to escape. Not being 
         good with guns, Tej shot out the various inanimate objects 
         that stood between us and freedom, many of the enemy 
         succumbing to his evil plan, falling over in fit's of 
         uncontrollable laughter. Whata plan! Just like something I 
         would have come up with. The light of day greeted us like a 
         flash bulb in the face as we dashed to the awaiting safety 
         of our get away car.
         
              It had all fit into place, this case was more 
         diabolical than I thought. I proceeded to explain my 
         solution to Capt. Lardbucket, my colleges standing to the 
         side smiling, knowing that I was a true genius. First I told 
         the Captain about the clues we had found and our little 
         escapades to the secret establishment. After developing the 
         pictures that both Tej and I had snapped before the fire 
         fight, the real clincher clue became apparent. The large 
         warning that said "explosives" was in plain view. This made 
         us look at things a little more closely, where we found the 
         words "C-5" burned into the box. Plastic explosives. Easy to 
         get a hold of at your local Army base and it molds real 
         easy. It seems that the firm's scientists had come up with a 
         way to semi-harden the explosive so that it could be used to 
         make the dentures.
         
              They also knew that the people most likely to come to 
         them were "choco" addicts, so if the C-5 didn't hold up, it 
         wouldn't matter since they would be to stoned to complain.
         
         "But what caused the explosion and the death of the victim!"
         
         "Elementary my dear Lardbucket; the hard candy."
         
         "Lets not get fresh now."
         
         "Ummm, just pay attention."
         
              I continued to explain that they were making the 
         dentures for the punishment of eating a constant diet of 
         chocolate. They didn't expect a shortage of the drug and the 
         turning of it's users to a harder substance. The cracking of 
         the hard candy acted as a sort of blasting cap on the 
         modified C-5.
         
         "And there you have it, blewie."
         
         Epilogue
         
              The police snapped right to it, they called in the 
         101st Airborne and stormed the place. Since most of those 
         military types are real rough necks, they brought in the 
         heavy artillery. The next thing you knew they were really 
         airborne. Oh well, they got the bad guys too. To the 
         amazement of everyone, the victims ex-girl friend, Kate, 
         joined the local chapter of Chocoholics Anonymous, she to 
         had become a victim of this dreadful addiction. As for me, I 
         shot on back to the old ritzy-do penthouse, people waving 
         wildly as I drove by, happy that I had solved another one 
         and hadn't run over them in the process. Home to the 
         awaiting arms of my beloved babe, and that was heaven 
         enough...
         
         To be continued...!


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                              Zepplin for the Road
              -Chapter Four in the continuing adventures of Mr.X-
         
              I lay on my couch, wondering where my next meal ticket 
         was coming from. Yes, once again things were slow, crime was 
         down and it was all my fault! I'm just to good. Oh well, at 
         least I know it, the bigger the ego the better. Yea...
         
              The afternoon sun filtered it's way through the 
         darkened room and onto the "waterford crystal" glass panes 
         in my door. The sun felt warm on my face easing me into a 
         deep sleep, then the door to my apartment opened. My full 
         attention was suddenly focused on the girl standing in the 
         doorway, and the 90 decibel alarm horn going off above her 
         head, which I, of course, promptly shot off the wall with my 
         .50 cal. auto pistol. She walked towards me, door closing 
         behind her. I sat up and pulled on my shoulder holster, 
         knowing that a new case had just walked in.
         
         "Mister X?" She said, removing her sunglasses at the same 
         time. She was around five-four, dark hair with deep brown 
         eyes that spoke of the orient. 
         
              I looked her over trying to get a first impression on 
         what was on her mind, besides a little air. She had a 
         slightly bored, sarcastic look on her face.
         
         "Please, have a seat." I said gesturing towards the couch. 
         She sat down and crossed her legs.
         
         "What can I do for you miss..."
         
         "Hong. Kathy Hong. Call me Kiki."
         
         Phew! Glad we got that straight!
         
         "I want to hire you to check out an establishment that I'll 
         be attending next year."
         
              With that she told me the whole story. She was going to 
         attend a Brain Cramming Institution of Higher Lore this 
         coming fall, but there was a problem. She felt there was 
         something fishy going on down there and she wanted me to 
         look the place over. This would mean a trip to the far coast 
         and the recruitment of some special operatives. I told her 
         I'd take the case. She wanted to come along, "maybe I'll 
         learn something," she had said, and what the hay, Bess' was 
         away and it always helps to have a dame around, just in 
         case. I grabbed my jacket and fedora and we headed out the 
         door, she flipped a "butterfly" knife the whole way to our 
         next destination.
         
              Special Kay showed up as we were leaving and offered to 
         come along. Yea, we could never be without Special. We 
         hopped into my hearse and shot down the sidewalks to "JR's 
         Mags 'n Things" on the far side of the county. A dingy 
         little place nearly wallpapered in old, yellowing, paper 
         thin books. Both me and Special frequented the place and 
         this is where we would find the three people who were needed 
         for this sort of operation. As we walked in, the place went 
         silent,  eyes bulging and tongues hanging, the men we were 
         looking for stood drooling at my client.
         
