Finish the Story

This thread is for fun. Quote the story and add one sentence to the end. Let's see what you're made of. I'll start with a simple one.


It was a dark and stormy night.

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

James Jay wrote:

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town

since there was no Starbucks anywhere. Fatimas taste so much smoother with a Half-Cap Nonfat Espresso with a shot of Caramel, but hey, not every hard-boiled gumshoe can have everything he wants. He'd have to settle for a cup of joe at Joe's, the greasy spoon next door to Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited.

James Jay wrote:

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town

since there was no Starbucks anywhere. Fatimas taste so much smoother with a Half-Cap Nonfat Espresso with a shot of Caramel, but hey, not every hard-boiled gumshoe can have everything he wants. He'd have to settle for a cup of joe at Joe's, the greasy spoon next door to Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited.

Twenty minutes and four dollars cab fare later, Harry was on the scene. It was quiet... yeah, a little too quiet. The harbor district was deserted, and no sound but the soft patter of rain on the oily streets greeted our hero as he sidled in through the door into the dingy diner known only as Joe's. The only three men inside, seated over coffee and a shared plate of fries, eyed him suspiciously. Harry's gut went cold.

Fries were his downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone, including the blonde behind the counter.

tamitha wrote:

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town

since there was no Starbucks anywhere. Fatimas taste so much smoother with a Half-Cap Nonfat Espresso with a shot of Caramel, but hey, not every hard-boiled gumshoe can have everything he wants. He'd have to settle for a cup of joe at Joe's, the greasy spoon next door to Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited.

Twenty minutes and four dollars cab fare later, Harry was on the scene. It was quiet... yeah, a little too quiet. The harbor district was deserted, and no sound but the soft patter of rain on the oily streets greeted our hero as he sidled in through the door into the dingy diner known only as Joe's. The only three men inside, seated over coffee and a shared plate of fries, eyed him suspiciously. Harry's gut went cold.

Fries were his downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone, including the blonde behind the counter.

Blondes were his other downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone either -- these men had to go. Harry reached inside his trenchcoat for his badge, but then stopped himself. Wait a minute, he thought to himself, one of these class-acts might know something. And deciding to take the low-key route, he let his hand fall from the badge, and sidled into the booth next to the three men, drawing another Fatima instead.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

tamitha wrote:

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town

since there was no Starbucks anywhere. Fatimas taste so much smoother with a Half-Cap Nonfat Espresso with a shot of Caramel, but hey, not every hard-boiled gumshoe can have everything he wants. He'd have to settle for a cup of joe at Joe's, the greasy spoon next door to Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited.

Twenty minutes and four dollars cab fare later, Harry was on the scene. It was quiet... yeah, a little too quiet. The harbor district was deserted, and no sound but the soft patter of rain on the oily streets greeted our hero as he sidled in through the door into the dingy diner known only as Joe's. The only three men inside, seated over coffee and a shared plate of fries, eyed him suspiciously. Harry's gut went cold.

Fries were his downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone, including the blonde behind the counter.

Blondes were his other downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone either -- these men had to go. Harry reached inside his trenchcoat for his badge, but then stopped himself. Wait a minute, he thought to himself, one of these class-acts might know something. And deciding to take the low-key route, he let his hand fall from the badge, and sidled into the booth next to the three men, drawing another Fatima instead.

"So," Harry breathed heavily, blowing smoke into the face of the first thug, the one with the eyepatch and tattoo that read 'Born to Raise Barns'. "Any of you third rate film noir uglies heard any good blonde jokes recently?"

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

Tamitha wrote:

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

"But the priest and rabbi ducked," replied Harry. "Yeah, yeah...I"ve heard that one before. Let's just get down to business, fellas."

Kara wrote:

Tamitha wrote:

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

"But the priest and rabbi ducked," replied Harry. "Yeah, yeah...I"ve heard that one before. Let's just get down to business, fellas."

Harry knew these goons had information regarding the recent theft of the Maltomeal Penguin, a valuable statuette made, incredibly, of oatmeal. Harry had to get the Penguin back at all costs, and with the knife in his pocket, bad coffee in his stomach, and a vile remark on his lips, he inquired.........

James Jay wrote:

Kara wrote:

Tamitha wrote:

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

"But the priest and rabbi ducked," replied Harry. "Yeah, yeah...I"ve heard that one before. Let's just get down to business, fellas."

