Detective cinder dick

[tree68]

Chad x Thomas

Thanks Larry, I thought you might have that Tucktaway somewhere. What a classic read. I had forgotten how long that story was. I wonder how long Dan took to put that together?

It was done as a "serial."  I forget how long it did take to complete.

[charlie hebdo]

zugmann

 

 

samfp1943

All that, seemed to culmanate about the same time Klambake brought in one of their M. R. 'monitors'... For awhile, he wanted to treat all Posters on this Forum  like Juvenile Delinquents, who were being 'bad' for their teacher's.   As I recall he got really quiet, and he, along with his string of threats  seemed to disapear? 

 

 

Didn't that happen years later? 

 

 I don't remember this cinder dick stuff.  Maybe it was buried on one of the off-topic diner threads that I never really read? 

 

I think that round of heavyhanded Moderation was later. I don't recall the Dick Cinder fella either.

[blhanel]

Chapter 12 introduces the character "Murphy"- I figured that was in reference to Murphy Siding.  I do remember most of the referenced members, as I joined a few years prior to this being posted.

[zugmann]

samfp1943

All that, seemed to culmanate about the same time Klambake brought in one of their M. R. 'monitors'... For awhile, he wanted to treat all Posters on this Forum  like Juvenile Delinquents, who were being 'bad' for their teacher's.   As I recall he got really quiet, and he, along with his string of threats  seemed to disapear? 

Didn't that happen years later? 

 

 I don't remember this cinder dick stuff.  Maybe it was buried on one of the off-topic diner threads that I never really read? 

[Chad x Thomas]

Murphy Siding

 

 

samfp1943

 

 

Chad x Thomas

As long as were digging up antique threads from the past, does anybody have a Link to Dan Harmon's classic Detective cinder dick post?

 

 

 

At one point in time there was a "Troublemaker", par excelence called himself "Cinderdick"  .... It was at, or during the time that Norris " Murphy Siding" was riding herd on a bunch of generally, rowdy, Posters around here;     I can't quite pull out the exact time that was(?) ,right now( Sheesh- old age?)  You might get our Canadian Poster " Selector"  to comment?  He was also a 'monitor'  around that same time(?)  

All that, seemed to culmanate about the same time Klambake brought in one of their M. R. 'monitors'... For awhile, he wanted to treat all Posters on this Forum  like Juvenile Delinquents, who were being 'bad' for their teacher's.   As I recall he got really quiet, and he, along with his string of threats  seemed to disapear? 

The 'Good ole Days', not necessarily, but definitely part of 'the learning process.

 

 

 

 

Actually, I think that was even before I was on the forum, so pre-2005.

 

 W

??? Yea Sam, I'm with Murph on this one. I don't recall anything about this guy must've been more before my time too.

 

[Chad x Thomas]

Thanks Larry, I thought you might have that Tucktaway somewhere. What a classic read. I had forgotten how long that story was. I wonder how long Dan took to put that together?

[Murphy Siding]

samfp1943

 

 

Chad x Thomas

As long as were digging up antique threads from the past, does anybody have a Link to Dan Harmon's classic Detective cinder dick post?

 

 

 

At one point in time there was a "Troublemaker", par excelence called himself "Cinderdick"  .... It was at, or during the time that Norris " Murphy Siding" was riding herd on a bunch of generally, rowdy, Posters around here;     I can't quite pull out the exact time that was(?) ,right now( Sheesh- old age?)  You might get our Canadian Poster " Selector"  to comment?  He was also a 'monitor'  around that same time(?)  

All that, seemed to culmanate about the same time Klambake brought in one of their M. R. 'monitors'... For awhile, he wanted to treat all Posters on this Forum  like Juvenile Delinquents, who were being 'bad' for their teacher's.   As I recall he got really quiet, and he, along with his string of threats  seemed to disapear? 

The 'Good ole Days', not necessarily, but definitely part of 'the learning process.

 

Actually, I think that was even before I was on the forum, so pre-2005.

[tree68]

All of the characters in the story represent forum participants at the time.  

For your reading pleasure:

A funny thing happened on the way to the Forum…

 

Chapter One:

It was raining hard that night, and as I looked out on the streets below, the streetlamps cast an eerie glow over everything. I watched closely as a battered Nash pulled up. It coughed to a halt. I took the last drag from my cigarette and crushed it out in the overflowing ashtray. I saw her get out, look around and dart across the street. I sensed trouble. I opened the bottom drawer of my desk, the sound of worn Cherry wood making that unmistakable sliding noise as I tugged open the sticky old drawer, and pulled the half bottle of scotch from it.  It wasn't my favorite brand, but times had been tough and it was what I had.  An old Colt .45 laid next to the bottle, with shiny spots where the bluing was worn down to the metal. Then came the knock on the door.

 
She came in and I instantly realized my senses had been right. This was trouble standing before me, shaking off the rain. I offered her a drink, but she said no, in a sultry, but troubled voice.  Her voice sounded like a hairbrush stuck in the drain pipes of my eighth-floor walkup. She said her name was Kissmy Caboose, and her sons Trainfinder22 and Terry_C had been missing for weeks. My little voice kept telling me there was more to this than meets the eye......