         "Put the hormones on hold fellas, I know you all don't get 
         many females in here, but this ones off limits, she's a 
         client."
         
         "Ahh, come on 'X," was the cry...
         
              I ignored their obscene requests and got down to 
         business and told them what was up. The leader of the group, 
         Troy, was a master in the martial arts, and was a man good 
         with a gun and "Ginsu" cutlery. Rich, was the next one, good 
         at surveillance and capable of doing the "dirty work" 
         necessary to achieve our goal. He had worked for the Federal 
         Badguy Impounders, so, you knew he must be good. Last but 
         not most was Tony. Tony was a computer hack with the ability 
         to sniff out any dark, depressing person within ten feet and 
         blend in with the "brothers" as long as he kept raping. They 
         liked the case and were ready to take off whenever. 
         
         "Thats right, we'll get the cretins, because they won't be 
         able to beat a superior god-like being like myself...why I 
         could bring the perpetrators here now but that would ruin 
         the challenge." Uhm, yea, I'm glad Troy's on our side, then 
         again...
         
              We hopped into the hearse and headed for the highway. I 
         picked up my mobile voice box and told Captain Lardbucket 
         that I was head'in out of the city on a mission and Special 
         was coming along as our official liaison. He gave me 1000 
         reasons for not leaving the city on this fool mission; all 
         of which I shrugged off as mere responsibility. Lardbucket 
         wished me good luck and said he'd put out the word that it 
         was safe to walk the sidewalks again. With that I hit my 
         Acme Anti-Collision Cruise Control and cranked up INXS on 
         the radio.
         
              An hour later Bryan Adams "victim of Love" was blaring 
         out of my highly expensive stereo when I noticed the flash 
         of the old red and blue behind me. I dropped out of cruise 
         control and pulled off to the side of the road. I was 
         somewhere between South Carolina and Georgia, and it looked 
         pretty backwater to me.
         
         "Howdy boy, now yous ain't going to give me no horse crap 
         about ain't hav'in done nothin is you boy?" This was going 
         to be interesting.
         
         "What exactly did I do officer?"
         
         "I's sittin back der eat'n my Tasty Freeze cone when I's 
         clocked you doing 175 ina 45mph zone, then ya's proceeded to 
         go through old man Zeke's chicken coop and you sucked one of 
         dem birds into your turbocharger-dothingy. Basicaly thats a 
         420: reckless driving, a 367: destroying domesticated farm 
         animals with a motor vehicle  with out a license, and a 763: 
         the intentional intent to ruin an officer of da laws uniform 
         with a Tasty Freeze cone. That adds up to about a $500.00 
         fine and 30 days in jail. So what do you have to say for 
         yourself?"
         
              Uh oh, this guy was serious! First I showed him my club 
         card for the National Anti-Badguy foundation, showing me to 
         be a fellow upholder of the law; no such luck, he just 
         leaned against my car looking us over and spitting large 
         wads of "skoal" on my new paint job. Ok that was the last 
         straw, I was on a case and this guy was leaning on my car! 
         Obstructing an honest city "dick" and his colleges from 
         helping this young lady with her problem just because he 
         didn't like TastyFreeze vanilla icecream! Unbelievable! I 
         threw the hearse into four wheel drive and reverse and 
         floored it, backing right over the officers car. Into drive, 
         and floored again, I went back over his car and left him 
         standing in the middle of the road as feathers floated out 
         of the sky around him. I still to this day can't figure out 
         where those feathers came from...
         
              Two days, 10 "McDonalds", and 20 restrooms later we 
         pulled onto the campus of University U- California. It was a 
         sprawling metropolis that just crawled with every sort of 
         post pubescent teenager imaginable. We got right down to 
         business. I sent Rich and Tony down to the main building to 
         start looking for clues that signaled foul or stinky play. 
         Rich would grill (or at least toast) the President of the 
         "U" and Tony would attack the campus computers. The rest of 
         us headed for the dorms, we'd ask a few questions and get a 
         few answers.
         
              The dorms were unbelievable. The scene resembled only 
         what could be described as a set for a disaster movie. We 
         watched as people filtered in and out of the first floor 
         windows, using them like doors. Empty cans and bottles that 
         were obviously not used to hold fruit punch lay strewn and 
         stacked throughout. Our first encounter came with a tall, 
         blond, and over tanned youth who appeared to be cleaning his 
         room with a shovel and a large can of "Lysol", a bulldozer 
         would have been better. Special stepped forward and 
         attempted to communicate with the youngster.
         
         "Like totally, #%&$6754%&', and it's like rad too, dude." 
         
         "Dude?! Don't ever call me dude!" Screamed Special
         
              Just as I feared, as the words flowed out of his mouth 
         like an alien tongue, I realized that we were in the heart 
         of surfer/skater territory. The speech could be heard 
         filtering out of every nook and cranny of the building, 
         along with the giggles of inebriated, blond dames. Wild men 
         on boards raced by us with ever increasing velocity and 
         danger. Special stood perplexed as our "interrogate-E" 
         spewed out more skater speech. I stepped forward and got to 
         the core of the matter.
         
