I made a few stops on the way back to the nice side of Beverly Boulevard. Schwab’s Pharmacy. Photo processing place. I was cramming down a light dinner of hot dogs and onions with a Bromo chaser from Tail O’ the Pup when the phone on my car rang.
“What’ll they think of next?” I asked to the giant hot dog-shaped novelty restaurant as I answered the phone. “Harryhausen,” I said warily.
“Mister Harryhausen,” said Papa Bear, “They have my son.” I was worried about that. Seems I’d been followed. Whether they tailed me to the King Eddy or picked up Baby Bear off a tip off from Glenallen wasn’t important. “They’ve left a ransom note.” The mob wanted their dough and had their hooks in the Bear family.
“Mister Bear, I’m going to get your son back, safe and sound. I have a cunning plan that will fully justify the recommendation given to you by not one, not two but three little pigs. First, I need a couple of things…” Continue reading →
Once upon a time I was sitting in my office on Fairfax reading a racing form.
My name’s Harryhausen and I’m a dick. A detective, that is. I’m also a
cyclops. Six-foot two, eye of blue, that’s me.
Business was slow, so I’d given my girl the day off. That’s was two years
ago. I was thinking about closing up shop for the day and saying hello to the
bottle of bourbon I keep in the bottom drawer of my desk when my phone
rang. I’d forgotten I had a phone. I found it under a pile of newspapers and
answered on the fifth ring.