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r_scribblesYaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyz! I've finished 'Merde, He Wrote'!
Want a sneaky peeky?
It's part of Rollercoaster, but it doesn't lead on directly from where I left off with 'Ode to Joy'. This is set mid S4, after a few darker pieces that I've yet to write, which will explain why
a, Data and Tasha's relationship has become so strained
and
b, Picard is now tentatively involved in the whole sorry state of affairs.
This is a bit of a Holodeck-gone-potty romp in general, though - I'm only posting it now, out of synch, because I think it's jolly amusing. It won't go on ff.net until I've written the pieces that go before it. First chapter below the cut, second and final chapter will go up tomorrow.
Merde, He Wrote.
-x-
A thick fog had rolled in over the city’s streets, blotting out the sun so that day was almost as dark as night. Only the foolhardy dared to drive in fog like that, although Frisco was hardly lacking in such maniacs. The thick, cloying air was filled with the shrill yelps of angry automobile horns and people alike as the city continued to bustle, blinded and stifled by the dense, damp fog.
There would be plenty of trouble today, of course. Tempers were frayed, visibility was obscured… there was always trouble on days like this.
Come to think of it, there was always trouble on most days for Dixon Hill, and, God help him, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
His secretary was already at the reception to his office when he stepped inside, marvelling at how the atmosphere managed to be even more oppressive than it had been on the street. The woman barely looked up from her magazine as he hung up his hat and jacket.
‘Any word yet from Jimmy Three Fingers?’
‘Nope,’ muttered the secretary.
Dixon clucked with impatience. ‘He should have gotten back to me by now.’
‘Well, he ain’t.’
‘I’m so close to cracking this.’ Hill began to roll his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. ‘I need that lead!’
‘What d’you want me to do about it?’
‘What about Sane Charlie? Anything from him?’
‘Nada,’ replied his secretary, flicking through her magazine pages disinterestedly, ‘zippo, zilch.’
‘Seriously?’ Dixon frowned to himself. ‘No calls? No visits? This close to the end? That’s not right.’
‘Oh, you do have a visitor,’ the secretary replied. ‘A pair of legs with a blonde attached to ‘em. She’s waiting in your office.’
‘Ah!’ Dixon beamed, happily. ‘I know who that is.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ his secretary told her magazine.
He opened the door to his office. His secretary was not wrong. The blonde’s coquettishly crossed legs just went on and on until Doomsday. The owner of the legs in question looked up from a notebook with a nervous smile.
‘Will this do?’
Dixon folded his arms with an appreciative nod. ‘I’ll say.’
‘Sorry I’m early,’ replied the blonde. ‘Your secretary said I could wait…’
‘She said she was a friend of yours,’ butted in the secretary from behind Dixon.
‘Oh, this little lady is much more than just a friend,’ he replied.
‘Ya don’t say.’
‘This is my niece,’ Hill put his hand on the blonde’s shoulder. ‘The noted Girl Detective Dollis Hill.’
His secretary arched an eyebrow as she went back to her reading. ‘Ain’t never heard of no “niece” before...’
Dixon shut the door as Dollis got up from his chair.
‘I thought I was supposed to be famous,’ Dollis frowned.
‘Not in Dixon Hill’s world, as such,’ explained her uncle, ‘Dollis is based in the suburbs of Los Angeles. Her world is less seedy and perilous – more suitable for younger readers. But you did have three novels worth of adventures…’
Dollis snorted slightly, unconvinced. ‘So, is this our case?’ she asked, holding Dixon’s notes up to him.
‘The case of the Bombay Star,’ nodded Dixon.
‘Isn’t that the same mystery you were working on months ago?’
‘I have been a little preoccupied of late,’ Dixon reminded her, ‘and I’m extremely close to the end now.’