 

Chapter Two:

.....As I lit another cigarette, she began her story. She and her two sons had moved to LA from the midwest following the death of her first husband in Missouri. He had been tragically crushed to death by a pile of restraining orders from various railroads. She had worked as a dancer in a gentleman's club until she met her new husband Vic, a leading architect with rumored attachments to the notorious Borracho Hill mob. That alone was reason enough to stay as far away from this case as I could. Her sons had been working with Vic on a construction project in Santa Monica, some crazy road project that had some powerful support from back east. Then they disappeared. I asked if she had been to the police, but she said they were no help. I told her I wasn't interested, I had enough problems of my own right now. Ms. Caboose said she'd double my rate, and though I could have used the money, I needed the trouble even less.

 
She left as quickly and quietly as she arrived; the sound of her old Nash drowned out by the rain. As I sat there in the dark, I realized I needed a cup of joe. So I grabbed my trusty .45 from the desk drawer, and locked up for the night. The rain picked up as I stepped out into the street... raining cats and Doggys so to speak, but the Depot Coffee Shop and Diner was only a couple of blocks away, on the other side of the tracks.

 
After stopping, looking and listening, I crossed the tracks and walked in to the diner. Mookie was behind the counter as usual talking to her brother Carl. She gave me a wave as I entered and shook off the night. As I sat down to the cup of mud Mookie poured me, two of LA's finest sat down on either side of me. Detective Sergeants LC and MC. Two old school types that had gotten there the hard way. LC crushed a butt in the ashtray and said, "We need to talk."

 

Chapter 3:

It was still raining as we stepped outside the diner. An old Alco stood idling on the nearby tracks. Randy and Ed, on the night trick, had stopped to fill up a thermos and grab a quick bite. Their night was halfway done, little did I know that mine was just beginning.

As we went around the corner, MC suddenly grabbed my arm and gave me a quick shot to the stomach. As I fell to my knees, LC grabbed my piece from my jacket and pointed it at me. He stood me back up. “Possession of a concealed firearm, hmmm.”

“I got a permit for that,” I gasped.

 
“Cinderdick, you’re out of your league here” LC snarled. “Your client is going to get you in something you can’t get out of.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. MC responded with another shot to the stomach.

LC stood me up against the wall. “ A friendly piece of advice here. Those boys are nothing but trouble…they’ve got a past you don’t want any part of…..theft of service, trespassing, reckless endangerment, bandwidth abuse……and the list goes on.”

 
“What’s it to you then?” I asked, anticipating another hit from MC, but LC waved him off.

“Mr VSmith is a good friend of Mayor Bergstrom and Chief Yuhas, how he got messed up with that Kissmy Caboose broad ain’t my affair but it ain’t gonna be any of yours either. I don’t think we need to discuss it any further. Saavy?”

 
“Yeah,” I said.

LC removed the clip from my gun, jacked the slide and handed it back to me. As they walked away, he turned and said, “ Cinderdick, my advice to you is to drop this broad and go back to peeping in windows and looking for lost dogs. Let this go. You don’t want the trouble.” He turned to MC and said, “Let’s get outta here.”

As they walked to the their car, I stood in the rain and trying to decide what to do. My inner voice said to let it go, but I just couldn’t.

 
Randy and Ed came out of the diner, headed back to their switcher, collars flipped up against the rain.

“You okay buddy?” Randy asked.

. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just fine.”

Chapter 4..........

I needed an drink, and some information. The rain refused to let up as I walked a couple of blocks to a bar where I knew I could get both.

 
Rick's was the place to go if you didn't want to be seen. Funny he owned a bar, but didn't touch the stuff. Something in his past, but then again, we all have a past. As I walked in, Andrew was playing a Cole Porter tune on the piano and Rick was behind the bar reading the paper. Andrew was a deaf, dumb and blind kid, but he sure could play a mean piano. He was Canadian, but had run off and joined every dammed fool adventure that came along, until he got hurt setting landmines in the Russo-Finnish War in '39.

"CInder" Rick called over, "What can I get you?"

"The usual." I replied.

 He brought over the scotch and glass.

 

 "What can you tell me about Vic Smith and a broad named Kissmy Caboose?" I asked.

"That you don't want anything to do with either." He replied. "VIc is a powerful man, one of the top Doggys in LA. He rubs elbows with Chief Yuhas, Mayor Bergstrom and Councilwoman Kube. Nothing gets done in this town without his hand in it. I heard he was in with the Borracho Hill boys. Back in Prohibition, he was running booze for them up from Tiajuana in boxes of Saltillo tiles using that little narrow gauge railroad he owns. Right around when the Mutt was......... He's kept out of the public eye the past few years. I hear he is into big on the level projects, but I can tell you he's still in with the Borracho Boys."

"Like what?" I asked, as took a long drag off a Lucky Strike and sipped my scotch.

"He's backing Walt Disney in some plan to build a big park down in Anaheim, complete with a castle and railroad, and he's involved in the freeway project to Santa Monica."

"Hmmm... interesting...  tell me about the lady." I said.

 
"She's no lady, that's for sure." Rick replied. "I know she came with her boys from Missouri after her first husband, some anti-railroad kook died. She worked at that joint down by the Union Station.....the Goat I think it's called… yeah the Green Goat. You know, the place owned by that Zardoz guy from Chicago. Strange guy,  always stays behind a curtain. Anyway, she danced there for awhile using the name Anna Nicole, until she shacked up with Smith"

 
"That's a pair...the widow stripper and the millionaire architect.... He could have any woman in LA... why her?" I asked.

