Hortense and Manny - Part Two - A Craven Danger Mystery

Craven Danger flipped the switch on his intercom.

“I know I’m no brainiac, Betty,  but--”

“And no one’s ever gonna accuse ya, neither, Mr. Danger. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Can I get a word in?”

“Sure. I didn’t mean ta hog ya self-annihilatin’.”

“I think you mean self-analyzin’.”

“That too, Dr. Danger. Go on.”

“What I was gonna say is,  I don’t think that Hortense dame likes me either.”

“Oh?”

“Like I told you this morning, I went to track her down and find out why her boss Manny Moreso is so hard to chum up to.  I mean, after all, we’re brothers in arms almost. Him a private dick. Me a private dick. He’s got a secretary. I got a secretary.”

“Ya gotta what?”

“A secretary.”

“And what does this secretary of yours do?”

“You know. She types her bosses important stuff.”

“This secretary of yours. She have a typewriter?”

“Not exactly, but soon.”

“What else does she do?”

“She takes dictation.”

“Have you ever dictatin’ anything besides yer lunch? Pastrami on on rye with sauerkraut and a raw onion?”

“Ah, c’mon, Betty. Ya know business ain’t been so good lately. And a fella’s gotta eat.”

“What else in the secretarial department?”

“Ah! I know this one! She answers the phone!”

“Bingo, Mr. Danger. Ya gettin’ good at this. And who’s the last one ta call your secretary.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. And the time before that?”

“Me, again.”

“And before that?”

“Ah, c’mon, Betty. I was just makin’ sure the phone was working. I still say the phone company is in cahoots with Manny Moreso to block all my potential private detectin’ work!”

“As long as we’re on the same page, Mr. Danger, and ya fully understand exactly what it is this secretary of yours has to put up with, ya may continue with your story.”

“What I was sayin’ was,  I wait for Hortense outside her apartment building on 86th street, but I get distracted by a pretzel vendor who runs over my foot with his pretzel cart. 'Ow!’ I says. 'That didn’t tickle!’ 'It wasn’‘t supposed to,’  he says. 'So ya shouldn't be  standin' on another guys spot! I'm out here tryin; to make a livin',' ya vagrant!’  'Oh, yeah!' I says. But I didn’t have a good comeback to toss in his puss. Right then I get a whiff  a them hot pretzel’s with the salt piled on and it gets to me like they did when I was a kid and had all those long Coney Island summers. So I says, give me one with mustard and hold the wise cracks. In the meantime the pretzel hawker lets out with a wolf-whistle and I turn to take a look at the prospect he’s whistlin’ at. It was Hortense! But by this time she’s halfway down the street. Since I know it ain’t polite to eat and run, I wait till I finish my pretzel and give chase. As I’m huffin’ and puffin’ down 86th street I regurgitate on a piece of the pretzel that didn’t go down so good, so I spit it out. Only there was a wind comin’ my way and splat! Right in my own kisser! When I wipe the mess outta my eye I lose site of Hortense, so I run into the automat to clean up proper. And wouldn’t ya know I’d end up havin’ one a the best lunches ever. All in a days work, Betty.”

“So ya never caught up with Hortense?”

“Well, by that time, I figured I was on my lunch break. Like I always say--”

“Yeah, I know, ‘A fellas gotta eat.’ And ya wonder why we ain’t takin' in any business.”

“Whaddaya tryin’ ta say, Betty?”

“It’s like my ma used ta say about tryin’ ta feed all us kids, Mr. Danger. ‘Somtimes ya just gotta throw everything ya got inta the soup.’”

“Ah, stop it, Betty. Ya makin’ me hungry. Speakin’ a food how about a pastrami on rye with sauerkraut? Hold the raw onion this time. Betty? You still there? Betty? Ah, c’mon! Was it somethin' I said? Betty?”

 
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