Ken’s Blog

So how come nobody knew Winthrop had two daughters, I wanted to know. He’s a pretty public guy, and that kind of thing is hard to hide. There was a mystery here alright.

“All I know, Mr. Smellephant, is that Louisa showed up in my life one day, nearly a year ago. Until then I never even knew I had a sister. Heaven knows why Daddy would keep something like that a secret. Mother passed away when I — when we — were born, so he’d be the only one who could explain it. But Louisa made me promise not to tell him anything.

That took me by surprise. “Your pop doesn’t know?”

“Well, what could I do? Imagine finding out one day that you have a sister — an identical twin. What would you have done?”

“If I found out I had an identical twin sister? I’m pretty sure I’d be more surprised than you are.”

“Well, yes,” she said, thinking that over, “I imagine you would. Anyway, dear Louisa had just walked into my life, and it was all so wonderful. When she made me promise not to tell, there really wasn’t much to do but agree. Frankly, I was afraid…” she hesitated.

“Afraid?”

“Yes…” She gave me a searching look. “Afraid that if I didn’t honor her request, she would simply disappear, and I would never see her again. And that … that seems to be exactly what has happened anyway!”

And then she broke down and started to cry. I hate when dames cry. Makes me feel all stupid and useless. I would’ve offered her a tissue, but I’m not the kind of shamus who keeps tissues on his desk. So I did the next best thing.

“Sounds like a good case. I’ll take it.”

“Oh Mr. Smellephant, you are so wonderful!” she said, throwing her arms around me. It felt good. Real good.

But in this business an elephant needs to be professional. So I gently pulled her off me. “You better go home, Miss Winthrop, get a good night’s sleep. I got a feeling I know how to crack this case.”

I saw her to the door, trying hard to ignore the part of me that wanted her to stay. I had a different kind of date planned for tomorrow morning — with the office of county records.

“You mean the Rebecca Winthrop?”

“If by that you mean the daughter of J. Chesterton Winthrop, indeed I am. Why do you ask?”

I did some quick mental calculations. Winthrop was not only filthy rich, he was also filthy. I’ve been around enough to know that the guy was behind pretty much every crooked racket in this crooked city. All hidden by a well maintained veneer of respectability. I looked at the dame standing in my office, at the high class cut of her clothes, her haircut, the way she carried herself, and I realized that she wouldn’t know about any of this. Daddy had probably sent his little princess to the finest English boarding school money could buy. Just one thing though. If all of that was true, how the hell had she made it to the office of a shamus like me?

I didn’t share any of this of course. It wouldn’t do to make daddy mad. “No reason,” I said. “Just that your dad’s a great guy. Gives a lot to charity. He’s kind of a hero in this town.”

She gave me another one of those million dollar smiles. “Yes, daddy is a wonderful man. He has helped so many people.”

“So what’s the case?”

“A missing person. I … I knew you were somebody I could trust with this.”

Now I was genuinely curious. “Why is that?”

“Why, because you are the Smellephant. We learned about you at school:

      “He is loyal and sturdy and awfully kind
       Beloved wherever he goes
       Whatever you’re looking for, he’ll help you find
       The Smellephant follows his nose”

There it was again, that damned poem, bane of my existence. There were a lot more verses too, and it was clear my new client believed every one. Well, maybe that wasn’t so bad — being a legend could be good for business.

“And who is it I’ll be looking for?”

“My sister.”

“You got a picture or something?”

“She shouldn’t be all that difficult to recognize, Mr. Smellephant. We are, after all, identical twins.”

Chapter 2

“How many elephants does it take to change a light bulb?”

That’s what I was asking myself as I balanced precariously on on my desk on one foot, screwing in a replacement for the burned out light overhead.

It wasn’t like there was much else I could do in the next day or two. The Chief had been apologetic about it, but they needed to impound my gun and suspend my license while they ran a match against the bullet inside poor Manny. I’d been at the scene, and I’d been packing heat. Rules are rules.

No law though against being in my office. It’s a small space, but that suits me fine. Just a door with a shingle opening onto a little side street in the sketchier part of town, but that’s never stopped cases from finding their way to my door. Seems trouble has a way of finding me.

So I shouldn’t have been so surprised when a voice behind me in the darkness called my name. But I was so focused on fixing that damn bulb I nearly tumbled right off the desk then and there. Which would’ve been a helluva way to make a first impression.

Trying to recover what was left of my dignity, I finished screwing in the bulb, got down off the desk and turned to face my new client. And what a client!

She was dark haired and slender, with eyes as big as saucers and legs that seemed to go on forever. She had a look all her own, and somehow the whole package fit together like God was having a really good day. I could’ve spent all day just drinking in the sight of her, and I probably would have, if she hadn’t spoken up again.

“Are you the Smellephant? Or do I call you Mr. Smellephant?” She had a lilting English accent that reminded me of tea cozies and old castles, of wild brambles and cottages by the sea. I could feel myself falling, and falling hard.