"Smith has two vices as far as I know," Rick replied. "Sleazy women and narrow gauge railroads. He looks on both as projects... I guess she's his My Fair Lady. He took her and the boys in, cleaned 'em up and set em straight. Even got the boys working for him."

"Thanks Rick." I finished my drink and tossed some money on the bar. I put on my coat and stepped back into the rain. I needed to think. Smith, Kiss Mycaboose, the Borracho's, Disney and the Mutt. How did this all tie together....well it is a small world...after all.

Chapter 5..........

As I drove up to the Smith place in the hills above the city, I started to think about my old partner, Walt, the Locomutt. He and I had been partners back in the Post Office before the war. We worked our way up together from walking mail routes to Postal Inspector. We cracked a lot of cases together back in those days and spent a lot of hours in Railway Post Offices, which is how he got his nickname. We had been working a lead, possibly linking the Borracho crime family to a smuggling racket, using the US Mail to send booze and kitty porn up from Mexico. One day, Walt called me and said he had a lead in La Habra, and to meet him there. He didn’t make it. His car was T-boned by a mayonnaise tanker. The driver was never found, but that smell, hot mayonnaise in the sun….I haven’t been able to eat it since. I hit the bottle pretty heavy after that, and ended up losing my post office shield. I lost touch with his wife, but heard she moved to an Indian reservation in Arizona or New Mexico and started a casino or something. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

 
The Smith place at 22 Twain was a palace more than a house. Swimming pool, tennis courts and a lawn that was bigger than some eastern states. He sure liked his perks and his privacy too. A hired thug met me as I walked up the driveway. He must have been 6’ 8” or so.

“May I help you?” He asked gruffly, in a voice that suggested he hardly meant it.

 
“I’m here to see Kissmy Caboose. I believe she’s expecting me.” I replied as I tried to slip by. He grabbed the back of my jacket and started to pull me back.

 
“Listen buddy,” he started, but was cut off by a man’s voice from the side of the house.

“Tree! Let him go!” The man said. I hadn’t seen him before, but in an instant I knew it was Smith. He was a handsome man, dressed in a silk smoking jacket and perfectly pressed pants, holding a tall gin and tonic in one hand and a cigar in the other. Looking every bit the playboy millionaire. “Please allow me to apologize for Tree. He’s a bit protective. Come, let’s have a drink.”

The Tree let me go, but with a look that told me to mind myself or the next encounter wouldn’t be so friendly. I straightened my jacket as Smith led me around the side of the house and on to a large patio. There was a slight breeze and the fragrant smell of flowers filled the air.

“What can I offer you Mr. Cinderdick?” he asked. “A bit early for scotch, Gin or a Cuba Libre perhaps?”

“Nothing, thank you.” I replied, though my body was telling me otherwise.

 
“I’m sorry that my wife has brought you out here for nothing,” He said. “I just spoke with the boys this morning and they are fine. They have been doing some business for me in South America and have been out of contact with their mother for a while. Communications sometimes are not very reliable down there you know.” He added.

“What kind of business, if I may?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Recycling…Mr. Cinderdick, the wave of the future!” Smith exclaimed. The puzzled look I gave him confirmed my lack of understanding. “Okay let me put it this way. LA is the fastest growing area in the US. Soon with the Santa Monica Freeway, people will be flocking here to live in the suburbs and drive to work in minutes on a modern fast highway. Those people will be generating garbage faster than we can haul it away …and before long LA’s garbage will be going to San Diego. But if we can reuse it… the steel, the aluminum, even the plastics….think of it, Mr. Cinderdick!”

Thinking about it was starting to make my head hurt. “So Trainfinder and his brother are collecting cans?” I asked.

“Yes, bags of them and taking them to South America, where a company is melting them down. But I see the concept seems a bit foreign to you. Anyway, I must apologize for my wife’s foolishness, but sometimes she get a bit excited about things and flies off the handle. I can assure that the boys are alive and well and doing just fine” He handed me a check…..five hundred dollars. “I hope this covers your troubles and expenses, and I again apologize for the misunderstanding. Now if you will excuse me, I have a meeting to attend to shortly. Tree will show you to your car. Good day, Mr. Cinderdick.”

I walked back to the car with Tree following closely behind. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to….his eyes were burning holes in my back. Recycling...he was right what a bunch of garbage. That's was about the lamest story I'd ever heard. But it was also all I was going to get.

As I drove away from 22 Twain, I reached in the glove compartment to grab my pack of Lucky’s. There was a note tucked in the foil.

“MEET ME AT UNION STATION TONIGHT AT 8. KISS”

Chapter six……….

I had a few hours to kill before I had to meet Kissmy Caboose at Union Station. More than anything else, I needed to sort my thoughts, so I headed back to the cheap rat trap apartment that served as home. Home… .this place and I had fewer good ties than a Guilford mainline. I laid down for awhile and tried to sleep, but the event of the past day were swirling in my head like scenes from a bad movie… it was all a jumble…adding up like Enron accounting. So I got up, lit a Lucky and looked out the window…. and there they were. Detective Sergeants LC and MC sitting in a unmarked standard issue police sedan across the street. Nothing blends into a neighborhood more than two suits sitting in a black car with a radio antenna on the roof, drinking coffee in the afternoon. I needed this like I needed more calls asking me if I’m happy with my long distance carrier.

