Craven Gets Flashed 28

The pounding door caused Dwayne Dobbins to drop his knife and fork. “Do you suppose doors ever pound on their own?” he said.

“What sort of question is that?” said Freddie Moynihan. “Of course doors don’t pound on their own. Now finish your steak and eggs and ignore the door. Much like a pounding heart, doors do eventually stop pounding if you ignore them long enough.”

“What about a rattling doorknob?” said Dwayne. “Seems to me that doorknob has something important it wants to say and it’s trying to get our attention before the rattler chokes it to death.”

“You’re letting your youthful imagination get the best of you, Dwayne. If whatever’s behind that door is important enough it’ll wait until we’ve finished eating our supper. More coffee?”

“Freddie Moynihan! Open this damn door before I kick it down your throat!”

“It’s Sgt. Dowd,” said Dwayne. “You’ve been so swell to me here, I’d  forgotten about him. Should I let him in?”

“Not until he’s calmed down. I don’t need him foaming at the mouth on my clean floor.”

“You do keep a clean floor, Mr. Moynihan. Why the whole place sparkles and shines like something out of a Sears catalog; Ma’s favorite toilet necessity. And it’s the first time I supped with a fork that didn’t taste like something I ate last week.”

“Well, flip my wig if that ain’t a fine compliment. And no one says you have to go off with Sgt. Dowd. You can stay here with me. I need help in the shop and you need a quiet place to work on your stories. Besides, who’s going cook you blueberry pancakes and bacon in the morning? Not Dowd. And from what you tell me you don’t even get that from your own mother.”

“Oh, Ma’s a good enough soul all right. She just has her quirks. And her quirks never add up to a tidy flat with crisp clean sheets and the ever-present smell of a fine cooked meal hovering in the air like a walk in the park before a murderous thug sneaks up behind and clips you one with his black jack.”

“We need to work on your similes, Dwayne.”

“My what?”

“We’ll talk later. Right now I need to show your sleeping quarters in the attic. It’s my quiet place. Now it’s yours. There’s a big old dictionary up there. That’s yours as well.”

“What about the door? It’s starting to crack under the strain.”

“Never mind the door, Dwayne. Let’s go. I want to introduce you to my sarcophagus. You’re going to love it.”

“Your what?”

***

“Hey, Moynihan! Open this damn door!” said Sgt. Dowd.

“Perhaps I can assist in the matter,” said Kenny. “In the Case of the Missing Master’s Key I was quite efficient in my attempt at unleashing a stubborn bolt from the security of its elongated slot in the jamb.”

“What are you babbling about, Kenny,” said Craven. “There was never such a case. Get your Homes straight or hand in that cape and hat. And Holmes never wore ladies boots neither. You look down right silly." 

““They’re vintage athletic shoes worn by the likes of Queen Victoria herself. I can feel her presence in every sleuthing step.”

“If you’re saying you walk like an old lady in a steel girdle, I won’t argue.”

“You insult the queen, you insult me, sir! Fisticuffs or pistols! Which shall it be?”

“Oh, knock it off you two,” said Jenny. “Ain’t nothing I can’t get open with a hair pin. I’m sick of you bunch. From now on I’m going solo. Hold my camera. I’m going in!”