Relay-Version: version B 2.10 5/3/83; site utzoo.UUCP Posting-Version: version B 2.10 beta 3/9/83; site qantel.UUCP Path: utzoo!linus!decvax!decwrl!amd!dual!qantel!israel From: israel@qantel.UUCP ( Renegade) Newsgroups: net.jokes Subject: True Grit Mysteries II - Part 4 Message-ID: <209@qantel.UUCP> Date: Mon, 10-Sep-84 15:49:22 EDT Article-I.D.: qantel.209 Posted: Mon Sep 10 15:49:22 1984 Date-Received: Sun, 16-Sep-84 10:33:26 EDT Organization: MDS Qantel, Hayward CA. Lines: 95 < "Hold it, Dallas, there's something strange about this line...AAIIEEE!!!" > TALES OF ROGER GUTS, P.I. "A Tiger tank? That's gotta be pretty old. Sounds like we're talking about an Army surplus auction." "You may be right, Guts - that would explain the reference to the `fixed bids' at the bottom here. They're using the money to bid on some outdated military equipment, which they're bound to get dirt cheap!" Things were falling into place. Some inside man in charge of the sealed bids was making sure that his friends had the high bid, without spending anymore than necessary. And although the equipment was obsolete, it was no doubt deadly enough for whatever they had in mind. What their inside man didn't know, however, was that his friends were planning on covering their tracks - by parking the tank on his face. "We've gotta move fast Chuck. Whatever it is, it's going down on the 10th - nine days from now. This auction thing is gonna happen sometime between now and then, so we gotta locate this mole of their's before then, or we'll lose our only lead when they off 'im. You guys havin' any surplus equipment sales at one of the local bases?" "What about that great little flea market at the Ashby Bart Station...?" "Pipe done, Specky, we're talking heavy metal here." "As a matter of fact, there is such an auction taking place on Treasure Island this weekend - two days from now. I was planning on going there to make a bid on this cute little Howitzer cannon I've been saving up for. Thought it might brighten up the walkway to the ROTC office..." Treasure Island is a man-made flat-as-a-pancake pile of dirt sitting in the middle of the San Francisco bay. It's situated right next to Yerba Buena Island, a small but extremely mountainous hunk of rock which serves as a midpoint for the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge. Seeing the two of them together is not unlike what might result if Dolly Parton had a masectomy. However, Treasure Island served as a perfect location for a military base, and has been so used for decades. But there were only two ways off it - driving from the single road to the bridge, or swimming. We chose the bridge. It was nine in the morning as we pulled up to the gate. Chuck produced an ID card. The MP looked at it for a moment, then broke out in a cold sweat. He dropped to his knees. "Forgive me, Holy Father, for I have sinned. I was twelve seconds late to roll call this morning, and my upper left pocket was unbuttoned!" Chuck Andrews was legend around here. He touched the bowed MP's head, and went into priest-mode. "You are forgiven, my son. Who's in charge of this morning's auction?" "That would be Captain Angeles, building six, Sir. Would your holiness care to inspect my rifle?" "Not right now, my son. Carry on, Sgt. Goldstein." Building six turned out to be a large warehouse chock full of guns, jeeps, personnel carriers, footlockers, plus one vintage Tiger tank and a Bell & Howell troop transport helicopter. As we entered, we could see some buck private setting up some folding chairs, while a harried captain sitting behind a million year old desk was slaving over an adding machine. When he managed to notice us, he stood up so straight you could have used him as a T-square. "You seem a little nervous, my son. Have you a confession to make?" "Just my frustration, Sir. I've been trying to balance the books from the sealed bids for the auction, but something doesn't jive. According to my figures, the bid for lot 23 was too low, but when I went to double- check the other bids for the lot, they were missing." Something was wrong here. "You aren't Captain Angeles, are you?" He turned to me, looking hurt. "No, Sir. I'm Captain Peters. Angeles was involved in a traffic accident last night, so I was put in charge of the auction this morning. Honest, Sir, I've no idea what happened to the other bids..." Chuck shook his head. "I'm confused, Guts. If Angeles was the mole, haven't they made their move too soon? They must have realized someone else would have been put in charge once he was dead, surely?" "Could be, Chuck, maybe they're not as smart as they think. Tell me, Captain, does lot 23 include that Tiger Tank?" "Yes, it does. Were you one of the other bidders?" Just then, the private marched up to the Captain's desk. "All chairs present and accounted for, Sir. Request permission to report to the mess hall for breakfast, Sir." "Did you remember to set out the double-stuff OREO's for General Cumberline?" "With milk, Sir!" "Very well, Patton, dismissed." As the private marched out the door, I laid out my plan. We'd hangout here til the winning bidder picked up his receipt for the lot. Then we'd pick him up and hide him out somewhere so the rest of the conspirators wouldn't be able to find him. Then we'd get to my favorite part - the interro- gation. Besides, they wouldn't be able to take possession of the equipment without the receipt, so their plan, whatever it is, would at least be delayed. "Sounds good, Guts. Better get ready, though, the bidders are starting to arrive. By the way, Captain, I wanted to talk to you about that cannon in the window..." TO BE CONTINUED... -- Renegade of Berkeley MDS Qantel ucbvax!dual!qantel!israel Disclaimer: "Who me? I wasn't even there!"