Dollis went back to the notes. ‘Looks pretty involved…’
‘Oh, yes.’ Dix perched on the edge of his desk. ‘It’s quite the rabbit hole. It feels like an age ago that Ernest Tewkesbury came to me to find his wife’s stolen necklace. Since then a gargantuan plot has unravelled before me. Three of the Tewkesbury family have been murdered, including Sir Ernest himself; a jealous mistress has appeared from the woodwork and promptly fallen beneath a speeding train; at one point I found myself Shanghaied, if you can believe…’
‘I can’t really picture you swabbing the deck, Sir,’ giggled Tasha.
Picard shook his head at her. ‘Try to stay in character, Tasha. None of this “Sir” business here.’
Dollis cleared her throat. ‘Sorry, Uncle Dix.’
‘Where was I…?’ continued Dixon. ‘Ah, yes. All the clues I’ve managed to collate so far are pointing towards the Bloom Brothers Gang – a highly unpleasant drugs smuggling cartel. When I was here last I hired a couple of low-level miscreants to find out everything they could about the Bloom Brothers’ whereabouts from their network of underworld associates.’ Dixon frowned. ‘I really should have heard back from at least one of them by now.’
‘Maybe they got caught out,’ Dollis ventured.
‘Both of them?’ Dixon added, ‘separately? That’s highly unlikely.’
Dollis shrugged. ‘One of them got caught, the other found out and decided it was too hot for him, so he bailed on you.’
Dixon paused. ‘That’s a far more probable explanation.’
‘So,’ reasoned Dollis, ‘surely our next course of action is either to wait it out for the Bloom Brothers to beat it out of this guy who sent him and come looking for you, or we go out and try to find them ourselves.’
‘They could be anywhere. San Francisco’s a big city.’
‘And you’ve got a lot of clues.’ Dollis waved the notebook at her uncle yet again. ‘There must be something in here that’d give you a hint of where to look for them.’
Dixon frowned for a moment. ‘The dockyard,’ he announced after his brief rumination. ‘Sir Tewkesbury’s body was found not far from there, and the ropes used to tie Celeste Tewkesbury’s hands had dried sea water on them.’
‘Then to the dockyard it is.’ Dollis was practically out of the door as she spoke. ‘I didn’t come here to sit around your office all day.’ She shot him an impish glance over her shoulder. ‘I just hope that you can keep up.’
-x-
Dixon stopped for the third time and waited for the young woman to catch up with him.
‘Looks like your old uncle is faster than you gave him credit for,’ he called as she approached him at an irritable, lopsided trot.
‘This outfit is ridiculous!’ Dollis complained. She stopped, and struggled to straighten a rumpled stocking. ‘My knees are pinched together by this dumb dress, these hose keep falling down and would you look at these shoes?’ She pulled off one of her heeled pumps to massage the ball of her foot against a smooth cobblestone. ‘How did women ever do any running in those days?’
‘They tended not to,’ Dixon told her. ‘It was generally considered unseemly for a lady to do anything that caused her to sweat.’
‘That’s stupid.’ Tasha mopped her brow with the back of her sleeve. ‘And to think Deanna’s always asking me why I never wear skirts.’
‘More’s the pity.’
‘Enjoy the legs while you can, Jean Luc.’ Tasha tugged at her skirt, covering up the previously exposed garter. ‘As soon as this is done, they’re going straight back into a pair of pants, where they belong.’
‘Remember your character,’ Picard reminded her. ‘And for the record, I am enjoying your legs’ outing – temporary as that may be.’
‘You’re supposed to be my uncle,’ she replied, primly, replacing her shoe. ‘Now who’s coming out of character?’
Dixon looked about himself as he tried, and failed, to come up with a suitably witty retort. The mist had still not cleared, and made the streets strange with a thick grey haze… this particular street, however, was stranger still. He couldn’t see particularly clearly through the fog, but something about it seemed… wrong.
‘Whoever thought that cobbled streets were a good idea in the first place?’ Dollis grumbled as he thought.
He blinked, and stared down at the ground. ‘That’s a good point,’ he murmured.