         "Ok guy, McCool, blah blah blah, blah totally thrasher." The 
         guy didn't know much, but said that somebody had been making 
         waves over at something called a "library." I thanked him 
         and gave him a buck for a real haircut. We headed back to 
         the rendezvous with our other team mates, Troy tripping 
         skaters as we went.
         
              Things didn't look good, Rich had found out that, the 
         president of the "U" had been paid to keep his mouth shut 
         about all the stuff he knew nothing about and wasn't 
         supposed to tell us. We walked back over to his office to 
         give him the billy club and rubber hose treatment only to 
         find him dead. Death by "Mr. Rodgers" overdose. He sat 
         strapped to his fake leather chair, eyes blood shot and 
         staring, a look of wholesome horror on his face.
         
         "Now boys and girls, can you say neighbor?"  I realized that 
         this was more than any person over four could take.
         
              This proved that there was something going on, more 
         than met the 'ol bi-focals. I rallied my troops and started 
         off for where Tony had been doing his job, my client keeping 
         a comforting arm around my waist. Our arrival was to late. 
         Tony lay face down on the terminal's keyboard, right hand 
         stuffed in the disk drive. Killed by a computer "virus"; but 
         I knew that someone had to have done poor Tony in. A scream 
         and a motion near the door alerted us that my client had 
         just been snatched and was being carried away by Tony's 
         murderer. I pulled my .50 cal. auto pistol from its holster 
         and laid out in hot pursuit.
         
              Down the stairs, down the the hall we chased the 
         assailant, as my client threatened to flay his various 
         private body parts with her knife. This made me and my men 
         mad, this guy had killed a friend and was making off with 
         the only dame in the story! We ran out the main doors, the 
         bright sun blinding us for a second. When we could see, we 
         realized things were going to be harder to deal with than 
         first expected. We were standing face to face with about 30 
         ultra right-wing republican neo-nazi bikers, Miss Hong held 
         in their midst! As the bikers slowly slid off their cycles 
         and advanced towards us wielding chains and clubs and 
         knives, I came up with our first tactic- "Run!"
         
              The four of us sprinted 20 feet and dove behind an 
         empty VW beetle. Troy, Rich, and Special opened fire with 
         their small calibre hand guns as at the same time the bikers 
         opened fire with their Acme Power Guns, slowly melting our 
         cover into a puddle of shiny slag. I set the selector on my 
         .50 cal. for "Stupid Radical Blasting Rounds" and opened 
         fire while I desperately tried to think of a plan to save my 
         client, and our necks, from these Lyndon LaRouche lovers. 
         Then it came to me. Several of the bikers were down, but not 
         enough of them. I leaped the beetle and ran towards them 
         firing away and calling taunts such as "Nixon in 88," and 
         "Mondale is God." They were taken aback by my courage and 
         stupidity.
         
              In their split second of indecision, we took the 
         initiative. Troy jumped around the car and let loose with a 
         searing blast of "Anarchy in the U.K.", by the Sex Pistols, 
         from his portable boom box. They fell back in horror, being 
         used to Lynard Skynard and Barry Manilow played at twice 
         normal speed; he followed up with several karate chops to 
         the knees. Yes, our opponents were weakening! Rich and 
         Special followed suit by laying down an incredible field 
         barrage of fire from their patented Acme Never-Empty 
         Hollywood revolvers. It was time to make my move. 
         
              I activated my Acme New and Improved Battlesuit and 
         flew towards the enemy. Accelerating to full power I crossed 
         the 30 foot wide area in five minutes and smashed in to the 
         line of bikes our foes had set up for the devastating domino 
         effect; paint chipped, and handle bars bent. That was it, 
         our attackers couldn't take any more of this sort of 
         punishment and  promptly surrendered. Glad my plan had 
         worked (?), I had meant to hit them! Faulty damn suit, 
         that's it I'm calling Consumers Report!
         
         Epilogue
              The bad guys were beaten. After rounding up these thugs 
         and seeing to Miss Hong's well being, we squeezed some info 
         out of the goons. It turns out that this group had been paid 
         by the mob to guard Jimmy Hoffa's brother. Which turned out 
         to none other than Elvis. Yes he was drugged up beyond 
         belief and believed that he was living in Graceland II, 
         located in Albecerque, New Mexico. Needless to say there was 
         great rejoicing across the country and Elvis was named 
         President of the U.S.A., that is until he was chalked up as 
         another sighting. As for my client, she was happy to see 
         that the place she was going to was allright, except for the 
         skaters, which she knew how to handle. We had all become 
         quite fond of her in our brief time together. It was with a 
         tear in our eye as we said "later" (never good-bye), gave 
         her a last fleeting hug, and watched her walk towards her 
         new home-away-from-home. Things would be a little duller 
         without her around but that was the way of things. She had a 
         bright future ahead, and we were but many of the supporting 
         characters in her life's play. With that we walked back to 
         the hearse and headed for home. "Stairway to Heaven" played 
         on the radio, and life as usual beckoned to us from afar...