Harry knew these goons had information regarding the recent theft of the Maltomeal Penguin, a valuable statuette made, incredibly, of oatmeal. Harry had to get the Penguin back at all costs, and with the knife in his pocket, bad coffee in his stomach, and a vile remark on his lips, he inquired.........

"I'm in the market for a knife. The ugly kind. Any of you boys know this guy Carvey? I hear he makes a mean knife. And he likes oatmeal... I respect that in a man, I like oatmeal too. So?"

Tamitha Wrote

Quote :

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

Kara Wrote

Quote :

"But the priest and rabbi ducked," replied Harry. "Yeah, yeah...I"ve heard that one before. Let's just get down to business, fellas."

James Jay Wrote

Quote :

Harry knew these goons had information regarding the recent theft of the Maltomeal Penguin, a valuable statuette made, incredibly, of oatmeal. Harry had to get the Penguin back at all costs, and with the knife in his pocket, bad coffee in his stomach, and a vile remark on his lips, he inquired.........

Quantum Cowboy Wrote

Quote :

"I'm in the market for a knife. The ugly kind. Any of you boys know this guy Carvey? I hear he makes a mean knife. And he likes oatmeal... I respect that in a man, I like oatmeal too. So?"

The brute with the penchant for barn building smiled a wry smile and sipped his sludgy coffee. After nudging his friend, the one with the eye patch, he grunted, "what's it to you fella?" Harry knew when to trust his gut, and aside from the heartburn swelling up in his bosom it was telling him something...

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

JamesJay wrote:

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town

James Jay wrote:

since there was no Starbucks anywhere. Fatimas taste so much smoother with a Half-Cap Nonfat Espresso with a shot of Caramel, but hey, not every hard-boiled gumshoe can have everything he wants. He'd have to settle for a cup of joe at Joe's, the greasy spoon next door to Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Twenty minutes and four dollars cab fare later, Harry was on the scene. It was quiet... yeah, a little too quiet. The harbor district was deserted, and no sound but the soft patter of rain on the oily streets greeted our hero as he sidled in through the door into the dingy diner known only as Joe's. The only three men inside, seated over coffee and a shared plate of fries, eyed him suspiciously. Harry's gut went cold.

tamitha wrote:

Fries were his downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone, including the blonde behind the counter.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Blondes were his other downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone either -- these men had to go. Harry reached inside his trenchcoat for his badge, but then stopped himself. Wait a minute, he thought to himself, one of these class-acts might know something. And deciding to take the low-key route, he let his hand fall from the badge, and sidled into the booth next to the three men, drawing another Fatima instead.

James Jay wrote:

"So," Harry breathed heavily, blowing smoke into the face of the first thug, the one with the eyepatch and tattoo that read 'Born to Raise Barns'. "Any of you third rate film noir uglies heard any good blonde jokes recently?"

Tamitha wrote:

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

Kara wrote:

"But the priest and rabbi ducked," replied Harry. "Yeah, yeah...I"ve heard that one before. Let's just get down to business, fellas."

James Jay wrote:

Harry knew these goons had information regarding the recent theft of the Maltomeal Penguin, a valuable statuette made, incredibly, of oatmeal. Harry had to get the Penguin back at all costs, and with the knife in his pocket, bad coffee in his stomach, and a vile remark on his lips, he inquired.........

QuantumCowboy wrote:

"I'm in the market for a knife. The ugly kind. Any of you boys know this guy Carvey? I hear he makes a mean knife. And he likes oatmeal... I respect that in a man, I like oatmeal too. So?"

keltroncybo wrote:

The brute with the penchant for barn building smiled a wry smile and sipped his sludgy coffee. After nudging his friend, the one with the eye patch, he grunted, "what's it to you fella?" Harry knew when to trust his gut, and aside from the heartburn swelling up in his bosom it was telling him something...

That it was all about to hit the fan. One look at the tatoo on the bulging arm in front of him said it all: "I work for Harvey Carvey." Suddenly, Harry was glad he brought along his two best buddies -- the one he kept loaded and that traveled in a holster, and the other that traveled in a hip flask and kept him loaded.

Ok, here's how to do it it right....

On the last story post, hit the "Quote" button on the top right. There will be a tag at the very start of the post such as {quote="QuantumCowboy"}. Cut and paste this to the beginning of the last paragraph written by someone else. Then add your paragraph to the end of the post (after the final {/quote} tag).