‘They’re impossible to balance on in these stupid heels…’
‘Why is the street cobbled?’ Dixon asked himself aloud. He looked up again. ‘Dollis? Does this street seem a bit odd to you?’
Dollis looked about herself. ‘It’s narrower than the other streets,’ she noted. She pointed up at an ornate lamppost; ‘and the lights are different.’
Dixon squinted through the mist. ‘Is that… is that a gas light?’
Before Dollis had chance to reply, a scrawny, hunched man pushed past them and sprinted wildly off into the fog.
Dixon recognised him, a moment too late. ‘That was Sane Charlie.’
‘One of your contacts?’
Dixon nodded, beginning a pursuit. ‘Who was he running from?’
‘Not more running…’ grumbled his niece, following suit.
Dixon could see the silhouette of Sane Charlie fade in and out of the mist as he chased him. He tried calling for the other man to stop, but to no avail. Something must have scared Charlie out of the few wits the poor devil had left. The fog enveloped Charlie once more, and then a gunshot rang out. Dixon skidded to a halt, holding out an arm to stop Dollis in her tracks. Dixon reached beneath his jacket for his gun. Dollis searched her own outfit for a weapon, and cursed beneath her breath at finding none.
‘Charlie?’ Dixon called out into the blank greyness.
‘Show yourself,’ replied a voice from the mist – a voice that was categorically not Charlie’s. ‘I am armed, and I assure you, I never miss my target. Even blinded by this confounded fog, I can judge your whereabouts by your voice...’
‘Who are you?’ Dollis called. ‘Why did you shoot Sane Charlie?’
There was a momentary pause. ‘I did no such thing. I was merely trying to apprehend the man. As for whom I am…’ a man in a thick, woollen cape stepped through the fog into view, ‘I flatter myself that I need no introdu… Oh.’
‘Oh,’ echoed Dixon and Dollis, as all parties concerned lowered their weapons.
‘What,’ puzzled a most confused looking Sherlock Holmes, ‘if you do not mind my asking, are you doing here?’
‘I was just about to ask you the same question.’
‘I am attempting to solve,’ replied Holmes, dramatically, ‘The Mystery of the Bombay Star.’
Dixon and Dollis exchanged glances. ‘So are we.’
Holmes blinked, and frowned, slipping out of his brash demeanour as he did so, and into a persona that was considerably more collected and courteous. ‘Sir…?’
‘What exactly is Sherlock Holmes doing in a Dixon Hill adventure?’ Dollis asked him.
‘With respect,’ Data replied, ‘this is not a Dixon Hill mystery, but one created by the Holodeck computer…’
‘…for Dixon Hill,’ completed Picard.
Data shook his head. ‘I do not believe so, Sir. Dixon Hill is based in 1940s San Francisco, whereas this…’ the android pointed to a nearby red pillar post-box, embossed with a royal insignia, ‘is clearly London of the early 1900s.’
‘But this was San Francisco,’ argued Tasha, ‘only a few minutes ago. ‘we just turned the corner, and here you were with all of this froofy Victorian stuff.’
‘Edwardian,’ corrected Data, breaking into Holmes again. ‘The year is Nineteen Hundred and Four; the dear old Queen has been buried now for three years, God rest her soul, and King Edward VII is upon the throne…’
‘Please don’t do the accent,’ Tasha interrupted.
‘This is a suitable voice for London’s Great Detective…’ replied Holmes with a snap.
‘It’s annoying.’
‘That is your issue, Madam. I am attempting to remain in character as appropriate…’
‘Look.’ Picard pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. ‘There’s obviously been some sort of error with the Holodeck computer. It must have mixed up my latest mystery simulation with yours…’
‘There have been some similar problems lately with double-booked parties using related simulations on the Holodeck stumbling accidentally upon one another,’ Data informed him. ‘Only last month, Geordi was attempting to take Lieutenant Blackburn on a moonlight sail in the Adriatic Sea when his yacht was boarded by seventeen children enjoying a Pirate adventure. Lieutenant Barclay is working on the malfunction.’
