Saturday, February 13, 2016

the golden gumdrop caper, part 14

by manfred skyline

illustrated by roy dismas and konrad kraus

originally appeared in the june through september 1956 issues of last stop - excitement magazine

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo


for previous episode, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here





in our previous chapters, we met the international jewel thief stanley slade, recently recaptured after a daring escape from prison, and the notorious adventuress angie ricardo, recently sentenced to a long term in a federal penitentiary. angie has been contacted by mysterious personages, including the "thin man"... who get her released, for their own purposes...,

after a brief stop, where she encounters an old friend , angie continues on her way. in her tentative destination of yonkers, she encounters a couple of children of the night...


maybe i can use these kids, angie thought. nobody will be looking for a woman with a couple of kids. and maybe i can use them to scout out some things.

“well, how about it, miss brown?” the black girl, salome, asked her from the back seat.

“how about what?” angie started to light another cigarette.

“are you going to new york or not?”

“i might. i have to try to meet someone first.” angie looked over her shoulder. “maybe you can help me out there. make yourself useful.”


“useful to you, you mean,” salome answered.

“well, of course it’s what i meant,” said angie. “do you think i showed up out of thin air to be useful to you?”

“ha, ha! no need to get snippy, miss brown. why don’t you just say what you want.”

angie hesitated. “i thought one of you might go over to the bus station and see if you can spot this individual i might want to talk to.”

salome looked out the window over at the station. “why not both of us?”


why not? angie thought. “maybe i will think of something else for the other one to do.”

salome considered this. “why can’t you look for this person yourself? don’t you know what he looks like?”

“what do you care?” angie was starting to get exasperated. “do you want to help me or not?”

“you mind if i say something, miss brown?”

“not at all, my dear child. what is on your sweet little mind?”


“you should just say what you think or at least sound like you are. you know why?”

“no, why?”

“because if you’re always dodging around, people can tell you’re a person who’s spent some time in jail.”

despite herself, angie flushed.

“ha, ha, ha! got you there, didn’t i, miss brown? “ salome leaned over the front seat and patted angie on the shoulder. “come on, i didn’t mean nothing. you know people that’s been in jail can always spot other folks that have, it’s just nature’s way.”


salome looked over at the other girl, who had remained silent. “what do you think, pip? you think miss brown’s been a guest of the state somewhere?”

pippi considered this. “i thank the lord may indeed have tried her in that fashion.”

angie took a deep breath. “so you girls have been in jail. have you - uh - escaped, by any chance?"

salome leaned back and laughed. “oh, no, no. we served our time. we got the papers to show it, too. want to see them?”


“that won’t be necessary. look here.” angie dug into her pocket and took out a couple of the bills she had from making change back at ruth’s place. “here. get yourself a coke or something from the machine. wait and see if a guy who looks like a lawyer shows up.”

salome looked at the two one dollar bills. “a lawyer. what does a lawyer look like?”

“you’ve never seen a lawyer?”

“no, where would i? i never had one myself.”


“a lawyer looks - respectable. like he took a bath. like he shaved, even at six the morning. “

“i’ve seen lawyers,” pippi said. “i could go instead.”

“no, no,” angie said. “let her go, she looks older, they are more likely to chase you away.”

“i might get chased away because i’m black, “ said salome. “and not with a white person.”

can’t she just say yes ma’am to anything, angie thought. “well if they do, just come back and we’ll go from there. all right?”


“all right.” salome put the bills in her pocket. “and if i see this lawyer looking person, then what? do i say something to him?”

"no, no, no. just come back and tell me.”

“i guess i can do that. you want the change from your money.? a coke don’t cost no two dollars.”

“bring me back a coke. you want something?” angie asked pippi.

“a coke and a hershey bar.”

“a coke and a hershey bar,” angie repeated. “i see nobody’s bashful here.”


“ you asked if i wanted anything. i want a coke and a hershey bar. you don’t have to buy them for me,” pippi answered evenly.

“no, no, you can have both,” angie assured her. “were are all friends here.”

suddenly there was a sharp rap on the window. angie almost screamed. what now?

she turned and saw the face of a policeman in the window.

angie rolled the window down. “yes, officer?”