I backed away from the window and crushed out my cigarette. I quickly dug through the pile of clothes on the couch in corner and surprisingly found two things… a semi-clean shirt to wear, and a passed out Canadian guy with a nametag that said Kevin on it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it kind of smelled like he had recently tangled with a skunk. I got dressed and left a note for Kevin to lock up on his way out. Like I said, these apartments are cheap.

I headed down the fire escape at the back of the building. The alley was clear and I gave these guys the slip fast. I fired up the car and took a few turns to make sure I wasn’t being followed, then headed towards Union Station. …off like a prom dress with velcro straps. I didn't get far before I stopped as Ed and Randy’s old Alco passed in the street in front of me. We exchanged a friendly wave as they pushed four more of those white FEMA box cars into a warehouse. One of these nights at the diner I'm going to have to ask them about how they take care of those cars. I swear those flanges rubbing on the sides of the rails sound like muffled screams.

I got to Union Station a little after seven. I wanted to case the place to see if I was being set up, but everything appeared to be on the up and up. Seems like fewer and fewer folks are traveling by rails these days. I sure do like flying those TWA Super Connies but nothing beats the train for comfort. The City of Los Angeles was getting ready to pull out, so there was a furious bustle of activity as the porters were loading the last bags and passengers into the right cars. The conductor called “all aboard” one last time, and as the train started to move, he gracefully stepped aboard and leaned out the door.

From behind me, I heard a familiar voice “You look like you wish you were on that train.”

I turned to face her….”Lady, I’m probably going to wish I was”

Chapter Seven……..

“Have you eaten?” Kissmy asked, in a muted, sultry voice.

“I know a place we can go.” I replied.

We walked out of Union Station and into the night. Last night’s rain made the air thick and heavy. The moisture in the air created little halos around the street lamps that reminded me of that weird light Locomutt and I saw while working the RPO that night near Roswell. My mind drifted back to a better time, when Walt and I were hot on the trail of some illegal mass mailers trying to short the bulk rate….Then it started again....Walt lying there........that acrid smell of hot mayonnaise in the sun.........and that strange Belgian guy dipping his french fries in it......

“I’ll drive.” She said bringing me back to the here and now. “My car’s just around the corner.”

We got in her old Nash and started the engine. It coughed and sputtered like a forty-something year old man trying to keep up with a girl’s soccer team at practice. “I’d think with all your dough, your husband would give you something a little better to drive.” I offered up, as a seat cushion spring was trying to begin an un-natural relationship with me.

“Vic is down in Beverly Hills tonight at dinner with Bing Crosby and Beverly Sills. He took the Lincoln, so that left me with the Nash. I really don’t mind too much, I think the Lincoln’s an older person’s car. Don’t you? I still like to think I’m young.” She replied as we drove off.

We drove in silence. The way she drove, I understood why Vic didn't get her a new car. She certainly didn't need the distraction of conversation. She drove with one hand on her ear. I asked her why and she said Vic had told her that one day we'd all have phones in our cars, so she needed to start practicing to drive that way now. Phones in cars... that'll be the day...just like Smith and his what did he call it...recycling.....thing.

 
As we headed towards Long Beach, the flames from the refinery stacks danced across the horizon, like a line of Irish dancers on a stage,  the humidity accenting the eerie glow that covered the area. A black zebra striped Santa Fe Geep was working the refineries as we drove past, the tank cars forming a giant snake. Like a giant anaconda sliently moving towards some unsuspecting prey, the train moved slowly into the loading area.

 
“Right here.” I said pointing to a little restaurant a few blocks from the water.

“What’s this place?” She asked pulling the car into the half empty lot.

“Nora’s,” I replied. “It’s no Brown Derby, but it beats a sharp stick in the eye. And besides, I think we could a little privacy”

What a pair I thought to myself.... a broken down ex-postal inspector turned private eye and the widow of a former forum foamer flamer turned stripper turned millionaire socialite......It just doesn't get any stranger than this... but I've been wrong before...

Chapter Eight……..

“You’ve gotta lotta nerve coming here!” Nora spat at me as we walked in.

“It’s not what you think….she’s a client.” I gave her firmly, then feigning a more pleasant tone, “Now may I have the booth in the back corner” then a pause ”….please”

 
Nora grabbed two menus and led us to the back corner booth. The light was low, and soft music was playing in the background. The back booth allowed me to see the front door and anyone that might approach. Nora placed the menus on the table and asked if we wanted a drink. I went for a martini, extra dry, Kissmy ordered a Manhattan.

“Old girlfriend?” Kissmy asked.

 
“Ex-wife.” I replied. “We shacked up when I was working the RPOs, before I got my postal inspector shield. We were young and the railroad life was hard, she tried to hang on as long as she could, but eventually she had to let go. She’s young. Too young to give up. She’ll find the strength and give it another go again in time. Now let’s talk about you. I don’t want to take this case, and apparently I’m not the only one. Your husband’s got friends…. powerful friends that want me to stay away from you and this case. So you need to come clean and tell me why I need to help you. When I spoke with your husband this morning he said he’d just spoken to your boys...they were in South America working for him on some tin can project.”

