Chapter One
"Hand over the footage, Smitty."
Detective Weiss was losing his patience. He'd
grilled his suspect 'til he was toast. He was
getting nowhere fast. Smith was a yegg that
"There's been a disturbance in the force."
"Whaaa..?? What are you talking about?"
"The film will show you nothing. From that,
you'll have to draw your own conclusions."
Smith took off a shoe and pulled a disc out
"This is what you want, although, you're not
"Fair enough. So, why did you take so long
"It wasn't long...it was just enough time."
"What were you holding me back for?"
"For reality to catch up."
None of it made any sense. But at least, Weiss
had the disc...the information he hoped would
be on it. Smith would be held as a material
witness. Weiss would have steak tonight...Smith
a happy meal from McDonalds.
Weiss was eating a cramburger at the
local Hatchery when a guy he knew
approached him looking rather nervous.
Weiss nodded and gestured towards the
"Weiss, they're looking for you...watch out...
that's all I had to tell you."
"Hey, when Magellan first circumambulated
the globe, do you think he was worried?"
The man scuttled out of the diner. Weiss
thought he looked thinner than when he
He wasn't in a hurry...the dominos should
start falling any now time. He drained his
stein of Clear Perception malt liquor,
and headed to the men's room. As he was
voting for President, he contemplated his
plans. As he tripped the handle on the
ballot bowl, he felt a measure of pride
that he had participated in Democracy.
Weiss was a Buddhist, but he didn't
advertise it. He'd killed a few men, but
he felt they were better off dead.
He wanted this case to last a while so
he could get material for a book he
was writing. The case had everything;
a beautiful heiress, greedy relatives,
connections to organized crime. In fact,
the case seemed like a cliche of all the
noir movies he'd seen. Who killed Frank?
Where were the diamonds? Had the
thieves really taken a submarine to
The only thing he could be sure of was
that he found himself in the middle of a
grand tamasha...a magilla of high
He took out the pint of Southern Comfort
from his desk drawer and lit a joint. This
was going to take some good old
contemplation. He knew there was a
pattern he had yet to see...there always
was. Usually it turned out to be pedestrian.
Criminals were motivated by the same things
as everyone else and most were just as
uninteresting as the office salaryman. Dillinger
was shot outside of a movie theatre.
He would use the Colleney brothers on this one...
good investigative journalists that liked to play
detective. Give them a shot at a story and they
went feral. They tended to sensationalize, but
Weiss knew the shock effect of some of their
stories could beat the bushes and flush out his
game. A lie, or, "exaggeration" could be as
effective as the truth in making the players
nervous. When they're nervous, they make
mistakes...it's as simple as that. It had worked
so many times before. He'd studied Sun Tzu.
Deception, misdirection, prevarication were all
He'd planted a story on page three of the
Times. He knew his target was scanning the
papers for any clues that his plot had been
discovered. Reading the article was sure to
Weiss was driving down Santa Monica, his
radio tuned to an Oldies station, top down,
high as a kite, feeling pleased with himself.
The machine was in motion and the clock
He turned the corner onto Benito Boulevard.
A Mercedes came out of nowhere and cut him
off. He knew what was coming, so, he jumped
out of his Dodge Dart and ran as fast as he
could to the nearest door that looked open.
Bullets whizzed by him as he ran into an
apartment building. The Mercedes took off.
When he got back to his Dart, a tire had been
shot out. He called Triple A, and his friend,
"What's it this time, Weiss, somebody run you
"Maybe. Bring the tow truck."
Weiss got off the phone, left his car, and walked
down to a coffee shop. He ordered chicken fried
steak and black coffee. The adrenaline coursing
through his veins added nicely to the drugs
already there. That was a close one, but it meant
that his plan was already having an effect. He
couldn't go back to his office or apartment now.
He'd have to stay in his safe house. Luckily, it had
already been prepared. He took a taxi there.
It was a small place, one window looking onto
an alley. It was in the middle of the tenderloin
district. Weiss followed the wisdom of Burroughs
and Poe: if you want to hide something, place it
in plain view. He even had developed a persona
for himself as the person living there: different
clothes, different name, and he knew his neighbors.
