On my third day in a row at It's On The House pub, otherwise known as Rover's Rump, I picked up my Pabst Test from the bar and moved to a table. Most people drink the whiskey first and then the beer as a chaser. At least I'd heard someone called Meleah say as much. Not me. I drink the beer and then the whiskey. I call this little concoction a Pabst Test because I like to test people on what is the proper way to imbibe a whiskey chaser. Just in case you were wondering. Anyway, it all goes in the same pie hole.
So like I said, I moved to a table.
One by one there appeared some guys out of the dark recesses of the pub. Hey! They were some of my fellow P.I.s joining me. First there was Elvis Cole and his partner Joe Pike. Then Harry Hole from Sweden and his compatriot Kurt Wallender. Next came Dave Robicheaux from New Orleans. His name sounds French but he's not. Raylan Givens was there as was Lew Archer and Jack Reacher. Who's that nameless guy at the end of the table? You know the fella from the Factory? Well, Harry Bosch is here. I know him. And finally look who's here. It's that Irish fella, Jack Taylor the former Guard and now full time boozer and part-time investigator - a man after my own heart…and liver.
Gee, if we were to put our heads together we could solve this Three Amigos business tout de suite.
Instead, we all got a big headache.
"Look, look, it's the Grand Daddy of Detecting Sherlock Homes and his sleuthing sidekick Dr. Watson" I ejaculated…or said quickly and suddenly.
He joined us for a few rounds and a bit of discussion and as the rest of us were left to split the bill Holmes took care of the tip.
"7%? That's no solution" cried Watson. "Everyone knows it's at least 15%. It's part of everybody's education. Just where did you go to school, Holmes?"
Holmes took a slow draw on his pipe and as the smoke drifted lazily to the ceiling his eyes bored through the tobacco-induced haze and he intoned "Elementary, my dear Watson.
But we couldn't let things end there. As the clock struck 12 we begged him to recount for us one of his most famous cases, The Hounds of the Baskervilles. Indeed, in the midnight hour we cried "moor, moor, moor". It was no idle request.
Hey, where'd everybody go? You were all here just a minute ago. Was I dreaming? Was it the booze?
I plead temporary insanity.
This is day 3 in my little 28 day serial. See how the rest of those dolts are handling the challenge by dropping by We Work For Cheese and following the links.