“He’s lying.” She replied as Nora arrived with our drinks. She paused for a minute while we ordered our meal. Nora’s demeanor as she took our order reminded me of Sister Mary Theresa back in school, listening to the latest no-homework excuse. Once she left, Kissmy continued. “It’s all a lie.”

“I thought that recycling story was garbage,” I replied.

“No, that part is true. He really is trying to do something like that. I don’t understand it but he has the boys out collecting cans. But it’s not in South America. I think it’s in Mexico down by someplace called Enchilada. It’s where his little railroad used to go. The Borracho or something. It was a tiny little train. Terry_C and Trainfinder would take truck loads of cans down there. They were even talking about rebuilding the train line, over some old bike trail. South America...no....I haven't heard from them in three weeks or so and that's just not like them. At a minimum they pop in once a week, babbling about politics and trains and such”

"What do you mean?" I asked savoring my martini.

"I don't know. His eminence this, domain that, hobos becoming kings, manifestos....nonsense like that."

“And the part about Mexico, you mean Ensenada?” I asked as Nora arrived with our meals.

“The surfboard place?” Nora chimed in. “That’s Encinitas.”

“No the place in Mexico, south of Rosarito,” Kissmy responded.

“ENSENADA,” I proclaimed.

“Whatever.” Kissmy said as she started to eat.

Nora leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Did you hit a skunk?” Then left with a self-satisfied grin on her face.

I watched as Kissmy ate. She attacked her steak like a hobo on fresh roadkill. I grabbed my fork and knife as started to dig in myself…but stopped. My sirloin had a thin layer of ……Mayonnaise on it….

“NOOOORRRRA!”

Chapter Nine……

We finished dinner without talking too much more. Nora came back to the table a graciously wiped the mayonnaise off my steak with her apron. We said our good byes and I paid the bill. Once we were headed back to Union Station, I decided to tempt fate and have her talk while driving.

“So tell me about Vic’s association with the Borracho family. Rumor has it he’s got ties with them or at least used to. “

“I really don’t know what you mean. The Borracho, that was the little railroad he had.” She replied. But her expression betrayed her.

“If you want me to help you , you gotta level with me sister. You know what I mean, the mob, the Borracho Boys or whatever they’re called this chapter. I know he used to run booze up from Tiajuana, using his trains. Folks like that don’t just shake hands and walk away when it’s done. They’re like Pandrol clips, they’ll give a little but won’t let loose. What’s the deal?”

Silence. She continued a little further, but the pressure was getting to her. She pulled over to the side of the road, bringing the Nash to a stop on the muddy gravel. The Santa Fe Geep we saw earlier passed by with a little GE 44 tonner in tow. It was dark, but it looked like the GE’s engine might have caught fire earlier.

She was sobbing now and biting her lip. “Vic was laundering money for them. They needed someone like him to make the money clean, through investments and stuff. The freeway, the amusement park, the can stuff. I know he had my sons involved with it too…and that Mr Cinderdick is why I want you to get to the bottom of this.” She stopped for a moment and cried some more. The light from the refineries reflected off her tears like little mars lights. “They would meet at the Green Goat by the station. That’s how I met Vic in the first place. One thing’s for sure, they’ll kill us both if they find out we know. ”

I gave her my handkerchief and told her to clean herself up. I began to rub my brow, then it occurred to me…….my shirt really did smell like skunk. When she was done, we sat there for a little while and I tried to collect my thoughts, but she kept sniffling and sobbing and I didn’t mean to be callous but it was starting to get to me. “I thought you were done crying?” I asked.

“I am." she replied.

“Then stop sniffling.”

“It’s not me. The train crew over there is doing brake checks.”

“Oh......Sorry.”

We drove back in silence. Which was good. She pulled up to where I had parked my car and we got out. “So are you going to find my sons Mr Cinderdick?” she asked.

“I going to try” I replied. “I thin…….”

“Cinderdick! I warned you to steer clear of this!” I recognized the voice….Detective Sergeant LC. He and his partner MC stepped out of the shadows. “I warned you, but you just wouldn’t listen.”

MC stepped past me and grabbed Kissmy by the arm, raising her sleeve in doing so just enough to expose a red heart tattoo with “mom” on it. “Kissmy Caboose, you are under arrest for the murder of Victor Smith. Take her away!”

Two uniforms appeared out of no where and stuffed her in to a squad car. “Call Oliver Wann……He’s my attorney!” she said just before they closed the door. Tears were running down her face as they drove off.

“I suppose you can account for your whereabouts today, Cinderdick?” LC asked accusingly.

“Yeah..got witnesses too.” I shot back, thinking to myself… except one’s dead, one’s going to jail and one may or may not be in a coma on my couch.

“I warned you Cinderdick. I warned you. I advise you to stay in town in case we got some questions to ask you.”

“Yeah..you warned me all right.” But I had no intention of staying in town… or in the country. I think it might be time for a little trip south of the border.

 

Chapter 10…….

Mexico. I hadn’t been to Tijuana in years…...not since Walt’s batchelor party. The first southbound San Diegan wouldn’t be until the morning, which was good, because I had some things to take care of. So I headed back to the office to get in touch with Kissmy's attorney. When I got there, the door had been kicked in and the office ransacked. This always happens to me whenever a case starts with a client arriving at night in the rain. If I recall, that’s one of the main reasons I chose to set up shop in LA. 