I used curly braces instead of square in the above sentence so that it wouldn't actually treat them as tags.

PM me if you have questions. Don't quote this post as part of the story either!

Great stuff here, thanks for starting this topic Jay. Now let's where this goes!

QuantumCowboy wrote:

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

JamesJay wrote:

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town

James Jay wrote:

since there was no Starbucks anywhere. Fatimas taste so much smoother with a Half-Cap Nonfat Espresso with a shot of Caramel, but hey, not every hard-boiled gumshoe can have everything he wants. He'd have to settle for a cup of joe at Joe's, the greasy spoon next door to Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Twenty minutes and four dollars cab fare later, Harry was on the scene. It was quiet... yeah, a little too quiet. The harbor district was deserted, and no sound but the soft patter of rain on the oily streets greeted our hero as he sidled in through the door into the dingy diner known only as Joe's. The only three men inside, seated over coffee and a shared plate of fries, eyed him suspiciously. Harry's gut went cold.

tamitha wrote:

Fries were his downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone, including the blonde behind the counter.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Blondes were his other downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone either -- these men had to go. Harry reached inside his trenchcoat for his badge, but then stopped himself. Wait a minute, he thought to himself, one of these class-acts might know something. And deciding to take the low-key route, he let his hand fall from the badge, and sidled into the booth next to the three men, drawing another Fatima instead.

James Jay wrote:

"So," Harry breathed heavily, blowing smoke into the face of the first thug, the one with the eyepatch and tattoo that read 'Born to Raise Barns'. "Any of you third rate film noir uglies heard any good blonde jokes recently?"

Tamitha wrote:

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

Kara wrote:

"But the priest and rabbi ducked," replied Harry. "Yeah, yeah...I"ve heard that one before. Let's just get down to business, fellas."

James Jay wrote:

Harry knew these goons had information regarding the recent theft of the Maltomeal Penguin, a valuable statuette made, incredibly, of oatmeal. Harry had to get the Penguin back at all costs, and with the knife in his pocket, bad coffee in his stomach, and a vile remark on his lips, he inquired.........

QuantumCowboy wrote:

"I'm in the market for a knife. The ugly kind. Any of you boys know this guy Carvey? I hear he makes a mean knife. And he likes oatmeal... I respect that in a man, I like oatmeal too. So?"

keltroncybo wrote:

The brute with the penchant for barn building smiled a wry smile and sipped his sludgy coffee. After nudging his friend, the one with the eye patch, he grunted, "what's it to you fella?" Harry knew when to trust his gut, and aside from the heartburn swelling up in his bosom it was telling him something...

That it was all about to hit the fan. One look at the tatoo on the bulging arm in front of him said it all: "I work for Harvey Carvey." Suddenly, Harry was glad he brought along his two best buddies -- the one he kept loaded and that traveled in a holster, and the other that traveled in a hip flask and kept him loaded.

Like a flash he reached beneath his jacket and just as the giant in front of him stood in alarm, Harry took a sip from his pistol and pointed his flask at his enemy. "You's gonna use that in here?" said the barn builder, as Harry sputtered and rearranged himself into a more threatening configuration. "Only if I have to."

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

JamesJay wrote:

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town

James Jay wrote:

since there was no Starbucks anywhere. Fatimas taste so much smoother with a Half-Cap Nonfat Espresso with a shot of Caramel, but hey, not every hard-boiled gumshoe can have everything he wants. He'd have to settle for a cup of joe at Joe's, the greasy spoon next door to Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Twenty minutes and four dollars cab fare later, Harry was on the scene. It was quiet... yeah, a little too quiet. The harbor district was deserted, and no sound but the soft patter of rain on the oily streets greeted our hero as he sidled in through the door into the dingy diner known only as Joe's. The only three men inside, seated over coffee and a shared plate of fries, eyed him suspiciously. Harry's gut went cold.

tamitha wrote:

Fries were his downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone, including the blonde behind the counter.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Blondes were his other downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone either -- these men had to go. Harry reached inside his trenchcoat for his badge, but then stopped himself. Wait a minute, he thought to himself, one of these class-acts might know something. And deciding to take the low-key route, he let his hand fall from the badge, and sidled into the booth next to the three men, drawing another Fatima instead.

