Grand Guginol


My curiosity is piqued - Editor

by J. Keith Haney

The second I saw the bobbie cart, I knew that I wasn’t gonna get paid. When ya’re a private detective who’s worked more than a few murder cases, ya kin almost smell death on the wind. Seein’ as the steam cart was parked in front a’ Tony Phillips’ house an’ he lived alone, it weren’t hard to figure who died.

Mind ya, it’s a bit a’ a stretch calling Phillips’ place a house. It was more like a rundown ol’ tar shack squeezed twixt a couple a’ tenements. I’m surprised that it held up longer than he did.

Inspector Bart was standin’ outside when I walked up, watchin’ the crushers take out the body. He glanced down from his six foot frame to me five foot one and asked, “Friend of yours?”

“Client,” I said while the body carriers passed us by.

“Paid his bill?”





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