“what are you doing here, miss?” with the window down angie could see that the officer was young, maybe just out of high school. he glanced back at the two girls. he was obviously puzzled by the fact that one was black.

angie started to say, i’m waiting for my husband, realized he might notice she had no wedding ring. “my name is willa mason, officer, i am with the redemption church, it’s a little church in albany, we are waiting for our bishop to arrive on the bus from - from new york city.” there has to be a bus from the city, she thought.


the young man looked doubtful. “why not wait in the station?”

“i didn’t like the place, officer. i saw a man whose looks frightened me.”

“i see. and these two girls, who are they?”

“they are a couple of unfortunate children that the bishop saved from a life of sin.” angie handed the policeman the pamphlet pippi had given her. “we are here on a special mission to yonkers. look, here is a sample of our literature.”

the young man looked at the girls in the back seat. “saved from a life of sin?”


“they have just been released from - the reformatory. the reformatory.” angie turned to pippi. “dear, show the officer your discharge paper.”

expressionless, pippi took her time rummaging in her pants pocket but finally pulled out a piece of paper folded in eighths which she handed over to the policeman. he shone a flashlight on it and studied it for a full minute before handing it back.

salome cleared her throat. “i have one too, officer.”


“no, that’s all right.” the officer took his cap off, scratched his head, and put the cap back on. “all right, miss. but consider, there are some frightening people out here on the street too.”

“thank you, officer. but it seems to be getting light. finally.” angie gave him a little laugh, and a smile - not too big.

the officer moved off, and angie rolled the widow back up.

“that was very good, miss brown,” salome said. “very smooth. i see there’s no green bananas on the boat you just fell off. pretty impressive, don’t you think, pip?"


“yes,” pippi answered. “notice how she got us to show our i d so he forgot to ask for hers.”

“right. a most impressive performance.”

but angie was hardly listening to them. she was watching the policeman go back to his squad car, back it out and drive off. surely he would do some kind of checking on her story. she couldn’t take the chance that he would not.

salome put her hand on the door handle. “you still want me to look for your lawyer friend.”

“no, we are getting out of here. we’ll give our friend in blue half a minute to get away.”

“you don’t say? are we going to new york?”

“maybe.”

part 15






Monday, February 8, 2016

the golden gumdrop caper, part 13

by manfred skyline

illustrated by roy dismas and konrad kraus

originally appeared in the june through september 1956 issues of last stop - excitement magazine

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo


for previous episode, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here





in our previous chapters, we met the international jewel thief stanley slade, recently recaptured after a daring escape from prison, and the notorious adventuress angie ricardo, recently sentenced to a long term in a federal penitentiary. angie has been contacted by mysterious personages, including the "thin man"... who get her released, for their own purposes...,

after a brief stop, where she encounters an old friend , angie continues on her way...


back on the empty highway after her encounter with ruth barry and petey at the elite cafe, angie began considering her options.

she probably should not have spent as much time talking to ruth as she had. if the police were alerted to her escape - and she could not be sure they had not - every minute she was off the road counted.

but there was no sense worrying about it now. she still had plenty of time to reach yonkers at what she figured was the best time.


and she was determined not to speed, in case some state police came along. and to stay on the main highway and not venture down any country roads where the local gendarmes might stop her just for something to do.

the question was - should she even go to yonkers, try to meet up with dick richmond or whoever dick richmond had waiting for her?

where else could she go? if she decided to stiff dick richmond, just take his car and his forty dollars, where could she go?


al gordon - if she could even trust him - was in the pen. all her other old pals from those days, she couldn’t trust at all, and they would all know she was on the run and hot. and besides, dick richmond could almost surely find her through them.

she could never pick up the pieces of the caper she had been lining up when she got busted.

richmond’s proposition - such as it was - had to be legitimate and not some kind of joke. whoever was behind it had put too much time and effort into it.


the word would get around - even in europe and south america and hong kong - that she passed up a chance at a pretty good score. and must have lost her nerve. and that would be the kiss of death.