‘That goes towards explaining matters,’ Picard replied. ‘Looks like we ended up “double-booked”.’
‘Indeed,’ nodded Data. ‘Perhaps you and Commander Yar could return after I have finished, Sir. You can count on me not to tell you how the adventure ends.’
‘Now, wait a minute,’ answered Picard. ‘Tasha and I have been here for nearly half an hour so far, and…’
‘I have been here for four hours, Sir,’ Data replied, plainly, ‘thirteen minutes and twenty-f…’
‘Four hours straight on the Holodeck?’ Tasha interrupted him. ‘Don’t you have anything else to do?’
‘I have been advised that I should “throw myself in to something”,’ the android told her, ‘following yesterday’s… unfortunate events.’
Data cast Tasha what could have almost as passed as a reproachful glare. Tasha just rolled her eyes away from his gaze.
‘Therefore,’ continued Data, ‘I spent much of last night partaking in this simulation, and intend to do so again this evening. It is refreshing to be faced with a puzzle which I am capable of solving.’
‘Nevertheless,’ interjected Picard, ‘I have been working on the case of the Bombay Star for several months now. It was originally intended as a further Dixon Hill adventure, and I would appreciate being allowed to complete it first, since I am so close to the end.’
‘I am also reaching the denouement of this mystery, Sir.’
‘Ah,’ Picard wagged his finger at the android with a wry smile. ‘You may well think that’s the case, Mr Data, but this is a plot with more twists and turns than a sidewinder on Lombard Street. What point are you up to?’
‘I have deduced that the theft of Lady Tewkesbury’s necklace was, in actuality a Red Herring – that, in fact, the various misfortunes of the Tewkesbury family, as well as Sir Tewkesbury’s mistress, are the result of Cedric Tewkesbury’s involvement with the nefarious dealings of the infamous Bloom Brothers Gang. My attempts to acquire underworld knowledge of the gang’s behaviour and whereabouts, by bribing petty criminals James Michelson and Charles Pratt – the gentleman who was running from me earlier – have not been successful, but I have reason to believe that the gang may well be based at the dockyard, and have therefore…’
‘That’s where I am,’ Picard interrupted, a little dismayed. ‘You’ve been playing this since yesterday and you’ve already got up to the same point as me?’
‘I work very fast, Sir.’
Tasha scoffed a little. Data turned his attention back to her.
‘And what is your role in this circumstance, Commander? I have not known you to indulge in a narrative Holodeck simulation before.’
‘Tasha is my guest this evening,’ Picard told Data, quickly. ‘Mr Holmes, may I introduce to you my niece, Dollis.’
‘Madam…’ greeted Holmes, before swiftly falling out of character again. ‘Dollis Hill, Sir?’ Data addressed Picard, with an air of incredulity. ‘The protagonist of “The Mystery of the Thirteenth Door”, “The Clue of the Satin Ribbon” and “The Haunted Arcade”?’
‘The very same.’
Data glanced Dollis up and down. ‘You are aware, are you not, that Dollis Hill is, at her oldest, nineteen years of age?’
‘And…?’ asked Dollis, folding her arms, menacingly.
‘You are not a teenager, Tasha. Neither do you have the appearance of one.’
‘Funnily enough,’ Tasha retorted, ‘I can’t remember reading the part where Holmes looks like he’s about to collapse from jaundice at any second…’
‘…and in “The Scarlet Monkey”, Dix is described as having a thick head of ash blond hair,’ volunteered Picard, growing desperate, ‘so let’s not get in to who looks the part here and who doesn’t. I’d like to just get on with the programme.’
‘Why don’t you let us finish first, Data,’ Tasha suggested, ‘and then as soon as we’re done, you can complete it as Holmes. We won’t tell you the ending.’
‘Do you expect me to believe that, Commander?’
