number, please

 

 

 

 

My name is Dooley Atchabotchacoolie.

I m going to die very shortly. Precious little time is left. I want to tell all so my innocence will be known to all.

Sebastian Villalobos was the one who stole the formula. He wrote it on a plain piece of paper. To carry it safely into the airport, he slid it into Hortense Knobloch’s handbag. Hortense was to deliver the formula to me, and I would deliver it to The Fat Man. Only, it wasn’t Hortense’s handbag. It was a lookalike owned by Andrea Armature. I happened to be walking by when Andrea found the paper.

Pasquale Pinuzzi saw her and reported her to the Fat Man.

“Is this yours?” she asked me.

“Yes it is,” I responded, “I have a little known disease that sometimes compels me to drop bits of paper into women’s handbags.”

She took out the paper and placed it into my hand.

Unfortunately, at that moment, my fiancée, Carolyn Lovingale, also walked by.

She gave it the fish eye, and waited till we returned to my hotel room for sponge cake and assorted light refreshments.

I had thrown my jacket on the sofa, the one with those gawdy paisley designs. When I stepped out of the room, she went through my jacket pocket.

She pulled out the slip. Reading it quickly, Carolyn thought it was Andrea’s phone number. She pulled a piece of paper from her handbag and jotted down the number with lipstick.

The phone rang.

I told Carolyn I’d take it in the other room.

It was Candy Badandy, the go-between that worked for Sebastian.

“Have you got the formula?” she asked

“Coitinly,” I answered.

I did not know at that point Carolyn picked up the phone in the living room to eavesdrop.

“Well, this is Candy. How many people do I have to go through to get to you? There’s Hortense, Andrea…”

Carolyn slammed down the receiver. She shouted, “That three-timer! All men are beasts!”

I tried to calm Carolyn down but she stormed out.

It’s not easy being a Secret Agent, third class.

When she was back in her own apartment, Carolyn dialed the number she had copied.

Candy answered in her sweet little voice.

“Listen, you minx!” yelled Carolyn, “I want you to stay away from my man!”

“Well of all the noive!” said Carolyn, “I’m putting you on with the Fat Man!”

“So that’s the game! You and the others are making time with my man and you got a guy of your own!”

The Fat Man took the phone.

“Yeah, sweetheart, what’s the deal?”

“I just want you to know I’ve got the number!”

The Fat Man was furious. He yelled to his staff, “That formula is top secret! What’s some dame doing with it anyhow??!!”

Then The Fat Man returned to Carolyn. “Listen, sweetheart, I’ll explain the whole thing to you! Hang onto that number! Where can I meet you?”

“On a barstool. At Duke Kovalevsky’s.”

Before he left, The Fat Man barked his orders. “Cheech, you get Sebastian. Guido, get Hortense, Bacciagalupe, get Andrea. I’ll get the sweetheart!”

Duke Kovalevsky’s was the kind of joint where they watered the whiskey, then planted a Doorman outside to make sure you really pay for it.

A breathtaking redhead was seated at the bar. The Fat Man went up to her.

“There can only be one woman like you!” the Fat Man said, “I’m the one who talked to you on the phone.”

“Sorry, Mister,” she responded, “I’m here with Sidney.”
A small bespectacled gent gave The Fat Man a disapproving look and disappeared into the dancefloor with the redhead.

A mousy brunette walked over to The Fast Man. “Are youse the one what I talked to on the phone?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, Can I see the paper?”

Carolyn shoved the paper into his hand. “Make sure them females, and I use that term loosly, never bother my Dooley again!”

“Tell me sweetheart, did you get a good look at the number?”

“Coitinly, and I’ll make sure none of them females call back!”

“Oh, too bad!” The Fat Man pressed against Carolyn, sneaking out a dagger which he plunged into her chest.

As she collapsed, The Fat Man dragged her limp body away. Exiting, he shouted to the bartender, “Quit serving these underage gals, or I’ll have your license!”

As he got into the car, The Fat Man grinned to himself, “Now there’s only one left!”

The knock sounded on my door.

“Who’s there?”

“The Interior Decorators!”

I opened the door.

Cheech dragged in Sebastian’s body, gently laying it on the floor. Next came Guido, carrying Hortense’s body, laying it beside him. Then Bacciagalupe, neatly laying down Andrea’s body.

The Fat Man entered from the hallway, placing Carolyn’s body next to the three.

The Fat Man pulled out his gun and aimed it at my backside, my least vulnerable spot.

Then he filled me in on the plot details I missed .

Last of all, he shot me. “This is the way it pans out,” he said. “Sebastian shot Hortense, then slipped on a banana peel and croaked. Andrea was shot by Carolyn. As she succumbed, she plunged her knife into Carolyn’s stomach. The motive was jealousy.

Then, the Fat Man shot me. Luckily, I fell next to a pad and paper.

I hope I have enough time left. I got a lot of stuff to write about!