Humor

We’re a Card Store… We Sell a Lot of Cards

The Naked Assassin — Part 2

The next morning, I headed over to see Johnny at the dog track. If there was something shady going on, Johnny and his perfect diction would know all about it. The man knew the underworld, and he knew how to annunciate.

“Children, I am surprised to see you here again. I thought that you were done with all of this.”

They called it a “gambling problem.” I called it “the repetitive inability to figure out which dog would be faster than other dogs” — Anyway, I had to stop.

“You’re right, Johnny. I don’t mess with dogs anymore.”

“Are you sure? I have a tip that the dog in the 6th, Purple Cow, is a guaranteed winner and going off at tremendous odds.”

I was tempted, but shook my head and tried to focus on the business at hand.

“Johnny, what do you know about the Ganoosh family?”

“Well, I heard that they found the old man dead last weekend.”

Johnny hit the hard “k” sound in “weekend” with such precision that it made a pigeon fly directly into side of the checking cashing place next door. He paused for a second to watch the dazed bird walk away, and continued, “they say that it was the work of the Naked Assassin. He kills in the nude so he doesn’t get blood on his clothes.”

That was odd. I wondered why didn’t Barbara mention her father getting whacked. I slid over the Bar Mitzvah card.

“What do you make of this?”

“It look like someone is about to become a man.”

“Very funny,” I passed Johnny a sawbuck, “really, what do you think?”

Johnny inspected the card as if he was a plumber about argue to with the pool guy about why the the patio flooded.

“Decent card stock. Good weight, but not so fancy that it would have been better to put the money into the gift rather than the card.”

Johnny was perceptive, but I already knew that. I asked a more direct question.

“Any idea where the card came from?”

“Perhaps Mantuno’s on Main; they sell those kinds of cards. Are you certain that you do not want to get a bet in on Purple Cow? The dog is a sure thing.”

The only thing I was sure of was that it would be as colossal a mistake as buying egg salad at a gas station, but old habits die hard.

“Sure, Johnny put a deuce on Purple Cow for me.”

I was not happy with myself.

Mantuno’s was an average card shop. It had a little of everything. Cards. Lottery. A bunch of weird looking snacks.

I found the matriarch Mantuno sitting at the front register. She gave me a “don’t bother me” look, and cocked her head like a third-shift desk jockey in the lost baggage claims area who was way overdue for her break. I ignored that.

“Ms. Mantuno, I’m Children Thomas, private investigator. Is this one of your cards?”

Her hands were shaking like a belly dancer sitting on a clothes dryer.

“I don’t know. It could be. Why?”

“I need to find the person who bought it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know… we sell a lot of cards.”

“Do you think you might have some receipts you could check,” I said while sliding over a sawbuck.

“I don’t know. There might be some in the back… but that’s a long walk.”

I didn’t know if she was playing me, but I had no choice. I slid over another bill.

“Here, maybe you could take a taxi.”

[to be continued…]