The Fat Man_ A Tale of North Pole Noir - Ken Harmon [29]
Sincerely,
A Friend
The note was written with a typewriter and could have come from anybody. The P.O. Box was an address in Whoville. “Did you see anybody when you delivered the gun?” I asked Ralphie.
“I didn’t go at first,” he said. “As much as I want to grow up, I didn’t want anyone to have my Red Ryder. I worked hard for it.”
“What changed your mind?”
Ralphie pulled out a second scrap of paper and handed it to me.
Dear Ralphie,
Since you failed to deliver the Red Ryder to me, I am forced to resort to baser tactics. Ralphie, deliver the Red Ryder to me tomorrow—-I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU!
Now that was an offer Ralphie couldn’t refuse. “I took it this morning,” Ralphie said. “Someone left Red Ryder on the porch a few hours ago. I never saw who.”
I scrambled to try and put the millions of puzzle pieces in my mind together, but I couldn’t find a single match. The only thing I had to go on was that the Red Ryder was delivered to Whoville, a burg of Kringle Town that asks more questions than it answers, so folks don’t tend to go there unless they absolutely have to. Still, I had to find out who was behind all of this.
Or which Who.
I got all the details about Ralphie’s trip to Whoville and I slipped the notes in my pocket. “Now, Ralphie, remember this,” I said. “You never saw me; we never talked. Until I figure out a few things, you keep your trap shut and don’t tell anyone about someone borrowing Red Ryder.”
“But,” Ralphie said, looking scared. I imagine the kid didn’t want to have to lie anymore.
“No buts,” I said, cutting him off. “You can’t talk. I triple dog dare you.”
I headed for Whoville in a hurry, though I was dreading it. I don’t like the town. They got their own way of running things and if you don’t play by their rules, you stick out in Whoville like I don’t know what. You’ll see. But I didn’t have a choice. My trail would stay cold a few minutes more, but then Bert, Cane and the mob would be hot on my trail quicker than a dime store Santa in a greased chimney.
CHAPTER 12
Seasick Crocodile
Every Who
Down in Whoville
Liked mysteries a lot
They liked Whodunits
With puzzles and riddles,
Cases with knots in the plot.
A Who brain could help me. Find who
borrowed the gun.
A Who’d study the clues, think it was fun.
It could be the killer’s head wasn’t
screwed on quite right.
It could be, perhaps, it just wasn’t my night.
I had to find for whom I was taking the fall.
Else, I’d get fitted for a noose, two sizes too small.
But,
Ukulele Who,
Known as U. Who,
Was an old friend and he’d know what to do.
He had eyes in the alleys, ears to the ground.
If crime stank just a little, he had the nose of a hound.
So I snuck to his door, gave it a rap,
Looking over my shoulder, hoping it wasn’t a trap.
“Gumdrop, you’ve got some nerve,” U. Who said.
“You’re hot as a pepper! Could get us all dead!”
“Then you know the lowdown on the rifle,” I begged.
“Tell me what you know, friend, then I promise I’ll leg.”
“Someone rented a Who mailbox.
They got Ralphie’s Red Ryder.
They’re spinning a web
And I want the spider!”
U. Who thought
Hard about what I asked.
Then he kicked the door. “Blast!”
He shouted and steamed. “Blast, blast, blast, blast!”
U. Who said, “Lou Who gave his box to
Some femme fatale.
Lou Who got to first base, but now don’t feel so well.
What she did to him, she should be ashamed!
Lou’s in a sugar coma from too much candy cane!”
I wanted to cry, but it wasn’t my style.
I felt worse than a seasick crocodile.
It was one thing for Cane to want me dead,
But was he getting help