should she try to find the old, old gang - the commies and revolutionaries? like rose? or ambrose? she knew how they ended up - the ones that were still alive. and what could they do for her? get her a job washing dishes? hot as she was, they couldn’t even get her a job answering the phone at some union hall.


the only thing she could do besides try to meet up in yonkers would be to completely disappear - with about thirty-eight dollars - and start a whole new life.

doing - what? holding up banks? holding up gas stations?

she had always been determined to stay away from things like being a chorus girl or a stripper. and she was probably a little too old now to be starting out in such endeavors. the other girls starting out would be about sixteen or seventeen and laugh at her as an old lady.


find a nice guy - a nice chumpy guy - who worked in a factory and settle down and have four or five kids?

no, dick richmond had the hook in her and that was the way it was.

it was on to yonkers.

*

yonkers wasn’t that big. surely she could find “ronnie’s” without having to ask anybody.

and she did. on the outskirts of town, it was an old-fashioned “roadhouse” of the type going out of style.


the only other establishment within a hundred yards was a used car lot.

ronnie’s was closed - obviously. it was still short of six in the morning. but driving by, she couldn’t see any sign or anything in the window saying when it did open.

angie parked in front of the used car lot. she got out, locked the car, and walked up the road to ronnie’s.

what a dump. it was hard to tell if it was still open at all. there were some words painted in the bottom of the window, and they were faded.


open 1 p m to 2 a m. well, that took care of that. she couldn’t sit in the car waiting for seven hours.

she was probably meant to wait in or around the bus station all along.

she went back to the car, and drove slowly to the bus station which she had already passed.

now what? wait in, or outside, the bus station? she had seen a little coffee shop a block before, but that was too far away to actually watch the bus station from it.

angie thought, this is getting annoying. couldn’t they have just left a note in the car? was that really such a great risk?


couldn’t iron mask have told her something? a little hint? but she probably had not been told any more than she needed to know.

angie decided to make a quick reconnoiter of the station, to see if richmond was already there, or if she would be approached by anybody right away.

if not, she would come back and wait in the car for about an hour, or until it started to get light. if nobody approached her by then, maybe try the coffee shop.


it was a plan, at least. she lit a cigarette and smoked it down to her fingertips. she rolled the window down, fllcked the butt out, rolled the window back up and opened the door and got out.

the bus station was as deserted as it could be. there was a guy behind the ticket counter reading a magazine who did not look up when angie came through the swinging door.

the only people in the seats were a little old man and little old lady. they looked about ninety years old. unless they were very elaborately disguised, they were not emissaries of dick richmond.


there was a coke machine and a coffee machine. and an unlit little snack bar, with a sign saying “closed”.

but angie felt she was being watched.

she turned and looked out the large window . she did not see anything out there but darkness.

she went back outside to the car. she looked up and down the street but could not see anyone.

she got back in the car and lit another cigarette.

and heard a tapping on the window.


she rolled the window down.

a little girl with long pigtails was standing outside. at first angie thought she was about ten years old, but at second glance realized she was just small and was probably about fifteen.

the girl looked angie in the eyes. “do you want to hear the good news about salvation?”

“do i what?” angie asked. this kid can’t be from richmond, she thought.

the girl shoved some kind of pamphlet through the window at angie.


angie took it - a message from richmond? there was a cross on the cover and some words but before she could read them she noticed another girl standing behind the little pigtailed girl.

this girl was taller, maybe a little older, and black.

“want to give us a ride to new york, lady?” the black girl asked.

“um - i don’t know if i’m going to new york.”

“you don’t know?’ the girl raised her eyebrows. “what kind of answer is that?”


“can we sit in the car?” the little white girl asked. “it’s a little chilly out here.”

“why should i let you do that?” angie asked.

“because you’re a nice lady,” said the black girl.

“because the bible says, ‘ suffer the little children to come unto me’ said the little girl.

might police drive by and wonder what this was all about?

“yeah, you can get in.” angie reached back and opened the rear door.


the two girls settled into the back seat. “my name is salome, by the way,” said the black girl, “and this is pippi.”

“pleased to meet you,” angie replied.