Yar sighed. ‘Oh, here we go…’
‘I have an alternative suggestion,’ Picard butted in before the proto-argument could escalate any further. ‘Since we are at the same stage of the mystery, and since this simulation seems to be able to accommodate both Dixon Hill and Holmes’ worlds, perhaps… perhaps both investigators could collaborate in order to solve this particular case.’
‘Hmm.’ Holmes put a thoughtful finger to his lips. ‘Holmes does prefer to work with company, and since Dr Watson is indisposed at present… would it not be unsuitable to cross the fictional realities?’
‘We’ve already got Hill & Hill working on this case tonight,’ shrugged Dixon. ‘Why not Hill, Hill & Holmes?’
‘Holmes, Hill & Hill,’ corrected Holmes.
‘Great,’ grumbled Dollis. ‘So, now what? Didn’t our lead just get shot five minutes ago?’
‘Not necessarily, Miss Hill,’ Holmes replied. ‘There was a gunshot from the mist, but as I recall, the two of you assumed it was I who had fired, when I did not.’
‘I hadn’t even drawn my gun,’ added Dix.
‘At least you’ve got a gun…’ Dollis complained.
‘Dollis Hill never carries a gun,’ replied Data. ‘Nor does she ever have need to fire one, since her adventures are, in comparison to both Dixon Hill and Holmes, fairly uneventful.’
‘What do you mean, “uneventful”?’
‘The best selling of her three novels was about the recovery of a wealthy Debutante’s abducted Chihuahua.’
‘Well, I’m sure the great Sherlock Holmes can’t imagine the indignity of having his most famous mystery revolve around a dog…’
‘Data, Tasha… could we please try to stay in character?’
‘Apologies, Mr Hill.’
‘So,’ continued Dix after taking a moment to recover his train of thought, ‘if it wasn’t either of us who fired, then who was it? Surely, a common enemy would have made attempts on our lives, too.’
‘Sane Charlie knew that Holmes was looking for him as well as us,’ reasoned Dollis, ‘and whatever he knew, I reckon he’d been intimidated so that he wasn’t willing to tell any of us anything. He found himself cornered in the fog, trapped between us and Holmes, so he shot into the air and fled during the resulting distraction.’
‘Almost, Miss Hill,’ mused Holmes, ‘almost. However, there is one crucial detail which you have missed. There was no sound of running footsteps after the gunshot fired. Charles was wearing hobnail boots, which on cobbles make quite a racket when one runs, let me assure you. No. He did not run.’
‘He’s hiding,’ Dixon added. ‘He’s still here.’
All three sleuths heard the strangulated gasp of terror at the same time. As one, they turned their heads in the direction of the sound - a set of dustbins, standing a few inches away from the wall.
‘Charlie…?’ Ventured Dixon.
‘Mr Pratt?’ Holmes added as the trio gingerly approached the bins, ‘I assure you, we mean you no harm…’ Nevertheless, Holmes kept his revolver trained on the dustbins.
Dollis reached the hiding place first, and gently pulled a dustbin lid away to reveal the trembling, scrawny wretch, an empty-barrelled revolver at his feet.
‘Whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout there?’ gibbered the hunched Cockney. ‘Wossat about all “character” and “Hollydecks”, eh?’
Dixon shook his head in a placatory manner. ‘It was nothing, Charlie. Just a little joke between my friends and me.’
‘You’re trying to confuse me,’ Charlie stammered, ‘intcha? Trying to make me think I’m crazy. I ain’t crazy! Don’t let ‘em tell you I’m crazy!’
‘Of course you’re not crazy, Charlie.’ Dollis gave Sane Charlie a kind pat on the shoulder. ‘Everybody knows, you’re perfectly sane. We wouldn’t call you Sane Charlie if we didn’t, would we?’
‘I am Sane,’ insisted Sane Charlie. ‘Don’t let them tell you I ain’t. Don’t let ‘em send me back ter that place…’
Dixon leaned in close to Charlie. ‘You know something, don’t you, Sane Charlie? That’s why you hid.’
‘N…no…’ stuttered Charlie. ‘Don’t know nuffink.’