I picked the phone up off the floor and got the operator on the line to get the number…Mikado exchange, number 482, but she said but she’d connect me this time. Oliver Bernard Wann, Esq’s answering service picked up. I told them it was urgent and they said they’d get him the message pronto. As I left the office, I put a note on the super’s door asking him to have the door fixed…..just add it to the rent.

I went back to the apartment, expecting to see the same there. But to my surprise the door was still locked….and the Canadian guy was still there. This time I checked for a pulse. Still alive. I gathered up my laundry, tossed it in a bag and went down to Naut Mi’s All Night Laundry and Accupuncture Clinic. I walked in and dropped the bag on the counter. The little oriental guy put down what he was reading, looked up at me and said “I do not understand this…….newstand on corner get Trains magazine before I do and I have two lear subscription!” ......I just shrugged my shoulders. 

“You Naut Mi?” I asked. 

“Of course, onry you can be you and onry me can be me” Then he started laughing hysterically. 

“Great,” I said. “I need laundry done and the only place open in LA is run by a train loving Chinese comedian.” 

“Not Chinese,” he said composing himself. “Talbanese…BIG difference.”

“Look, can I pick this up in a couple of hours?” I asked, my frustration beginning to show. 

“You come back ..two hour.”

I left the laundry and headed down to Central Booking downtown. I needed to see what was going on with my client before I left. When I arrived, it was busy.....Drunks, hookers, sailors on leave, rogue sycophants and a hobo or two…the usual. I asked the Sergeant at the desk where Kissmy Caboose was being held. He looked at his log, then told me she was in the holding tank on the women’s side. I wouldn’t be able to talk to her alone, but at least I could see her. She smiled and waved when she saw me. One of the guards came up and a yelled “Caboose, you got a phone call!” Kissmy got up and followed the guard out to the hallway and over to the phone on the wall. She held her hand over the phone, so I couldn’t tell what she was saying or who she was saying it to. I was hoping that it was Wann. It was, just before hanging up the phone, I could hear her say “I’ll see you in an hour. Help me O. B. Wann, you’re my only hope.” As she was led back in she tapped the top of her wrist and then held up one finger. I nodded..1 hour. I waved goodbye to her and headed out. I had a train to catch. 

I was almost out of the lockup, when I heard “Cinderdick!” from behind. This particular voice was becoming way too familiar. 

“Detective Sergeant, how are you? Beat anyone I know up tonight?” I asked sarcastically. 

“Not yet, but I still have half a shift to go.” LC retorted. “Here looking for new clients?”

“Don’t quit your day job LC. Okay what’s the scoop on Vic Smith?” I asked. 

“Your client whacked him on the back of the head and tied him to the rails of his 1” scale garden railroad and repeatedly ran him over until he looked like one of Mookie specials down at the diner”

“You think she did that?” I asked. 

“I think she had 10 million reasons in cash alone, not to mention quite a bit of choice real estate in Compton. Maybe she had some help. By the way, where were you today? I understand you paid the deceased gentleman a visit this morning” LC replied.

“He had all of his original parts when I left him. Ask his trusty bodyguard Tree. The rest of the day I was with my Canadian friend…but you should already know that, since you were tailing me.”

“That, buddy is the only reason why you’re not in there with her right now.”

As I turned to leave, LC added, “Tree’s gone. We can’t find him. Looks like your client’s out of friends”

On the way back to the apartment, I stopped to pickup my laundry. “Light on time, Mistle Cindeldick. Just rike Pennservania Lailroad. Standard Raundry of the Wold.” 

I have no idea what he said. 

Chapter 11……..

The San Diegan left right on time. It was a beautiful morning along Santa Fe’s coast line. As we passed through Camp Pendelton, I watched the Marines practicing their trade. Must have been some exercise going down, as they had ships and tanks everywhere. After the stop in Oceanside, the train seemed almost empty. The horse racing season had just started, and many of the passengers were headed to Del Mar to play the ponies. We pulled in to the Santa Fe station downtown. Across the bay I could see North Island Naval Air Station, with several carriers at the piers. 

Since I had arrived thirty years too early to take the trolley, it looked like a bus trip down to Tijuana and on from there or maybe a boat down to Rosarito. One of the porters directed me to a stand just outside the station. He told me to check there first, they specialized in travel to Mexico. 

“Jaimeshhferrocarrilesyaeroplanos,” the sign said. “First Class Travel Accomodations to Tijuana and beyond”. The guy behind the counter was feeding bits of bean burrito to his dog……like’s to live dangerously I thought to myself. “May I help you senor?” he asked. 

“I need to get down to Ensenada. Can you help me out?” I asked. 

“Si, senor. You can take the bus to Tijuana, then down to Rosarito and Ensenada, or there’s a boat captain I know who can take you straight down to Ensenada.” He replied. 

“Any trains?” I asked. 

“Si, but you have to go through San Ysidro and then down…It could take a day or two. If the Borracho line was still running it would be much shorter…and the drinks were free too. The bus will take most of the day. The boat would be faster. The captain and first mate are top notch. Normally they only do tours but today they are taking a rich couple, a movie star and a couple of others to Ensenada for the day. It will be leaving in three hours. 

“I’ll take the boat.” I said. 

