"The Devil's Dummy"
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dochermes"The Devil's Dummy"
2/26/1935
I.
Wrapping his scarf more tightly around his lower face, Jack Denver quickened his pace down the deserted dark streets. The double life of a mystery Man was for the birds. As tired as he was, he knew there was no hope of getting any sleep until he went where the Cat's-Claw was tugging him. It seemed clearer every day that he hadn't found the mysterious talisman, it had found him.
After a few more minutes, he realized he had to turn right onto East 18th Street. It would have been difficult to put into words how the Cat's-Claw hanging from his neck was pulling at him in the direction it wanted him to go. To Denver, there was a great discomfort, a physical ache, that eased up when he complied.
Absolutely no one was in sight on this heartless winter night. At a corner streetcars, he tugged up his coat sleeve to check his watch. Three-forty AM! Once the restless nervous energy from the talon left his body, he was going to useless the next day.
___________
Between his legs, a ropy tail whipped back and forth furiously.
"Let me guess," sang out Little Nick in that infuriating nasal voice, "As I sort of live and don't breathe, you seem to be that Lion Man the papers speculate about."
The great beast opened his muzzle and said quite clearly, "Duff Grady. I used to like your show."
"You can TALK? Really?"
"I want some answers now," rumbled the Lion Man, stalking closer.
"You won't get them!" laughed the Dummy.
"Not from you." The weird beast ignored Little Nick and bent over the old man tied to the chair. "I won't sugarcoat it, Grady, you don't have long. Talk. Go out with a clear conscience."
As the black and white patrol cars screeched to a halt at a rather crooked angle against the curb, Denver stowed the rubber mask away in the lining of his suit jacket. Logically, he knew he would be better off wearing a plain cloth mask which would be thinner and easier to hide but he couldn't help being a little flamboyant. Denver felt a strong irrational urge to make some kind of costume for the Lion Man like heroes wore on the covers of those pulp magazines."
Two uniformed cops got out. Acting excited and out of breath, Denver ran up to them and waved his press card. "I'm from the MESSENGER, boys, what's the scoop? What were those shots?"
The older officer fixed a sour gaze on him. "Out walking at four in the morning, are you?"
"Recovering from a romance that went sour," Denver replied blithely. "Here's my credentials, now how about some juicy details?"
"Stow it! Settle down until after we go check it out." The officer was an older italian man with a heavy five o'clock shadow and dark circles under his eyes. "Frank, you ready?"
Frustrated and unhappy, Jack Denver watched the broad blue backs go through the door. His hat was still up there. He had always been careful to remove any possible clues from his clothing, whether laundry marks or matchbooks or scraps of paper. Everything he wore when going out on a possible Lion Man case was second hand and anonymous. This just meant he was out one perfectly good hat.
Against the drawn curtains of the window above, black silhouettes moved and he could hear their voices but not make out any words. Suddenly Denver wondered what the cops would make of that man's story. The guy had witnessed the horrifying Lion Man and had seen a ventriloquist dummy walking around by himself. The cops were no doubt rolling their eyes and tapping their own temples to indicate their opinion of the man's mental state.
Denver suddenly realized he was exhausted. The adrenalin driving him had burned out. He became aware of the freezing night air a, but he had to stay here and maybe snatch an exclusive story for the MESSENGER. A reporter's life was not an easy one. What a night. He couldn't escape the memory of that Dummy moving around. It hadn't been a midget with a mask, he was sure of that much, but it hadn't seemed to be anything living either. And what was Duff Grady's story? Why had those mugs been pounding on that man up there. Denver shot out a cuff and checked his watch, finding it was four-twenty AM. He shrugged. Being a mystery man was not as glamorous as the pulp magazines made it seem.
10/8/2000
2/26/1935
I.
Wrapping his scarf more tightly around his lower face, Jack Denver quickened his pace down the deserted dark streets. The double life of a mystery Man was for the birds. As tired as he was, he knew there was no hope of getting any sleep until he went where the Cat's-Claw was tugging him. It seemed clearer every day that he hadn't found the mysterious talisman, it had found him.
After a few more minutes, he realized he had to turn right onto East 18th Street. It would have been difficult to put into words how the Cat's-Claw hanging from his neck was pulling at him in the direction it wanted him to go. To Denver, there was a great discomfort, a physical ache, that eased up when he complied.
Absolutely no one was in sight on this heartless winter night. At a corner streetcars, he tugged up his coat sleeve to check his watch. Three-forty AM! Once the restless nervous energy from the talon left his body, he was going to useless the next day.
___________
Between his legs, a ropy tail whipped back and forth furiously.
"Let me guess," sang out Little Nick in that infuriating nasal voice, "As I sort of live and don't breathe, you seem to be that Lion Man the papers speculate about."
The great beast opened his muzzle and said quite clearly, "Duff Grady. I used to like your show."
"You can TALK? Really?"
"I want some answers now," rumbled the Lion Man, stalking closer.
"You won't get them!" laughed the Dummy.
"Not from you." The weird beast ignored Little Nick and bent over the old man tied to the chair. "I won't sugarcoat it, Grady, you don't have long. Talk. Go out with a clear conscience."
As the black and white patrol cars screeched to a halt at a rather crooked angle against the curb, Denver stowed the rubber mask away in the lining of his suit jacket. Logically, he knew he would be better off wearing a plain cloth mask which would be thinner and easier to hide but he couldn't help being a little flamboyant. Denver felt a strong irrational urge to make some kind of costume for the Lion Man like heroes wore on the covers of those pulp magazines."
Two uniformed cops got out. Acting excited and out of breath, Denver ran up to them and waved his press card. "I'm from the MESSENGER, boys, what's the scoop? What were those shots?"
The older officer fixed a sour gaze on him. "Out walking at four in the morning, are you?"
"Recovering from a romance that went sour," Denver replied blithely. "Here's my credentials, now how about some juicy details?"
"Stow it! Settle down until after we go check it out." The officer was an older italian man with a heavy five o'clock shadow and dark circles under his eyes. "Frank, you ready?"
Frustrated and unhappy, Jack Denver watched the broad blue backs go through the door. His hat was still up there. He had always been careful to remove any possible clues from his clothing, whether laundry marks or matchbooks or scraps of paper. Everything he wore when going out on a possible Lion Man case was second hand and anonymous. This just meant he was out one perfectly good hat.
Against the drawn curtains of the window above, black silhouettes moved and he could hear their voices but not make out any words. Suddenly Denver wondered what the cops would make of that man's story. The guy had witnessed the horrifying Lion Man and had seen a ventriloquist dummy walking around by himself. The cops were no doubt rolling their eyes and tapping their own temples to indicate their opinion of the man's mental state.
Denver suddenly realized he was exhausted. The adrenalin driving him had burned out. He became aware of the freezing night air a, but he had to stay here and maybe snatch an exclusive story for the MESSENGER. A reporter's life was not an easy one. What a night. He couldn't escape the memory of that Dummy moving around. It hadn't been a midget with a mask, he was sure of that much, but it hadn't seemed to be anything living either. And what was Duff Grady's story? Why had those mugs been pounding on that man up there. Denver shot out a cuff and checked his watch, finding it was four-twenty AM. He shrugged. Being a mystery man was not as glamorous as the pulp magazines made it seem.
10/8/2000
