Smelly Shorts - A Craven Danger Mystery

Craven Danger sat at his desk and pressed the button on his intercom.

“Betty?” said Craven.

“Yes, Mr. Danger?” said his secretary.

“Where’s my bottle of scotch?”

“I ain’t sayin’,” said Betty.

“I only want to have a look at it," said the detective. “I won’t touch it. Honest.”

“You told me to never let you near the stuff.” said Betty. “Unless you were laid out flat and about to croak.”

When Betty heard the gunshot from the next room she jumped two feet. Her hair jumped even further. Coming to rest on the coat rack standing outside Craven Danger’s office door.

“Mr. Danger?” said Betty over the intercom. “I know all your tricks and it ain’t gonna work.”

She now imagined her boss fetching his bottle of ketchup from the desk drawer and slathering his dress shirt and tie with its contents and placing himself on the floor like a man waiting to meet his maker.

“I’m on to ya, Mr. Danger,” said Betty. “So give it up already. Ya ain’t gettin’ any scotch outta me!”

When a few minutes went by and still no word from the detective, she got up from her chair.

“Don’t make me come in there, Mr. Danger,” said Betty. “Or you’ll be wearin’ that bottle over your noggin’!”

When she still heard no word, she approached his office door and pressed her ear to the cool frosted glass.

“C’mon, Mr. Danger,” said Betty. “Now ya scarin’ me.”

Finally having had enough of the detective and his foolishness, Betty turned the wooden door knob and entered Craven Danger’s office.

“All right,” said Betty, "where ya hidin’, ya big lug?”

The detective was not at his desk. Nor was was he hiding in the closet or the toilet. She even lifted the cushioned lid of the window seat.

Nothing.

Not until she lifted her head and looked out the window did she have a clue to his whereabouts. There, sitting on the protruding flag pole, with his back to the window, sat detective Craven Danger.

“What the hell are you doing out there, Mr. Craven!” said Betty. “Your gonna get yourself killed!”

“I’m getting my shorts!” said Craven.

“What in hell are they doin’ out there on the flag pole?” said Betty.

“They were smelly!” he said. “So I washed them in the sink and hung them out to dry!

“I was sitting at the desk trying to hustle you out of a drink, when I noticed this pigeon happen by and land on the flag pole. Then he starts pecking at my shorts. Apparently, his brothers and sisters wanted in on the action, because suddenly I got a flock of dirty birds having there way with my boxers. Well, I say to myself, this ain’t cuttin’ the mustard. So, out comes my .38 and bang!

“Well, those pigeons just scattered like their hair was on fire! But now I notice that I'm in danger of losing my shorts. Because now they’re on the other end of the flag Pole!

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t mind. But business ain’t been so good, Betty, and I ain’t got but the one pair. Right now I’m hangin’ looser than a hangman’s noose! And believe me, it ain’t doin’ the noose any good!"

After promising to get her boss some new underwear from her private slosh fund, Craven Danger inched his way backwards, and Betty helped pull him back in through the window.

“What slosh fund?” said Craven.

"Every time you don’t get sloshed,” said Betty, “I put whatever I figure you woulda spent on booze into my slosh fund account at the bank.

“I knew I hired you for a reason, honey,” said Craven. “Now, how about that drink?”