But rule number one in this business is don’t fall for the clients. So I pulled myself together and put on my best tough guy face. “Sister, you can call me whatever you want. How can I help you?”

That’s when she smiled, and I knew I was a goner. “I think I shall call you Mr. Smellephant. It suits you quite nicely. I must say you are far more handsome in person than in the picture books. And I have a case for you.”

“And you would be?”

“My name is Rebecca. Rebecca Winthrop.”

If Tommy was back in town, he’d be needing lettuce. So my first stop was the shop of Manny the parrot.

I could tell right off that Manny wasn’t too glad to see me. If a parrot could go pale, he would’ve turned about fifty shades of white.

“Well if it isn’t the Smellephant. Sorry, I’m just closing up.”

I got my trunk in the door just in time. “Not so fast Manny.” I took a quick glance around the shop, enough to tell me my hunch was right. “Looks like you’re a little low on lettuce today. Got a new customer?”

“Look, I don’t want any trouble. You know I can’t talk.”

“Waddya mean you can’t talk? You’re a parrot.”

“OK, you got me there. But I gotta watch what I say. I’m walking on egg shells here.”

“You mean tortoise shells, don’t you?”

“Hey, give me a break. Tommy’s not a guy you want to cross. Somebody could be listening.”

“No chance of that,” I said, “I wasn’t followed. I know how to shake a tail.”

“All due respect Smellephant, that’s not an image I want to think about.”

“Whatever.” I was getting impatient. “You know I’m the only reason you’re not doing time in the coop right now.”

“Hey, I’m no chicken. I’ll talk, but nobody can find out where you got this from. We got a deal?”

“Yeah,” I said, “We got a deal.”

Finally he started to sing. And I could tell right away he was gonna name names. Only he got about ten seconds into it when a shot rang out. Got Manny right between the eyes.

Just then somebody came through the door. I spun around, my trunk automatically reaching for the gun in the pocket of my trench coat. Then I saw who it was. “Hey Chief,” I said.

“Hey Smellephant.” The police chief looked down at the lifeless body at our feet. “We got a call down at the station there was trouble at Manny’s shop. Thought I’d check on it personally.” He looked at me, and then he looked at my gun.

“It’s not how it looks.”

“It looks,” he said, “like trouble was the right word.” He gave me a hard look. “Trouble just seems to follow you around, doesn’t it?”

I knew better than to argue. So I figured the best thing to do was cut right to the chase. “Chief, Tommy’s back in town.”

“Damn,” he said. “Well, I’ll need to call this in. Don’t leave town for the next few days.”

“You really think I had something to do with this?”

The Chief shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I’m looking at one right now.”

Chapter 1

“Elephant walks into a bar.”

“Yeah, I know.” I downed my whiskey in one gulp and turned to face the ferret. “It’s a joke to you. But you haven’t seen the things I’ve seen. Sometimes I think,” I held up the shot glass appraisingly, “that Mr. Jack Daniels here is my only friend.”

“You got lots of friends,” the ferret said, looking around nervously. “But I don’t think you’ll find many of them here. This ain’t friendly territory.”

“That’s the way I like it,” I shrugged. “Keeps me on my toes. Don’t want to start getting lazy. Sam, hit me up with another double.”

“Hey, I know you’re the Smellephant and all, but aren’t you going a little fast with the rotgut tonight? Thought you were on a case.”

“Damn right I’m on a case. Otherwise why would I be hanging out with a ferret? No offense.”

“None taken.”

I looked appraisingly at the golden elixar before downing it. “Whisky helps me think. Anyway, there’s nowhere near enough JD in this bar to get me as drunk as I’d like.”

The ferret looked at me sorrowfully. He knew better than to mention the reason I’d want to get stinko. Or even to say her name in my presence. When somebody does that, what happens next is not pretty.

I tossed the drink back, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. It never does. “Well my friend, what’ve you got for me?”

The ferret looked around one more time, his eyes darting about in the darkness. He needn’t have bothered. I chose this bar for a reason. “Word on the street is,” he said, “the Tortoise is coming back.”

“How the hell would you know a thing like that? Tommy never tips his hand.”

“Cause a hare was found this morning. Iced.”

I shrugged. “You know how many hares there are in this town? No wonder, the way they multiply.”

“This wasn’t just a rabbit. This was Whiskers.”

“You’re kidding me. So the Tortoise finally caught up with the Hare. Damn. At this rate he’s going to control all the lettuce on the south side.”

“That’s kinda what I figured. You need anything else, boss?”

“Nah,” I said, paying him off. “You can go now. Me and Mr. Daniels here need to think this through.” I signaled again to the bartender.

When I was done, a few drinks later, I paid my tab and slipped out unnoticed. To anyone on the street I would look like an ordinary Joe — just another elephant wearing a fedora and a trench coat. But just to be safe I took the back alleys. I needed to be damned sure I wouldn’t be followed.

Not tonight anyway. I finally had a lead and I was going to make the most of it. That’s my job — just ask any little kid in this town: The Smellephant follows his nose.