I had a few hours to burn before we left. The boat was leaving from the ferry landing right across from the station, so I didn’t have far to go anyway. So I grabbed a sandwich and cup of coffee, and sat down with the paper. Page two had a nice byline about Vic Smith’s untimely demise. He had been a popular guy in San Diego, particularly with the sailors. His little railroad would run down to Tijuana serving free drinks to the passengers…and probably some of the crew members too given their safety record. 

Three men approached where I was sitting. The one in the middle looked like he’d had a rough night. “Cinderdick, I thought that was you..” One of them called. It was a bailbondsman I knew from LA, Joe Koh. 

“Hey, Joe. What brings you down here?,” I asked. 

“ Me an’ Matt… have you met my son Matt?  Matt this is Cinderdick.” We shook hands. “Me an’ Matt had to run down to Tijuana to pick this guy up. Tried to skip on us. Finally found him face down in a cathouse. We’re headed back on the next train. You workin or playin?” 

“Working. A missing persons… you know the drill. Care to sit down, have a cup of joe? 

“Thanks, but we’re gonna be boarding here in a minute and we want to make sure we get a good seat. Might be awhile here before our friend sees daylight again.” Joe said. 

Matt asked eyeing my plate, “ Mind if I have one of your fries?” 

“Help yourself son” I said. 

As Matt leaned over to grab one, the jumper saw an opportunity and made a break for it, knocking over tables, chairs and customers in the process. 

“Tiroch! Get Him Matt!” yelled Joe as they took off after him. Then he turned and said “Cinderdick..stay safe!” as he ran out the door. 

Tiroch didn’t get real far. He got about four steps past the curb before he became a hood ornament on one of those new GM busses that San Diego bought to replace the trolleys. Real shame…he would have made it ten more feet five years ago. Oh well. It was about time to head to the pier. 

Ensenada was waiting for me. 
 

Chapter 12

The boat ride to Ensenada was uneventful.  The passengers pretty much all kept to themselves.  There was a rich older couple and another lady that had airs about her.  She seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it.  The other passenger was a cutie.  A real down home, girl next door type from the mid-west.  We arrived in Ensenada and tied up at the pier.  The passengers got off to do some sightseeing in town, what little of it there was.  As I walked down the pier, a man in his late thirties probably came down the pier towards the boat.  The captain called him "professor" or something.  He must have been going to make the return trip to San Dog with them.  Professor...there didn't seem to be a whole lot to teach or learn in this sleepy little town.  In my experience, the best place I've found to learn anything was a bar, so I ducked into a local cantina, Murphy's Irish Pub.

Murphy's was small and dark.  A few customers sat at the table but the bar itself was empty.  As I sat down Murphy, I presume--the only guy in the bar with red hair--came over.  "What'll it be?" he asked.

"Scotch," I replied.

"Only Irish whiskey here," he said.

"Okay, Irish whiskey then."  As he poured I looked at the photos that adorned the bar.  Scenes from Old Ireland, group photos of men with guns and flags and one picture of a smiling blue locomotive.

"So how does a guy like Murphy end up in this sleepy little town?" I asked, taking a sip.

"My father came here in '21.  He was caught on the wrong side of the line and the wrong side of the law.  The Brits put a fairly hefty price on his head, so he decided it was time to move to warmer climes before he lost his," Murphy replied.  "Mexico used to be quite the haven for lost revolutionary souls back then."

"So what exactly did he do to earn the bounty on him?" I asked as I lit a Lucky, my curiosity piqued.

"Well, he and his brother blew up a railway roundhouse, destroying a little tank engine and two troublesome trucks.  Anyway, my mother is a Mexican national, so this is my home now.  Call me Ed, by the way.  So what brings you down here?  You don't seem to be the typical tourist or fisherman we normally get."

"I'm looking for a couple of fellas that might have been through here, Terry_C and Trainfinder22.  You heard of them?"

"Oh, yeah," he replied.  "Those two boys are nothing but trouble.  I've had to toss them outta here time and again.  They're not welcome here anymore."  Apparently this subject put the ire in his Irish.

"Would you know where they stay around here?"

"No...not here.  They only stop here in passing.  They go out to the old tannery about thirty miles to the east.  The one that the old Borracho line used to serve."  Then he added, "Come to think of it, I haven't seen them in a few weeks."

"Is there a way I can get out there?" I asked, sensing a challenge coming on.

"My brother-in-law over there is the town's cab driver," he said, pointing to a boy who couldn't have been over 19.  "Adriano, aqui, aqui."  He said something to the boy.

"He's your brother-in-law?" I asked, surprised.  "He's awful young looking."

"He's a good kid.  Married my wife's baby sister a few months ago.  She had a flat tire, he helped her fix it and it went from there.  That boy can fix anything with duct tape."  The boy walked over to the bar.  "Adriano, can you take Señor..."

"Cinderdick"

"Can you take Señor Cinderdick out to the old tannery?"

"Si...no problemo."

I paid Ed and thanked him for the information.  Adriano and I walked out to the street where his truck was parked.  A beat-up old Dodge power wagon, that had apparently been a Lehigh Valley Railroad work truck.  As I looked out to the water I could see the boat I came in on headed out to sea.  The wind had picked up and clouds were rolling in, really getting rough.  The tiny ship was really getting tossed.  Looks like they were in for a rough ride back.

As I tossed my bag in the back of the truck, Adriano said, "I can take you anywhere in Adriano's speedster."