“and what is your name?”

“uh - alice.”

“smith or jones?” asked salome.

“brown. alice brown. miss brown to you.”

part 14






Thursday, January 28, 2016

snowflakes, part 3

by horace p sternwall

illustrated by eddie el greco and konrad kraus

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

part three of three

for previous episode, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here






anatole france and i trudged through the falling snow, with him leading the way.

he did not vouchsafe any further information and i did not ask him any questions.

i was expecting at any minute to see a golden castle - or at least a castle - appear on the horizon.

instead the snow got heavier, and the trees thicker, as we entered a dense forest.

eventually we saw a few wisps of gray smoke, and then a small windowless hut, from which the smoke was emanating.


i suggested to my guide that we seek shelter in the hut, for a brief rest.

but he laughed and turned to me. “rest? we have reached our destination, young man. this is the king’s castle. from the smoke we can assume that his majesty is at home, no doubt accompanied by his lovely daughter.”

i had no reply to this. we approached the hut, lifting our feet high through some drifts of snow.

m france rapped on the not very stout looking wooden door, and a deep voice cried. “enter!”


we entered, upon a cozy scene.

the hut was largely filled by a black stove, which seemed to be producing more warmth outside the hut than inside it.

two stout figures occupied two chairs, one on either side of the stove. if there were chairs for guests, i did not remark them, and m france and myself remained standing throughout my interview.

the only other items of furniture were a small table in front of the stove, and a couple of barrels under a heavily boarded up window, which, as it was on the other side of the hut from our approach, i had not noticed before.


the gentleman whom i took to be the king glared at me. he was a stout looking fellow of advanced years, with a rough white beard. although i did not note the resemblance at the time, and he was not introduced to me as such, in later years i recognized a strong likeness to photographs of the celebrated author victor hugo.

on the other side of the stove sat a woman of completely indeterminate age, with her hair fastened in a bun and wearing a coarse dress of plainest gray. she was never to speak throughout the proceedings. as i would later recognize - or imagine that i recognized - the king as victor hugo, i would later judge this princess as having been george sand.


such confused thoughts as were going through my head were interrupted by the king addressing me in his loud voice - “are you ready to proceed, young man?”

“i am as ready as i am going to be, sir.”

“no doubt you have been told that you will be taking your chance on infinite wealth, endless life, and endless love, eh?”

“i have, sir.”

“ha, ha! and no doubt you are wondering where these things are, eh, as you see no evidence of them before you.” he took a small clay pipe from his pocket and began lighting it.


“i await your explanation, sir.”

“an excellent response. i see you are a natural born courtier. but look here! “ he pointed to the stove. “there is your infinite wealth!”

“indeed, sir?” i replied.

“every morning without fail we open the stove and there is an omelette. and later in the day, for lunch, a fine vegetable broth, with a baguette. and at night, for dinner, a beef pie. every day, without fail - forever!”


he pointed to the two barrels. “and in those barrels, which never require replenishment, clear cold water - and red wine. and there you have your infinite wealth.”

i nodded to show i understood. “as for endless life, that requires no explanation. we sit here contentedly, forever. and for endless love - “ he waved his hand in the general direction of the silent and expressionless princess - “that too requires no explanation. so are you ready to proceed, young man?”

“i am, sir.”


he took a puff of his pipe and fixed me with his steely gaze. “some of your predecessors i have submitted to rigorous physical tests of endurance - rigorous tests of endurance. but as it is quite a stormy night, i think i shall content myself with asking you three questions. how does that suit you?”

“very well, sir,” i replied.

“good. answer the first question, and you win infinite wealth. the second, eternal life. and the third, eternal love. but fail to answer any of the questions, and you will fail. is that plain enough?”

“may i ask one question, sir?”


he did not look too pleased, but answered, “go ahead.”

“if it is necessary to answer all three questions, in what sense does the first question win one thing, the second another, and so forth? all three questions are required for the three prizes.”

the king glared at me. “because that is the form, young man, that stories have taken from time immemorial, since cain and abel and their wives and children sat around a fire in the desert as the lions howled outside. does that answer your question?”