James Jay wrote:

"So," Harry breathed heavily, blowing smoke into the face of the first thug, the one with the eyepatch and tattoo that read 'Born to Raise Barns'. "Any of you third rate film noir uglies heard any good blonde jokes recently?"

Tamitha wrote:

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

Kara wrote:

"But the priest and rabbi ducked," replied Harry. "Yeah, yeah...I"ve heard that one before. Let's just get down to business, fellas."

James Jay wrote:

Harry knew these goons had information regarding the recent theft of the Maltomeal Penguin, a valuable statuette made, incredibly, of oatmeal. Harry had to get the Penguin back at all costs, and with the knife in his pocket, bad coffee in his stomach, and a vile remark on his lips, he inquired.........

QuantumCowboy wrote:

"I'm in the market for a knife. The ugly kind. Any of you boys know this guy Carvey? I hear he makes a mean knife. And he likes oatmeal... I respect that in a man, I like oatmeal too. So?"

keltroncybo wrote:

The brute with the penchant for barn building smiled a wry smile and sipped his sludgy coffee. After nudging his friend, the one with the eye patch, he grunted, "what's it to you fella?" Harry knew when to trust his gut, and aside from the heartburn swelling up in his bosom it was telling him something...

QuantumCowboy wrote:

That it was all about to hit the fan. One look at the tatoo on the bulging arm in front of him said it all: "I work for Harvey Carvey." Suddenly, Harry was glad he brought along his two best buddies -- the one he kept loaded and that traveled in a holster, and the other that traveled in a hip flask and kept him loaded.

keltroncybo wrote:

Like a flash he reached beneath his jacket and just as the giant in front of him stood in alarm, Harry took a sip from his pistol and pointed his flask at his enemy. "You's gonna use that in here?" said the barn builder, as Harry sputtered and rearranged himself into a more threatening configuration. "Only if I have to."

The goons shuffled nervously. "Ok," Harry said, taking a pull from the flask this time to clear his head, "Let me get this straight... you work for Harvey Carvey, and you are a serial barn builder." The third goon, a quiet type, nodded, "Go on...." "Well," said Harvey, " I don't know quite where you fit in, or how all this comes together, but let me tell you this... I know about the Maltomeal Penguin, and I know something's fishy about you guys and this knife place next door. So watch yourselves." As Harvey holstered his flask and wedged the pistol in his hip pocket, he stepped back out onto the dark, empty street. Something still wasn't right... what was the missing piece? Hands in his pockets, he shuffled towards Harvey Carvey's.

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

JamesJay wrote:

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town

James Jay wrote:

since there was no Starbucks anywhere. Fatimas taste so much smoother with a Half-Cap Nonfat Espresso with a shot of Caramel, but hey, not every hard-boiled gumshoe can have everything he wants. He'd have to settle for a cup of joe at Joe's, the greasy spoon next door to Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Twenty minutes and four dollars cab fare later, Harry was on the scene. It was quiet... yeah, a little too quiet. The harbor district was deserted, and no sound but the soft patter of rain on the oily streets greeted our hero as he sidled in through the door into the dingy diner known only as Joe's. The only three men inside, seated over coffee and a shared plate of fries, eyed him suspiciously. Harry's gut went cold.

tamitha wrote:

Fries were his downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone, including the blonde behind the counter.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Blondes were his other downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone either -- these men had to go. Harry reached inside his trenchcoat for his badge, but then stopped himself. Wait a minute, he thought to himself, one of these class-acts might know something. And deciding to take the low-key route, he let his hand fall from the badge, and sidled into the booth next to the three men, drawing another Fatima instead.

James Jay wrote:

"So," Harry breathed heavily, blowing smoke into the face of the first thug, the one with the eyepatch and tattoo that read 'Born to Raise Barns'. "Any of you third rate film noir uglies heard any good blonde jokes recently?"

Tamitha wrote:

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

Kara wrote:

"But the priest and rabbi ducked," replied Harry. "Yeah, yeah...I"ve heard that one before. Let's just get down to business, fellas."

James Jay wrote:

Harry knew these goons had information regarding the recent theft of the Maltomeal Penguin, a valuable statuette made, incredibly, of oatmeal. Harry had to get the Penguin back at all costs, and with the knife in his pocket, bad coffee in his stomach, and a vile remark on his lips, he inquired.........

