Craven Gets Flashed 29

Jenny jimmied her way into Mr. Moynahan’s Village Oddities shop. The rest of the crew followed.

“Would you look at this place,” said Craven. “It’s a mess.”

“Oh, contraire,” said Kenny. “It’s as though the twentieth century had wandered back in time and found its true calling; all the while scratching its head as to why it left in the first place.”

“You’re off your medication, Kenny,” said Craven. “I see a flat that wants to be a junk shop. Then I see a junk shop that wants to be a flat. It’s hurting my eyes a little.”

“That’s because your wee brain cannot comprehend radical change, Mr. Danger. It’s firmly entrenched in a world of Coney Island hot dogs and cotton candy. Should they ever time-capsule the thing, future scientists will be amazed that a cerebrum the size of a child’s marble could have ever summoned enough power to roll you out of bed each morning.”

“Hey, at least my marble’s where it belongs and not rolling around in a tin can at the Woolworth’s lost-and-found!”

“That’s enough, you two!” said Sergeant Dowd. “I don’t know where Moynihan is at the moment, but I do know that’s my carousel pony in the corner. If you each take a leg we’ll be on our way. Follow me.”

“Would you look at all these old cameras,” said Jenny. “I think I’m in love again. Is Moynihan married?”

“He’s a widower,” said Dowd. “Just grab a leg and we’re gone.”

“Smells so homey in here. Makes a girl want to cuddle by the fire and wonder why she ever had doubts about the world in the first place. And is that a Charles Harrison globe lens portrait camera and tripod!”

“Looks like it.” said Dowd. “But we’re here for the pony.”

“Matthew Brady used a Charles Harrison portrait camera like this in his studio. You don’t suppose . . .”

“Anything’s possible, Jenny. Even lugging a carousel pony down a flight of stairs. Now, lets’s go. Craven! Kenny! Get your noses out of Moynihan’s kitchen! We’re wasting time!”

“The man keeps tins of kippers in the cupboard! Dozens!” said Kenny “The same kippers my wife insists I eat on the fire escape. The smell having proved a bitter rival to her insufferable come-hither-to-the-love-lair scented candles. Perhaps this Moynihan has a room to let, and some tins to spare. Yes?”

“No! Now grab a leg!”

“And you just gotta taste this steak and eggs, sarge,” said Craven. “It tastes like it’s been pan-fried with crushed peppercorns and just a hint of red wine. And the scrambled eggs are smooth and creamy, not like the yellow shoe leather you get at the Coffee Shop on the Corner. And it’s still warm, too. They can’t have gone far.”

“Okay, Papa Bear, if you say so. I say get your nose out of someone’s half-eaten supper and follow me. You all need to stop salivating over this man. He’s a thief, and he stole my pony. And if you bunch don’t pull together and help me get it in the paddy wagon I’ll run you all in for running around town playing detective without a license!”

“Hey, I got a license,” said Craven.

“Your license expired when the dean of the Waterloo School of Criminal Detection was busted for running his detective school from his prison cell in Sing Sing. You can ask for your money back when he gets out after doing ten to twenty. Then maybe you two can start your own school: The Waterloo School of Where I Went Wrong. Only the Shiftless need apply. You’ll make a fortune in a town like this.”

“What! I’m not a legit detective?”

“Congratulations! You solved your first case. Now grab a leg.”

“Where do you suppose Moynihan is at the moment?” said Jenny. “I’ve got questions.”

“That does it! You can all go jump in Moynihan’s collection of shrunken heads for all I care. I’m done with you bunch! I’ll do it myself if it kills me!”

***

“Can I get you ladies anything else?”

“How about something interesting for us to talk about,” said Betty.

“Pardon?”

“Mildred and me have been sitting here for two hours wetting our luscious lips on vodka martinis, and the only interesting thing that’s come into this place so far has recently been dragged out by the scruff of his sweaty neck and tossed to the wolves to be chewed up and eventually spat out into the arms of his ever faithful companion. Me. Then there’s that bartender who was supposed to introduce me and my song. What happened?”

“Sorry, Miss. Technical difficulties. Last nigh some first-timer threw up his nerves on the microphone. The barkeep’s gone to fetch the megaphone.”

“Megaphone? Well, at least I'll have something to catch tomatoes with. As for now? Another pitcher of martinis it is. And a bowl of olives. We’re getting peckish. And when you come back, walk in backwards. It’s your best feature.”

“Good call,” said Mildred. “And, by the way, why didn’t you go after Craven when he got tossed out of here?”

“Like I said before, in the end he always gets dropped in my lap. Craven’s like a stain you didn’t know was there. Then suddenly, there it is. A big blotchy mess all over my favorite dress.”

Photo courtesy of Wiki Commons:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?search=wooden+camera&title=Spe...