. . . As the fog slowly lifted from my head, I began to see shapes like trees moving, as though pushed the hot wind from an oncoming fire.  I could almost hear the “whoosh.”  The trees seemed to be hissing like some sort of lizard, and cackling with laughter.  Feeling as though my head were in some sort of swirling black vacuum, I fell back into unconsciousness . . .

Week 9 blurb . . . part 4 . . . cement shoes

When I came to again, I was bound and gagged on the floor of some warehouse.  The laughter I had heard earlier was from the miscreants I had put away twice before: Red and Sven.  But now there was another: a man in a kilt.  As this man stood over me, the view from my vantage point was. . .

“Hey Scotty, has he come to yet?” yelled Red from across the room, taking my mind of the description I was about to convey, which really shouldn’t go anywhere nearer than the devil and the deep blue sea.

“Aye, he’s awake.  So, Mr. Diamond; how do you like yer new shoes?”  said the Scottsman.

I hadn’t noticed before that my feet felt heavy, like a horse had fallen on them.  My new shoes were made of concrete, and this warehouse was no doubt near water.  I was going to take a one-way trip to the bottom of the lake, to sleep with the fish, and there was little I could do about it this time.  Even Shirley couldn’t save me, as she had done so many times before.  She had won an all expense trip to San Diego, and was now enjoying some time at the beach.  I had been following a lead in Indianapolis far from home when I got whacked.  I would soon be acquainted with . . . does Indianapolis even have anything besides a river?  Guess I’ll find out soon.  Dames.  You can’t live with ‘em . . . pass the beer nuts.

Sven came over to play his mind games with me, smelling like moldy cheese.  He sneered: “You know these boots were made for water.  We’ve taken you to a place where you will feel comfortable — you home town.”  So, my final destination would be Lake Michigan.  I must have been out all night — soon, forever.

Suddenly, there was a crash of windows, and men in uniform came swooping down from all sides like some giant bird of prey or Ninja warriors: army men in the pursuit of justice.

The perfunctory “put your weapons down and put your hands up” didn’t work at all.  A brief battle ensued, but it was for naught.  Red, Sven and Scotty were stung.  They were taken away — dragged out like dogs at the end of a leash.  Some mountain of a man dressed like some sort of King, adorned in purple and gold, came up to me and lifted me up with one arm.  I wobbled back and forth like a Webble.  Eventually, I stabilized.  It appeared that my stock was up.  Apparently, this lavishly dressed man had seen me mugged by those felons, called the cops, and followed me 200 miles all the way to this warehouse.  “Thanks,” I said.  “You wouldn’t happen to know where a chisel and hammer would be?”  Amazingly enough, he found both nearby.  “Who are you?” I asked.  The man smiled and said, “I am the ex-governor of Minnesota.    I was at a speaking engagement last night in Indianapolis, rooting for my team when I saw you get hit.”

“And you followed me all the way to Chicago?  That’s commitment for you.”

“The Windy City is more or less on the way anyway,” he replied with a wry smile.

Once out of my boots, I made it back to the office.  So nice of Red, Sven and Scotty to drop me off nearby.  Maybe I’ll send them flowers . . . at their funeral.

It was just another day at the Joe Diamond detective agency.

Commissioner Joe Diamond.