QuantumCowboy wrote:

"I'm in the market for a knife. The ugly kind. Any of you boys know this guy Carvey? I hear he makes a mean knife. And he likes oatmeal... I respect that in a man, I like oatmeal too. So?"

keltroncybo wrote:

The brute with the penchant for barn building smiled a wry smile and sipped his sludgy coffee. After nudging his friend, the one with the eye patch, he grunted, "what's it to you fella?" Harry knew when to trust his gut, and aside from the heartburn swelling up in his bosom it was telling him something...

QuantumCowboy wrote:

That it was all about to hit the fan. One look at the tatoo on the bulging arm in front of him said it all: "I work for Harvey Carvey." Suddenly, Harry was glad he brought along his two best buddies -- the one he kept loaded and that traveled in a holster, and the other that traveled in a hip flask and kept him loaded.

keltroncybo wrote:

Like a flash he reached beneath his jacket and just as the giant in front of him stood in alarm, Harry took a sip from his pistol and pointed his flask at his enemy. "You's gonna use that in here?" said the barn builder, as Harry sputtered and rearranged himself into a more threatening configuration. "Only if I have to."

QuantumCowboy wrote:

The goons shuffled nervously. "Ok," Harry said, taking a pull from the flask this time to clear his head, "Let me get this straight... you work for Harvey Carvey, and you are a serial barn builder." The third goon, a quiet type, nodded, "Go on...." "Well," said Harvey, " I don't know quite where you fit in, or how all this comes together, but let me tell you this... I know about the Maltomeal Penguin, and I know something's fishy about you guys and this knife place next door. So watch yourselves." As Harvey holstered his flask and wedged the pistol in his hip pocket, he stepped back out onto the dark, empty street. Something still wasn't right... what was the missing piece? Hands in his pockets, he shuffled towards Harvey Carvey's.

There was always a missing piece, thought Harry. Just like when you're working diligently on one of those beautiful Thomas Kincade jigsaw puzzles, the 1000 piece that sparkle and would look realy swell next to your light up vanity, only to discover that just as you are finishing it after many nights staying up late sipping non-fat mocha lattes listening to Kenny G, a piece is missing! You feel so frustrated you could just yell Oh poop! and scrap the whole nonsense. Harry had a moment of realization, and, questioning his own masculanity, shot a passing alley cat, spit on the street, and vowed never to let the latte's get the better of him again.
Now, where was that knife store?

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

JamesJay wrote:

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town

James Jay wrote:

since there was no Starbucks anywhere. Fatimas taste so much smoother with a Half-Cap Nonfat Espresso with a shot of Caramel, but hey, not every hard-boiled gumshoe can have everything he wants. He'd have to settle for a cup of joe at Joe's, the greasy spoon next door to Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Twenty minutes and four dollars cab fare later, Harry was on the scene. It was quiet... yeah, a little too quiet. The harbor district was deserted, and no sound but the soft patter of rain on the oily streets greeted our hero as he sidled in through the door into the dingy diner known only as Joe's. The only three men inside, seated over coffee and a shared plate of fries, eyed him suspiciously. Harry's gut went cold.

tamitha wrote:

Fries were his downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone, including the blonde behind the counter.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Blondes were his other downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone either -- these men had to go. Harry reached inside his trenchcoat for his badge, but then stopped himself. Wait a minute, he thought to himself, one of these class-acts might know something. And deciding to take the low-key route, he let his hand fall from the badge, and sidled into the booth next to the three men, drawing another Fatima instead.

James Jay wrote:

"So," Harry breathed heavily, blowing smoke into the face of the first thug, the one with the eyepatch and tattoo that read 'Born to Raise Barns'. "Any of you third rate film noir uglies heard any good blonde jokes recently?"

Tamitha wrote:

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

Kara wrote:

"But the priest and rabbi ducked," replied Harry. "Yeah, yeah...I"ve heard that one before. Let's just get down to business, fellas."

James Jay wrote:

Harry knew these goons had information regarding the recent theft of the Maltomeal Penguin, a valuable statuette made, incredibly, of oatmeal. Harry had to get the Penguin back at all costs, and with the knife in his pocket, bad coffee in his stomach, and a vile remark on his lips, he inquired.........

QuantumCowboy wrote:

"I'm in the market for a knife. The ugly kind. Any of you boys know this guy Carvey? I hear he makes a mean knife. And he likes oatmeal... I respect that in a man, I like oatmeal too. So?"

keltroncybo wrote:

The brute with the penchant for barn building smiled a wry smile and sipped his sludgy coffee. After nudging his friend, the one with the eye patch, he grunted, "what's it to you fella?" Harry knew when to trust his gut, and aside from the heartburn swelling up in his bosom it was telling him something...

