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From: israel@qantel.UUCP ( Renegade@ex2564)
Newsgroups: net.jokes
Subject: True Grit Mysteries III - Part 1
Message-ID: <432@qantel.UUCP>
Date: Mon, 13-May-85 16:00:31 EDT
Article-I.D.: qantel.432
Posted: Mon May 13 16:00:31 1985
Date-Received: Fri, 17-May-85 03:45:44 EDT
Reply-To: israel@qantel.UUCP (Paul Israel - Renegade@ex2564)
Organization: MDS Qantel, Hayward, CA
Lines: 69

< Oh no, not THIS stuff again...! >

TALES OF ROGER GUTS, P.I.

   "Harry, wait! What did you mean? HARRY!"
   I woke instantly, instinctively reached under my pillow, grabbed my Bowie
knife, and prepared to throw it at whoever it was that was screaming in my
sleep.
   It was Ramona. She was still asleep, having some sort of nightmare. I
slapped her awake, reproaching her sternly - "If you must shout, shout 
QUIETLY!"
   "I'm sorry, Rog. I was dreaming about Harry, my late husband. He was
standing right in front of me, plain as day, trying to warn me about something,
but I could only make out bits and pieces. Part of it sounded like he said
'travesty', and then 'cricket'. Then he just faded away."
   Suddenly, the phone rang. I picked it up.
   "Hello, Guts? This is Artie Lemon down at the station. I've just gotten a
report of a jewel robbery I think you're gonna wanna hear about..."
   "Wanna bet, Art? At three in the morning, there ain't much I wanna hear
besides my own snoring. What they grab?"
   "The Travesti Diamond." I almost dropped the phone. It was gonna be one
a DEM kind of cases.
   I got dressed and drove on down to the museum where it had been on display.
The joint looked like midnight at the policeman's ball, and it was gonna be
my job to find Cinderella. I spotted Artie in the middle of the mess, trying to
console Lisa Van Travesti, the owner of the rock in question. As soon as she
noticed me standing there, she whirled around and grabbed my collar. "Oh thank
God you're here, Mr. Guts. I'll pay you double what I gave you last time -
just find it!" With that, she blew her nose, lit a cigarette, and stalked
out the door.
   Artie smirked. "Boy, talk about job security. How much stolen property
have you recovered for her over the years, anyway?"
   "Five gems, three opals, a tiara or two, and a mint condition copy of
MAD Magazine, #1. This is the first time she ever got careless with the top
rock, however. How did it happen?"
   "Well, that's just it - we're not really sure. Come look at this..."
   He led me into a vault-like chamber, protected by a heavy steel door.
Inside was a 10 x 10 foot room, bare except for a single podium in the
center, being watched by four survallience cameras, one in each corner.
On the podium stood a small crystal stand, which formerly supported the
rock.
   "The steel walls are three feet thick, as are the floor and ceiling. The
door was sealed tight, with a guard on duty outside. The cameras confirm that
nobody ever came in or out. There are no prints, no tracks, no clues of any
kind - a perfect caper. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought it was a
job for ole' Cricket..."
   A cold shiver suddenly ran down my spine. "Uh, did you say 'Cricket'?"
   "Jack Martin. Top rate burglar. Used to work Europe. Same MO."
   "But what's that got to do with crickets?"
   "That was is nickname - 'Cricket' Martin. They called him that because
only a cricket could manage to crawl into some of the places he's rumored
to have hit. Not bad as nicknames go, I suppose. It could have been cockroach,
or..."
   "Well, that sounds like our man. Know his present whereabouts?"
   Artie laughed. "He's probably right where he's been for the last seven
years - Forest Lawn."
   "He's dead?"
   "And then some. He got nailed in mid-caper. He was after this very same
diamond, too, when it happened."
   Things were getting weird, even for one of my cases. I've heard of
grave-robbers before, but this was ridiculous.

		TO BE CONTINUED...
-- 
Renegade of Berkeley
MDS Qantel
ucbvax!dual!qantel!israel

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