He was a different person entirely when he was
there...he played a role. If he stayed there too long,
the role would tend to take over and he would begin
to forget who Weiss was, so, he had to be careful.
It was perfect camouflage, but it was tricky. He had
a few contacts that only knew him by this persona:
Bill Smith. Weiss kept it that way. What he had to
do now was get them to investigate what was
happening to Weiss, not Bill Smith, so he could
have impartial observers. It was always important
to have eyes that were not involved so they couldn't
be swayed in one direction or another...bribed,
coerced, ect.. People's only loyalty seemed to be
money.
He met Thorn at Mom's restaurant. Thornvold
Arnquist was a forensics professor at NYU.
He knew his friend, Bill Smith, as a rather
eccentric character, often away, intelligent
and amusing with a sometimes strange curiosity
about odd things. They shared an interest in
the Decadents, primarily DeQuincy and
Baudelaire. Thorn was almost his Watson,
except he was mostly unaware of his purpose
in their relationship. Weiss wasn't a sociopath,
and he considered Thorn to be a good friend.
"What is it, Bill? You seem a little agitated today."
"Sorry, I'm feeling not quite myself...more
"Too many of those movies?"
"Maybe....you know I fancy myself as somebody
that can figure out puzzles."
Bill took out a handkerchief from his pocket and
"Can you find out what make and model gun
shot this? And where such guns are commonly
sold would also be helpful "
"Funny....there was some shooting last night,
and when I walked out this morning I noticed
"Strange. Sure, I can find out something. Did
you see any of the Finals?"
"Yeah. It was some great basketball. They're
still arguing about whose dick is bigger. I guess
that's all you have left to worry about if you have
a ka-jillion dollars. Come over tonight and I'll do
"You don't have to siffle twice."
He left Thorn and went back to his keep. When
he opened the door, there was a a manila
envelope that had been slid into the entrance.
It started to rain. Bill/Weiss looked out the one
window of his den. He always liked the rain.
It seemed to quiet things...dampen the
The envelope sat on the desk in front of him.
No marks on it. It could be very bad if whatever
inside shows him they know he's Weiss and not
Bill. He prepared himself for an interesting
moment by pouring himself a stiff glass of port
and filling his pipe. He found he could usually
see patterns more clearly when he was a bit
to the left of himself. He agreed with Stevens
that the "eccentric was the basis of design."
He opened it. Inside he found a lipstick, a photo
that had been folded and was at least a few
decades old, and the Book of Revelations. The
latter surprised him. Everyone's talking about
revelations these days, but no one seems to be
doing anything about them. This could just be a
new ruse of the Jehovah's Witnesses, but the lip
He examined the material more closely. The
lipstick was called "Tropical Mango". The book
from the Bible had been torn from a King James
version. The photo showed two people, and a
third standing behind them, but you couldn't see
that face. It was an old color photo and the
colors had faded to a sepia. The photo was
taken in a square, and the vague buildings
could have been in any city of Europe,
Montreal, San Paulo. There was
only a number on back: 1953.
This was no good. He didn't know what he was
looking at...he didn't know who sent it, and he
couldn't be sure it wasn't sent by his enemies.
But, why would his enemies have sent it? If
they knew this place was his, it's likely he
would be dead already. But that didn't
explain the serendipity. He slept on it.
Weiss listened to "You're Lost Little Girl'
by The Doors as he sipped his matte.
Someone had sent the envelope and was
trying to help him, he believed, but why
couldn't whomever just be straightforward
and tell him what's what? Why the mystery?
Wasn't life itself incomprehensible enough?
Like that line in "Magnificent Seven" when
Eli Wallach says: "When you have to shoot,
don't talk, shoot!" Revelations, a lipstick, and
a photo. Great. Maybe whomever sent it
thought Weiss was smarter than he was.
He put the envelope at the back of a drawer
He went out, got on his Vespa, and scooted
off. He had an idea. He went to the Super and
got some bananas, chocolate, and a pint of
Ancient Age. He went to the park and brown
bagged the liquor while his mind drifted. The
envelope had jacked up his confusion. When
that happened, he knew that soon he was in
for a brain storm. Then, it came to him! The
book of Revelation had been a one-off, a joke!