‘I think you do,’ replied Dixon, ‘only something’s got you scared. Something’s causing your mind to… to start playing tricks on you.’
‘My mind ain’t playing tricks! I’m sane! I am! I’ll tell yer…’ Charlie craned his neck around, peering feverishly into the fog. ‘T’aint safe here… people watching out…’
‘There is a vacated shop just across the street,’ Holmes nodded at a small, desolate looking building over the road. ‘You may tell us what you know in safety and privacy there.'
Charlie nodded in agreement, and the four of them scurried over to the abandoned shop. A quick thump from Holmes’ elbow against the lock opened the door up nicely, and they slipped inside. Charlie relaxed visibly once they were out of the open. He shot Dollis a nervous smile.
‘Who’s the girl?’
‘Dollis Hill: Girl Detective,’ greeted Dollis, proudly extending her hand.
‘She is a spin-off,’ added Holmes as Charlie attempted to chivalrously kiss the girl’s hand, but ended up with a firm handshake instead, ‘and a not particularly successful one at that.’
‘”Dollis Hill”…?’ repeated Charlie, apparently failing either to hear or comprehend Holmes’ momentary foray beyond the 4th Wall. He gave a shy laugh. ‘I ‘ad an Auntie from near there.’
Dollis frowned in confusion.
‘Dollis Hill was named after an area of North-West London,’ Data told her, quietly. ‘Most likely, in fact, after the underground railway station of the same name situated there, not far from the building in which the publisher of the first of her adventures was…’
‘I’m named after a railway station?’ Tasha repeated in despair. She turned to Picard. ‘You never told me I had a Comedy Name…’
‘I don’t think that really matters right now…’ placated Picard.
‘Of course it matters! I thought I was supposed to be a serious trailblazer, now I find out I’m just some cash cow with a punning name…?’
Charlie whimpered a little, backing slightly away from them. ‘You’re doing it again. Talking all funny, like…’
‘Charlie,’ sighed Dix. ‘I’m sorry.’ He put a calming hand on the terrified Cockney’s shoulder, while giving the other two a loaded glare. ‘Let’s get back to business, shall we? No more of this silly talk.’
‘What has caused you to believe you are not safe, Mr Pratt?’ Holmes interjected. ‘Who are the people that you believe to be watching you?’
Sane Charlie frowned down at the floor, then from side to side, nervously.
‘They got Jimmy Three Fingers.’
‘The Bloom Brothers?’ specified Dixon.
‘They said he’d been asking too many questions for their liking.’ Charlie lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. ‘They said they’re going to cut off another one of his fingers.’
‘How dreadful,’ replied Dollis. ‘Now he’ll have to change his name.’
‘They took him to Aldous Bloom’s boat…’
‘A boat!’ chorused Dixon and Holmes in a unison of sudden comprehension.
‘We were so close with the dockyard,’ added Dix.
‘Only…’ interjected Charlie. He stopped, embarrassed, and stared down at his feet again.
‘Only what?’ prompted Dollis.
Charlie shook his head, cringing unhappily. ‘You’re going to hate me. You’re going to be so upset with me…’
‘No we won’t, Charlie,’ soothed Dollis.
Suddenly, there was the sound of several pistols being cocked from the dark shell of the shop behind them.
‘Oh,’ sang a syrupy voice from behind their backs, ‘I really think you will.’
Dix felt the cold muzzle of a revolver press against the small of his neck. A quick glance to the side confirmed that Dollis and Holmes were in similar predicaments. To the other side oozed the smug features of Algernon Bloom.
‘Messers Hill and Holmes,’ smarmed Algernon as his Heavies took the detectives’ firearms from their hands. ‘What a distinguished honour, gentlemen. And such a delightful ladyfriend with you to boot. Oh, we are going to have a marvellous time together, simply marvellous.’
‘Charlie,’ breathed Dix, ‘what have you done? Did you lead them here? Was… was this a trap all along…?’