“it does, sir. thank you.”

“then i will proceed with my questions.” he cleared his throat. “the first question, for infinite wealth. when st louis went on his first crusade, he took with him a piece of the true cross. did he carry it in a ring on his finger, or attached to a scapula over his heart?”

“attached to a scapula.”

“correct! you win infinite wealth. the second question, for eternal life. is heaven round or flat?”

“round.”


“correct again. and now the third question, a mathematical question, and you are entitled to the endless love of my daughter.” the king cleared his throat again. “five pilgrims are walking along the road to the holy land. they meet thirteen peasants. the peasants have with them four cows and nine hens. how many ducks do they have?”

i hazarded a guess. “twelve.”

“wrong!” bellowed the king. and i found myself back in the empty cafe, outside the snow globe, and looking down into it.

*


“and that ends my story,” pierre announced. “if truth be told, gentleman, i was not at all sorry to be back in toulon, war or no war.”

jake had dozed off. james, at the front desk, was looking at the morning edition of the federal-democrat. nolan seemed still asleep in his chair on the other side of the lobby.

but mortimer had followed pierre’s story with close attention. “i got a question. actually a few questions.”

“i am happy you found my tale so interesting, mortimer. go right ahead.”


“the young woman you got the globe from. how was she going to get eternal love? if there was nobody in the hut but just the king and the princess?”

pierre laughed. “an excellent question. perhaps a whole different scenario unfolded for her when she entered the globe. perhaps she would have been presented with the prospect of marrying the king. or a younger version of m hugo. or of balzac or alexandre dumas. or roland or amadis of gaul. who can say? your other questions?”


“here is the big question. begging your pardon, sir, but what has all this got to do with my theory that manhattan is the whole universe? it don’t seem to me that it has anything to do with it.”

“oh, your theory reminded me of it, that is all. perhaps each of us lives in our own snow globe, where everything happens over and over again, with the globes only occasionally intersecting, like snowflakes falling together on the ground, or on a windowpane. a theory espoused by many philosophers, most explicitly by the celebrated pierre deleigne.”


that did not sound very convincing to mortimer, but he never pressed his arguments, especially not with guests of the hotel, so he just nodded and said, “one more question.”

“certainly.”

“what happened to the snow globe? what did you do with it?”

pierre laughed. “you know, i have completely forgotten.”

outside the snow continued to fall.

the end






Thursday, January 21, 2016

snowflakes, part 2

by horace p sternwall

illustrated by eddie el greco and konrad kraus

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

part two of three

for first episode, click here






i gazed down at the swirling snow in the globe.

i had nothing but kind intentions toward the young woman, and had no desire to embarrass her, so i simply said, as gently as possible, “i am sorry, miss, but i do not believe i could sell such an object, at any price.”

she looked at me blankly, as if surprised by my statement, and i explained, perhaps a bit pompously, “this is an object such as people would have on the shelf of a large, comfortable, well-ordered household, in a peaceful countryside with the blasts of war unimaginably far away - not in , to use an inevitably overworked phrase, times like these.”


by the time i completed my pretty little speech, she had recovered her composure. “but, sir, “ she exclaimed. “you would not want to sell this - this wondrous object - to anyone. you would want to use it yourself!”

“a wondrous object, miss? pretty enough, i suppose, if one likes this sort of thing, but - wondrous?”

even as i spoke, i found myself staring more intently into the dark and swirling depths of the globe, which the young lady now pushed forward on the counter of the bistro.

“oh, yes, wondrous, indeed!”

“and what, if i may ask, is wondrous about it?”

“it is the gateway to another world!”

“you do not say so,” i replied politely. “and you, miss, you have been to this other world?”

her face fell. “alas, i have, sir - to my sorrow!” she looked down, and i saw the shadow of tear in one of her eyes.

i was now quite amused. did i mention that we were quote alone in the cafe? albert had gone home, as had the few customers who had come in that evening, and i had been preparing to close up. thus i was quite free to chaff the young woman, or even to attempt to charm her.


“why to your sorrow, miss?” i enquired. “and why should it not be to my sorrow, if i should attempt to enter the wondrous world myself? eh?”