“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”

      — Daphne du Maurier

Nobody seems to know the exact date the original manuscript was written. All we can say for certain is that it arrived at the offices of Scribbs and Scribbs Ltd of London wrapped in a plain paper parcel, with 50p postage due. The rest, as you are well aware, is history.

Although it is difficult to believe now, the verse-tale of the Smellephant had a very modest initial print run. Mr. Scribbs senior was never in favor of the venture. In fact, in his estimation it was (to use his precise phrase) “pachydermic poppycock”. Nonetheless the first printing sold out quickly, and then the next, and the one after that as well. What had begun as a curiosity quickly mushroomed into a genuine phenomenon.

Now, of course, all former schoolchildren of a certain generation know well those opening lines:

“There once was a creature who lived in a wood
Most terribly sad, and misunderstood…”

Yet it was not always thus. Even now, not much is known about the Smellephant’s creator, the mysterious L. Ward. There is some evidence that this personage comes from Hong Kong, although other sources trace both a British and a Malaysian influence. What we can state for certain is that L. Ward’s apparently simple tale has captured the hearts and minds of millions.

If that were all, there would be little to add, and even less to remember. Yet recent documents have surfaced which cast doubt upon the entire matter. In full consideration of the natural curiosity of the public, we have collated these manuscript fragments into what appears to be a consistent narrative sequence. And therein begins a tale…

Your humble editor,
J. Wittfred Pennyglot, Esq.

The city is postponing this year’s Greenwich Village Halloween parade until this coming Sunday, but the really scary part has already happened. Alas, not everyone survived the ravages of Sandy — dozens of people were killed by the storm.

Fortunately, for most people in Manhattan the after-effects have varied from none to mild annoyance (losing electricity) to more than mild annoyance (losing electricity and water). My building is in the mild annoyance category.

Thanks to the very prompt and professional response by the city, the effects have been minimized, and there has been no disorder at all that I have seen. I even walked by a U.S. army truck full of soldiers in field dress, which I found quite comforting — it tells me that the Federal Government is helping NY to get back on its feet.

New Yorkers, I have come to learn, are a hardy bunch. We’ve survived some pretty horrific stuff, and we have a way of sticking together when things get tough. This has indeed been a memorable Halloween. With any luck, our Halloweens to come will be a little less memorable.

“Sandy, the aurora is rising behind us.”

      — Bruce Springsteen

Last night an unearthly aurora filled the sky, lighting up the raging storm-tossed air from my Greenwich Village window. Sandy has apparently been downgraded from a “hurricane” to a “super storm”, but she certainly hasn’t lacked for ambition.

The glow, it turned out, was from the explosion of an electrical power station, which knocked out electricity for a third of Manhattan — including here. I took a walk out today with my visitor from Scotland (who is quite accustomed to raging storms), and we came upon a building that had been completely blown out, the entire front wall gone, turned to bits of rubble strewn upon the street. We are guessing that this is the site of the explosion. I’m not used to seeing this sort of vision in Manhattan. Apocalyptic indeed.

Apparently the electricity may be out for a week, perhaps more. Fortunately civilization is but a walk uptown away. It’s strange to live in a city become so eerily quiet, all stores and restaurants shuttered, and yet be able to stroll for twenty minutes to arrive at life as usual.

Ah well, thanks to a thoughtful friend we have our huge supply of candles, matches and ready flashlight, and civilization is near enough that foraging for food will be no hardship.

I suspect Halloween tomorrow will be even more joyous than usual. A day for New Yorkers to dress up and laugh at make-believe dangers will find itself particularly welcome this year.

“Ooh, Sandy
Could we spend the day together?
You know how rainy weather
Gets me down when I’m alone
You, Sandy
You gotta be a friend today”

      — The Carpenters

Waiting here in New York City for Hurricane Sandy to sweep up the Atlantic coast, while everyone stocks up on canned food and candles just in case things go badly, it’s hard not to think of “The Walking Dead”, and how easily disaster can move from TV reality to actual reality.

Apropos of apocalypse and canned goods, my cousin sent me this delightful video, courtesy of my current favorite genius, Joss Whedon:

.

I got in a taxi this morning, and the taxi driver asked me whether it was ok if I paid in cash. He explained that their computer system is down, so using a credit card would be problematic.

I replied “Sure, cash works.”

Then I thought about it a bit more, and I added “If cash stops working, we’re all in trouble.”

In that moment it occurred to me how much I take for granted that I live in a country with a stable monetary system. For all of the recent political talk in the the U.S. about which political party is hell-bent on destroying the economy (universal answer: The other party), we actually take quite a bit for granted here.

Everyone in the U.S. can be confident that the twenty dollar bill in their pocket is still going to represent pretty much the same value after a week or a month. There have been many times and places in the world where that has very much not been true.

Perhaps we should take a moment, between all of the shouting and finger pointing in the lead-up to our forthcoming election, to count our blessings.