Sane Charlie looked slowly up from the floor. He was no longer hunched or trembling. He was, for the first time Dixon had ever seen him, utterly collected and calm. He looked each of the captured trio in the eye, one by one, with a knowing smile, lighting a cigarette as his gaze rested on Dollis.
‘Sorry about that, folks,’ he breezed, blowing a smooth ring of smoke, ‘but it’s a grim old world out there. I know which way my bread’s buttered.’ He gave Dollis a sly wink before turning away and leaving them to Bloom’s gang. ‘After all, like I told yer – I ain’t mad.’
Want a sneaky peeky?
It's part of Rollercoaster, but it doesn't lead on directly from where I left off with 'Ode to Joy'. This is set mid S4, after a few darker pieces that I've yet to write, which will explain why
a, Data and Tasha's relationship has become so strained
and
b, Picard is now tentatively involved in the whole sorry state of affairs.
This is a bit of a Holodeck-gone-potty romp in general, though - I'm only posting it now, out of synch, because I think it's jolly amusing. It won't go on ff.net until I've written the pieces that go before it. First chapter below the cut, second and final chapter will go up tomorrow.
Merde, He Wrote.
-x-
A thick fog had rolled in over the city’s streets, blotting out the sun so that day was almost as dark as night. Only the foolhardy dared to drive in fog like that, although Frisco was hardly lacking in such maniacs. The thick, cloying air was filled with the shrill yelps of angry automobile horns and people alike as the city continued to bustle, blinded and stifled by the dense, damp fog.
There would be plenty of trouble today, of course. Tempers were frayed, visibility was obscured… there was always trouble on days like this.
Come to think of it, there was always trouble on most days for Dixon Hill, and, God help him, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
His secretary was already at the reception to his office when he stepped inside, marvelling at how the atmosphere managed to be even more oppressive than it had been on the street. The woman barely looked up from her magazine as he hung up his hat and jacket.
‘Any word yet from Jimmy Three Fingers?’
‘Nope,’ muttered the secretary.
Dixon clucked with impatience. ‘He should have gotten back to me by now.’
‘Well, he ain’t.’
‘I’m so close to cracking this.’ Hill began to roll his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. ‘I need that lead!’
‘What d’you want me to do about it?’
‘What about Sane Charlie? Anything from him?’
‘Nada,’ replied his secretary, flicking through her magazine pages disinterestedly, ‘zippo, zilch.’
‘Seriously?’ Dixon frowned to himself. ‘No calls? No visits? This close to the end? That’s not right.’
‘Oh, you do have a visitor,’ the secretary replied. ‘A pair of legs with a blonde attached to ‘em. She’s waiting in your office.’
‘Ah!’ Dixon beamed, happily. ‘I know who that is.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ his secretary told her magazine.
He opened the door to his office. His secretary was not wrong. The blonde’s coquettishly crossed legs just went on and on until Doomsday. The owner of the legs in question looked up from a notebook with a nervous smile.
‘Will this do?’
Dixon folded his arms with an appreciative nod. ‘I’ll say.’
‘Sorry I’m early,’ replied the blonde. ‘Your secretary said I could wait…’
‘She said she was a friend of yours,’ butted in the secretary from behind Dixon.
‘Oh, this little lady is much more than just a friend,’ he replied.
‘Ya don’t say.’
‘This is my niece,’ Hill put his hand on the blonde’s shoulder. ‘The noted Girl Detective Dollis Hill.’
His secretary arched an eyebrow as she went back to her reading. ‘Ain’t never heard of no “niece” before...’
Dixon shut the door as Dollis got up from his chair.
‘I thought I was supposed to be famous,’ Dollis frowned.
‘Not in Dixon Hill’s world, as such,’ explained her uncle, ‘Dollis is based in the suburbs of Los Angeles. Her world is less seedy and perilous – more suitable for younger readers. But you did have three novels worth of adventures…’
Dollis snorted slightly, unconvinced. ‘So, is this our case?’ she asked, holding Dixon’s notes up to him.