“oh, sir,” she answered earnestly, looking straight at me, “ i failed - failed miserably! but i do not think such a stout looking fellow as yourself would fail!”

“fail at what, miss?” i asked with an encouraging smile, but without laughing outright.

“you see, “ she said, “when you enter the world of the globe, you will find a world with three things not to be found it this one.”

“and those are - “

“first - infinite wealth.”

“ah - everyone can use infinite wealth.”

“second - eternal life.”

“a bit more problematical - and the third thing?

“eternal love.”

“very nice ! but there must be some - drawback, eh, or obstacles?”

the young woman cast her eyes downward. “yes, one must pass certain tests or perform certain tasks to obtain these things. i was able to pass the first two - for infinite wealth and eternal life - but, alas, at the third gate i faltered.”


she raised her eyes again. “and so i failed - and was banished from the world of the globe. forever! but you, sir , if you would wish to purchase it, i am sure would find greater success.”

at this point i was quite charmed by this quaint tale, so redolent of the hearth and the nursery, and by its dewy-eyed teller. also, the globe itself, which was sitting on the counter directly in front of me, seemed to be exerting some hypnotic spell on me. and, as i said, there was no one else present.to laugh at my gullibility.


and so it was that i offered her the sum of two francs for her magical prize. she did not seen quite as pleased as i thought she would be, but after a moment’s hesitation, thanked me profusely. i gallantly offered her a coffee and a two-day old croissant to seal the deal and she gratefully accepted those too.

now in possession of the magical globe, i humored her by asking how i was supposed to enter it, to take my chance on infinite riches and the rest of it.

“oh, that is easy enough,” she assured me. “when i am gone - because you must be alone when you enter the globe - “

“of course,” i assented.

“you stare into the globe as intently as you can - “

“do i need a magic word?”

“oh no, so long as you concentrate - or even if you do not, for if you are alone the globe will draw you in -“

“i see. that simplifies matters.”

“but once inside the globe, you will need to know the password to enter the kingdom and face your three challenges.”

i nodded helpfully.


“you will be greeted by an elderly man whom you may or may not recognize, and he will say - ‘jean cocteau is no judge of goat cheese- ‘. and you will respond - “and leon bloy is no judge of white wine.’ do you think you can remember that?”

i had been engaged in smuggling since i was old enough to talk, so was an old hand at passwords. i assured her that i could remember.

when the young lady finished her coffee and croissant and left, i felt i had awakened from a dream. had i really been so foolish as to give her two francs for this ridiculous object? my only thought was to hide it - or get rid of it - so as not to face the amusement of albert on the morrow.


i picked the globe up. again, it seemed to have a slight hypnotic power, and i gazed into it.

suddenly i found myself inside it.

i felt no cold. snow was swirling all around me, so that i could only make out the outline of a few tall trees.

suddenly a figure emerged from the snow - a dignified gentleman no longer young, as the young lady had predicted.

he advanced toward me, and in a resonant voice, as if he were signaling the end of the world announced -


“jean cocteau is no judge of goat cheese!”

and i replied - “and leon bloy is no judge of white wine.”

“very good, very good.” the gentleman tramped through the snow toward me. as i came face to face with him i saw that he had a large nose, a neatly trimmed gray beard, and piercing blue eyes.

“do you recognize me, young man?” he asked.

i knew enough not to bluff in such circumstances, and i replied truthfully, “i am afraid i do not, sir.”


“i am anatole france, the greatest writer of my generation. do you not recognize me now?”

“i am only a humble fisherman and smuggler, sir.” i looked around. “at least, that is what i was before i found myself here.”

“indeed! “ he smiled in a friendly enough fashion. “ i should have said, i was the greatest writer of my generation, in the world we have left behind. here, i am only the humble servant and messenger of the king of the snows. ”


“in any case, sir,” i replied, “i am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“and i yours. i see you have learned your manners, at least. well - are you ready to attempt your three tasks? “

“yes, sir, as ready as i am going to be.”

“then follow me.”

we started off through the snow.


part 3