The lipstick was important because it related
to the woman in the photo!. He zipped back to
his lair and got on his computer. He researched
the lipstick. He found out that this brand got it's
popularity from Betty Grable in the late forties.
He knew then he had to fly down to Rio to follow
the trail. He ordered out for momos. He still had
some of Hector's "Face of the Sun", Tibetan hot
sauce. "Hector's Revenge" was long gone.
"I'm here to see a man about a lipstick."
Weiss had rehearsed this line over and over,
trying to come up with something different.
But, it was the truth and he had to say it.
The shop in Rio was ancient. The old man
there seemed a part of the decor. He spoke
plenty of English, which made things easy.
"A lipstick, you say? What lipstick?"
Weiss showed him the tube. The man
studied it slowly and carefully, as if he
was holding something from another planet.
"Tropical Mango? Why didn't you say so?
Oh, Helen!" he shouted for his wife.
A woman came out from the back. She looked
"Look, Helen, Tropical Mango! And it looks like
the same tube as the ones you used to buy!"
Helen looked at the tube. "Yes." Then she left
"Where did you get this? They don't make this
"New York City. Ever been there?"
"Yes, my wife and I visited there long ago....
sometime in the fifties. Helen and I were
robbed there....in the park. They took her
hand bag for one thing. Let me look at the
lipstick again....Yes! See? It looks like
someone had been chewing on the tube!
That's something Helen always did! This
"Great...well, she can have it back. Does she
"Only the strong ones...but she'll be happy to
"Fine. So, why is this lipstick so special?"
"I suppose because it was Betty Grable's
favorite. She was an idol among the ladies
"So, what does this have to do with the Nazis?"
"Really? You weren't aware that Grable was a
sympathizer? Lots of those Hollywood types
were. It's the same as you see today in
America; rich spoiled useless actors cozy with
power. They've always been slaves of the
highest bidder. They didn't come down to Rio
solely because it was a hedonistic paradise.
They had certain...principles too, if you can call
Weiss shows him the snapshot. The old man goes
"Could be from around here. The architecture is
familiar. I don't know. Wait a moment."
The old man went to a desk and opened a drawer,
pulled out a file folder.
"I've seen photos like that before...faded over the
years....like these. I think it was the kind of paper
they used in those days."
The file had quite a few photos of the same era,
with the same sepia quality.
"Can I borrow these for a couple of days? I'm
staying at the Colonnade."
"Alright, young man, but, don't forget."
Weiss got back to his hotel with the folder.
In his room was a box with a ribbon on it.
In it was a severed middle finger. This gave
new meaning to the term: "double entendre".
Weiss liked the joke, but the finger made him
worried. How was he going to find one person
in Rio with a recently severed finger? He was
sure that the person, if he/she could be found,
and was still in large pieces, would have
He didn't like the vagueness, the faded photo
here, the odd finger there, the blandness of
cabbage soup, voting machines, "reliable
sources", meaningless verbiage and double
speak. He needed some clarity like a Kansas
Was it the mafia after him? The Nazis? Was
He looked over the photos in the folder. The
few black and white ones were clearer. They
showed some people on holiday, and one
showed soldiers marching. It was harder to
make out the colored ones. One was of the
ocean with some ships in the distance. A few
were of a plaza where a large group of people
were gathered. It was hard to make out symbols.
One shot showed what seemed to be a flag or
banner with eagles on it. The photos didn't
How long should he stay? Was there anything
he could discover? The finger could have been
sent by anyone, but, how many had a sense of
humor? The old man's hands were unbandaged.
He couldn't have gotten the finger to his room
so quickly without help. And so neatly packaged!
Had he found what he was looking for? Whom-
ever he was in trouble with in the States was an
established organization, around for decades if
not centuries. All the organized criminal
enterprises, totalitarian governments, family
cabals, and religious dictatorships have been
part of it since organization reached the national
and super-national levels. His life was one
marble on a Go board, in their eyes. If he exposed
a little something here, or uncovered a little there,
it meant nothing to them as long as not too many
people paid attention. If he got too itchy, they'd
Realizing the hopeless uselessness of his situation,
Weiss returned to New York City. He stopped
taking cases. He made some money growing
hydroponic in his garage. He wrote poetry
for his own amusement.
