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From: israel@qantel.UUCP ( Renegade@ex2564)
Newsgroups: net.jokes
Subject: True Grit Mysteries III - Part 3
Message-ID: <445@qantel.UUCP>
Date: Tue, 28-May-85 17:20:11 EDT
Article-I.D.: qantel.445
Posted: Tue May 28 17:20:11 1985
Date-Received: Sat, 1-Jun-85 01:28:10 EDT
Reply-To: israel@qantel.UUCP (Paul Israel - Renegade@ex2564)
Organization: MDS Qantel, Hayward, CA
Lines: 80
Keywords: Guts, Real Man, Uzi

< Warning - This line not meant for human comsumption; do not swallow. >


TALES OF ROGER GUTS, P.I.

   One good thing about Siggy - I always knew where to find him when I
needed him. There he was, in his usual place, third booth back along the
south wall of the John Wayne Memorial Bar & Grill. I'd taken him there
for a couple of beers six years ago, and he'd been coming back ever since.
    As I walked in, he was talking to William Casey, head of the CIA, and
Gordon Cooper, the astronaut. Luckily, they were just leaving, so I didn't
have to wait long before Siggy settled down into the barstool next to mine.
   "So Roger, old buddy, how you doing? Sorry I took so long, but I had
some business to take care of. It seems the government is launching a
spy satellite on the next space shuttle, and they wanted to know if I'd
like to buy into it for a piece of the action."
   "A spy satellite, Siggy?"
   "Hey, the snitching business ain't what it used to be. Everything's
hi tech survallience now. Hell, I had to buy a DEC VAX 11/780 computer
just to keep track of all my information and stay competitive. I'm having
a terminal installed in my booth next week..."
   "Uh, that's fascinating stuff, Sig, but I need some information..."
   "Oh, of course. Sorry, I get a little carried away with that stuff. So
what is it today? For $600 dollars, I can tell you what REALLY happened to
San Francisco in 1906..."
   "Actually, I need some facts about ghosts. ESP. The occult. That sort
of thing."
   "Ghosts, huh? Well, gee, Roger, that's a little out of my field. But
I think I know someone who can help you." Siggy turned around, and called
out to a tall, scrawny-looking fellow wearing blue jeans, a tee shirt,
and an Indiana Jones leather jacket. "Roger Guts, this is Monty Star-Eyes,
former Apache Indian Medicine man, and expert on the occult. Tell him what
your problem is."
   I told him the whole story, from Ramona's first dream, to the floating
diamond. He leaned back in his stool, stretched his legs, and looked
thoughtfully into his martini. "Hmmm. Well, it wasn't a ghost that stole
your rock. Ghosts would show up on the video. Can't be a vampire, cause
he'd have to turn into gaseous form to get out the hole, and he couldn't
carry the rock. Y'know, I don't think you've got undead here at all - 
sounds more to me like psionics - telekinesis, that sort of thing. You
must be up against some sort of super-pyschic. As for Harry's ghost,
you're gonna need to find a medium to find out where he fits in."
   "A medium what?"
   "A medium - a spirit walker. One that can talk to ghosts. You take
your medium back to the house and then the medium goes into a trace to
talk to her spirit guide, who in turn talks to the ghost. Nothing to it."
   "Where did you pick all this stuff up? As a medicine man?"
   "Nope. As a Dungeon Master. I play Dungeons & Dragons every Saturday
afternoon. From what Siggy's told me about you, I'd say you'd be a natural."
   "So what's my next move?"
   "Well, it sounds like Harry knows something important, so I'd try the
medium first." He fumbled around in his pockets, finally removing a crumbled
up piece of paper. "This is the address of an old friend of mine, 
Angel Duke. She lives up in the hills around LA. Top-notch spirit walker.
Gotta warn ya, though, she don't like strangers much. She'll shoot ya
soon as talk to ya, since she can literally shoot first and ask questions
later. Fun at partys, though."
   "Uh, thanks, I'll remember that next time I throw one."
   As it turns out, I'd heard of Angel before. She had predicted a nuclear
holocaust would occur by 1990, and decided to get ready for it. The "Pyschic
Survivalist", the papers called her. She'd been living in the hills ever
since.
   I four-wheeled up a dirt road to a small wooden shack. As I approached
the door, it slowly started creaking open by itself. Inside, a voice called
out to me - "Come in Mr. Guts. I know why you have come. I don't come cheap."
I wasn't in the mood to pay a lot. "Umm...all I have is 30 bucks..."
   A shot rang out. My favorite fedora was lying in the road with a
bullet hole through it.
   "You have $93 and forty-seven cents in your pocket, along with seven
discount coupons for Dominoe's Pizza. I'll take the money - you can
have the pizza. Just wait there, I'll be ready to go in five minutes."
   Aw, nuts - Why do I always end up working with fruit loops, anyway?

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

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