And that's just what I was afraid of...

 

Chapter 13………..


Adriano and I left Ensenada and headed east. The road was unpaved and full of holes and the going pretty rough. Pretty rough….I had no idea a man’s kidneys had so much room to move inside. I have a pretty good idea now what a martini feels like as it’s shaken. But at least I knew I was on the right road. Empty cans and bottles littered the roadside…Terry and TF had been this way. 

We arrived at the old tannery and pulled into the middle of a big dirt lot. Large piles of cans and bottles, apparently sorted by type and color stood out in the sun. The tannery building themselves were old, weather beaten wood and metal warehouse type buildings that appeared to have been abandoned for some time. I told Adriano to stay with the truck and keep his eyes out for trouble. 

I walked around, and there had been signs of recent activity. Tire tracks and footprints went all over. As I approached one of the warehouses I noticed something strange. The tops of the rails on the railroad tracks were shiny from recent use and were much too wide to be a little narrow gauge railway…these were standard gauge tracks. I followed the tracks to the largest of the building where they went inside. There were no windows on the doors that enclosed the tracks, so I walked around trying all the doors, until I found one that wasn’t locked. Once inside I couldn’t believe what I saw. All sorts of heavy machinery, overhead cranes and tools. On one track stood the strangest locomotive I had seen. It was a diesel, but not like the little Geeps or sleek E units that hauled the San Diegan. This was bigger and sat on six axles. It was boxy and a low nose at the front. It was painted white and red with a ….Russian Star on it…I found a table with a some blue prints on it….Electromotive Division SD/SDL-39….Soviet Duty 3900 Horsepower Six Axle Locomotive….What the heck I thought …that’s the equivalent of three or four Geeps. 

At the other end of the building stood a huge steam locomotive. One of those big Norfolk and Western types with a lot of drivers. It had no smokestack and a ton of extra pipes. There was an enormous metal box with “AEC” painted on it and large metal pipes running from it to the locomotive. Sitting next to it was one of those white FEMA box cars I had seen in LA. 

Suddenly, I heard voices at the other end of the building. I quietly skirted along the edges, keeping low and out of sight, making my way to where I entered. I didn’t know what was going on here, but there was much more to it that recycling. As I got closer to the door, it became apparent that my escape route was blocked. I ducked down behind some boxes and waited. 

Two men slowly walked by and spoke in what sounded like Australian accents. 

“That’s a shame about Mr. Smith.” One said

“I know what you mean,” said the other. “But you know Koz, Mr. Harrier must have had his reasons. Hey give me a hand with this.”

I tried to get a better look at what was going on, but I didn’t see the battery powered monkey with the brass cymbals on the top of the box, until it was too late. It sprung to life and began noisily clapping like a two year old who’s discovered a cabinet of pots and pans. 

“Hey. What the bloody hell is going on?” Yelled the one called Koz. He saw me make for the door and shouted, “Stop him Peter!”

I got out the door, but not real far. Adriano was standing in front of me pointing a tommy gun. “That’s far enough Mr. Cinderdick.” He said in perfect English. 

There was a sharp pain at the back of my head. 

And the lights went out. 


Chapter 14………


I awoke in a hospital room. The room was a pale yellow, like a sun faded CNW locomotive. My head was throbbing and I couldn’t seem to move my arms. I could hear voices outside the room. The door opened and two men in white doctors coats stepped in and grabbed the chart from the end of my bed. 

“I appreciate you coming all this way Dr Hemphill.” One of the men said to the other. 

“So what is the history on this guy?” Dr Hemphill asked.

“He was found in a boxcar, unconscious. Suffering from mild hypothermia and carbon monoxide poisoning from a small fire of Styrofoam cups he apparently set to keep warm. He’s been in and out of consciousness, but hasn’t been lucid. He’s still listed as a John Doe, but we’ve been able to establish several personalities that seem to come and go. He has called himself Trainfinder, Terry, Kissmycaboose and cinderdick. Probably a few others too, but those are the documented ones. He has not been responding to the normal clinical medications, and continues in periods of paranoia and delusional ravings…….”


The End.

[tree68]

One would have to do some serious rooting through the forum to find the original thread.  There is the outside chance I collected the entire series into one file, but I'll have to do some serious rooting through my computer to find it...

[samfp1943]

Chad x Thomas

As long as were digging up antique threads from the past, does anybody have a Link to Dan Harmon's classic Detective cinder dick post?

At one point in time there was a "Troublemaker", par excelence called himself "Cinderdick"  .... It was at, or during the time that Norris " Murphy Siding" was riding herd on a bunch of generally, rowdy, Posters around here;     I can't quite pull out the exact time that was(?) ,right now( Sheesh- old age?)  You might get our Canadian Poster " Selector"  to comment?  He was also a 'monitor'  around that same time(?)  

All that, seemed to culmanate about the same time Klambake brought in one of their M. R. 'monitors'... For awhile, he wanted to treat all Posters on this Forum  like Juvenile Delinquents, who were being 'bad' for their teacher's.   As I recall he got really quiet, and he, along with his string of threats  seemed to disapear? 

The 'Good ole Days', not necessarily, but definitely part of 'the learning process.

[Chad x Thomas]

As long as were digging up antique threads from the past, does anybody have a Link to Dan Harmon's classic Detective cinder dick post?