QuantumCowboy wrote:

That it was all about to hit the fan. One look at the tatoo on the bulging arm in front of him said it all: "I work for Harvey Carvey." Suddenly, Harry was glad he brought along his two best buddies -- the one he kept loaded and that traveled in a holster, and the other that traveled in a hip flask and kept him loaded.

keltroncybo wrote:

Like a flash he reached beneath his jacket and just as the giant in front of him stood in alarm, Harry took a sip from his pistol and pointed his flask at his enemy. "You's gonna use that in here?" said the barn builder, as Harry sputtered and rearranged himself into a more threatening configuration. "Only if I have to."

QuantumCowboy wrote:

The goons shuffled nervously. "Ok," Harry said, taking a pull from the flask this time to clear his head, "Let me get this straight... you work for Harvey Carvey, and you are a serial barn builder." The third goon, a quiet type, nodded, "Go on...." "Well," said Harvey, " I don't know quite where you fit in, or how all this comes together, but let me tell you this... I know about the Maltomeal Penguin, and I know something's fishy about you guys and this knife place next door. So watch yourselves." As Harvey holstered his flask and wedged the pistol in his hip pocket, he stepped back out onto the dark, empty street. Something still wasn't right... what was the missing piece? Hands in his pockets, he shuffled towards Harvey Carvey's.

James Jay wrote:

There was always a missing piece, thought Harry. Just like when you're working diligently on one of those beautiful Thomas Kincade jigsaw puzzles, the 1000 piece that sparkle and would look realy swell next to your light up vanity, only to discover that just as you are finishing it after many nights staying up late sipping non-fat mocha lattes listening to Kenny G, a piece is missing! You feel so frustrated you could just yell Oh poop! and scrap the whole nonsense. Harry had a moment of realization, and, questioning his own masculanity, shot a passing alley cat, spit on the street, and vowed never to let the latte's get the better of him again.
Now, where was that knife store?

Ah, there it was, right next door. A dark, dingy place - and it didn't look like anyone was in. Not surprising for this hour. Harry turned towards the harbor to light another Fatima, contemplating the significance of the knife that had been found on the scene of the missing Maltomeal Penguin. As he flicked his lighter in the rain, lightening suddenly flashed across the dark sky. There, illuminated for a brief instant through the rain, was a barn in the middle of a field across the water. Right across the harbor from Harvey Carvey's knife shop! Harry's cig dropped from his open mouth, and quickly became soaked with water and oil from the street.

James Jay wrote:

It was a dark and stormy night.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Detective Harry Blighter eased back in his desk chair, eye bent on the clue before him; a knife, the ugly kind, glinting in the low light of his 52nd St. office like a shiny new nickel.

JamesJay wrote:

"Damn," he said out loud, even though no one was in his office, "that knife is sharp, in the same way a spoon isn't."

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Harry leaned back in his chair and mulled over his next move, drawing a cigarette from the pocket of his trenchcoat as he did so -- his favorite brand, Fatima. With a flick of his zippo and a puff of extra mild, insight came as it always did; there it was, the knife's maker, etched into to the steel blade: Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited. 23rd Street and Harbor. His least favorite part of town

James Jay wrote:

since there was no Starbucks anywhere. Fatimas taste so much smoother with a Half-Cap Nonfat Espresso with a shot of Caramel, but hey, not every hard-boiled gumshoe can have everything he wants. He'd have to settle for a cup of joe at Joe's, the greasy spoon next door to Harvey Carvey's Professional Cutlery and Other Cutting Things, Limited.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Twenty minutes and four dollars cab fare later, Harry was on the scene. It was quiet... yeah, a little too quiet. The harbor district was deserted, and no sound but the soft patter of rain on the oily streets greeted our hero as he sidled in through the door into the dingy diner known only as Joe's. The only three men inside, seated over coffee and a shared plate of fries, eyed him suspiciously. Harry's gut went cold.

tamitha wrote:

Fries were his downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone, including the blonde behind the counter.

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Blondes were his other downfall, and he couldn't bear the thought of sharing them with anyone either -- these men had to go. Harry reached inside his trenchcoat for his badge, but then stopped himself. Wait a minute, he thought to himself, one of these class-acts might know something. And deciding to take the low-key route, he let his hand fall from the badge, and sidled into the booth next to the three men, drawing another Fatima instead.

James Jay wrote:

"So," Harry breathed heavily, blowing smoke into the face of the first thug, the one with the eyepatch and tattoo that read 'Born to Raise Barns'. "Any of you third rate film noir uglies heard any good blonde jokes recently?"

Tamitha wrote:

"A priest, a rabbi, and a blonde walk into a bar," he blurted out looking up at Harry.

Kara wrote:

"But the priest and rabbi ducked," replied Harry. "Yeah, yeah...I"ve heard that one before. Let's just get down to business, fellas."

James Jay wrote:

Harry knew these goons had information regarding the recent theft of the Maltomeal Penguin, a valuable statuette made, incredibly, of oatmeal. Harry had to get the Penguin back at all costs, and with the knife in his pocket, bad coffee in his stomach, and a vile remark on his lips, he inquired.........

QuantumCowboy wrote:

"I'm in the market for a knife. The ugly kind. Any of you boys know this guy Carvey? I hear he makes a mean knife. And he likes oatmeal... I respect that in a man, I like oatmeal too. So?"

keltroncybo wrote:

The brute with the penchant for barn building smiled a wry smile and sipped his sludgy coffee. After nudging his friend, the one with the eye patch, he grunted, "what's it to you fella?" Harry knew when to trust his gut, and aside from the heartburn swelling up in his bosom it was telling him something...

QuantumCowboy wrote:

That it was all about to hit the fan. One look at the tatoo on the bulging arm in front of him said it all: "I work for Harvey Carvey." Suddenly, Harry was glad he brought along his two best buddies -- the one he kept loaded and that traveled in a holster, and the other that traveled in a hip flask and kept him loaded.

keltroncybo wrote:

Like a flash he reached beneath his jacket and just as the giant in front of him stood in alarm, Harry took a sip from his pistol and pointed his flask at his enemy. "You's gonna use that in here?" said the barn builder, as Harry sputtered and rearranged himself into a more threatening configuration. "Only if I have to."

QuantumCowboy wrote:

The goons shuffled nervously. "Ok," Harry said, taking a pull from the flask this time to clear his head, "Let me get this straight... you work for Harvey Carvey, and you are a serial barn builder." The third goon, a quiet type, nodded, "Go on...." "Well," said Harvey, " I don't know quite where you fit in, or how all this comes together, but let me tell you this... I know about the Maltomeal Penguin, and I know something's fishy about you guys and this knife place next door. So watch yourselves." As Harvey holstered his flask and wedged the pistol in his hip pocket, he stepped back out onto the dark, empty street. Something still wasn't right... what was the missing piece? Hands in his pockets, he shuffled towards Harvey Carvey's.

James Jay wrote:

There was always a missing piece, thought Harry. Just like when you're working diligently on one of those beautiful Thomas Kincade jigsaw puzzles, the 1000 piece that sparkle and would look realy swell next to your light up vanity, only to discover that just as you are finishing it after many nights staying up late sipping non-fat mocha lattes listening to Kenny G, a piece is missing! You feel so frustrated you could just yell Oh poop! and scrap the whole nonsense. Harry had a moment of realization, and, questioning his own masculanity, shot a passing alley cat, spit on the street, and vowed never to let the latte's get the better of him again.
Now, where was that knife store?

QuantumCowboy wrote:

Ah, there it was, right next door. A dark, dingy place - and it didn't look like anyone was in. Not surprising for this hour. Harry turned towards the harbor to light another Fatima, contemplating the significance of the knife that had been found on the scene of the missing Maltomeal Penguin. As he flicked his lighter in the rain, lightening suddenly flashed across the dark sky. There, illuminated for a brief instant through the rain, was a barn in the middle of a field across the water. Right across the harbor from Harvey Carvey's knife shop! Harry's cig dropped from his open mouth, and quickly became soaked with water and oil from the street.

Harry was struck by the irony of it all. A barn across the harbor. A missing penguin. Oil and water. Someone needed to let the cat out of the bag, because the cows had come home to a safe harbor, and all the clouds had a silver lining. Once Harry had finished mixing his metaphors, he was off like a herd of turtles towards the barn across the harbor to get answers to the questions pounding around in his brain like so many lead balloons dropping.