‘The case of the Bombay Star,’ nodded Dixon.
‘Isn’t that the same mystery you were working on months ago?’
‘I have been a little preoccupied of late,’ Dixon reminded her, ‘and I’m extremely close to the end now.’
Dollis went back to the notes. ‘Looks pretty involved…’
‘Oh, yes.’ Dix perched on the edge of his desk. ‘It’s quite the rabbit hole. It feels like an age ago that Ernest Tewkesbury came to me to find his wife’s stolen necklace. Since then a gargantuan plot has unravelled before me. Three of the Tewkesbury family have been murdered, including Sir Ernest himself; a jealous mistress has appeared from the woodwork and promptly fallen beneath a speeding train; at one point I found myself Shanghaied, if you can believe…’
‘I can’t really picture you swabbing the deck, Sir,’ giggled Tasha.
Picard shook his head at her. ‘Try to stay in character, Tasha. None of this “Sir” business here.’
Dollis cleared her throat. ‘Sorry, Uncle Dix.’
‘Where was I…?’ continued Dixon. ‘Ah, yes. All the clues I’ve managed to collate so far are pointing towards the Bloom Brothers Gang – a highly unpleasant drugs smuggling cartel. When I was here last I hired a couple of low-level miscreants to find out everything they could about the Bloom Brothers’ whereabouts from their network of underworld associates.’ Dixon frowned. ‘I really should have heard back from at least one of them by now.’
‘Maybe they got caught out,’ Dollis ventured.
‘Both of them?’ Dixon added, ‘separately? That’s highly unlikely.’
Dollis shrugged. ‘One of them got caught, the other found out and decided it was too hot for him, so he bailed on you.’
Dixon paused. ‘That’s a far more probable explanation.’
‘So,’ reasoned Dollis, ‘surely our next course of action is either to wait it out for the Bloom Brothers to beat it out of this guy who sent him and come looking for you, or we go out and try to find them ourselves.’
‘They could be anywhere. San Francisco’s a big city.’
‘And you’ve got a lot of clues.’ Dollis waved the notebook at her uncle yet again. ‘There must be something in here that’d give you a hint of where to look for them.’
Dixon frowned for a moment. ‘The dockyard,’ he announced after his brief rumination. ‘Sir Tewkesbury’s body was found not far from there, and the ropes used to tie Celeste Tewkesbury’s hands had dried sea water on them.’
‘Then to the dockyard it is.’ Dollis was practically out of the door as she spoke. ‘I didn’t come here to sit around your office all day.’ She shot him an impish glance over her shoulder. ‘I just hope that you can keep up.’
-x-
Dixon stopped for the third time and waited for the young woman to catch up with him.
‘Looks like your old uncle is faster than you gave him credit for,’ he called as she approached him at an irritable, lopsided trot.
‘This outfit is ridiculous!’ Dollis complained. She stopped, and struggled to straighten a rumpled stocking. ‘My knees are pinched together by this dumb dress, these hose keep falling down and would you look at these shoes?’ She pulled off one of her heeled pumps to massage the ball of her foot against a smooth cobblestone. ‘How did women ever do any running in those days?’
‘They tended not to,’ Dixon told her. ‘It was generally considered unseemly for a lady to do anything that caused her to sweat.’
‘That’s stupid.’ Tasha mopped her brow with the back of her sleeve. ‘And to think Deanna’s always asking me why I never wear skirts.’
‘More’s the pity.’
‘Enjoy the legs while you can, Jean Luc.’ Tasha tugged at her skirt, covering up the previously exposed garter. ‘As soon as this is done, they’re going straight back into a pair of pants, where they belong.’
‘Remember your character,’ Picard reminded her. ‘And for the record, I am enjoying your legs’ outing – temporary as that may be.’
‘You’re supposed to be my uncle,’ she replied, primly, replacing her shoe. ‘Now who’s coming out of character?’
Dixon looked about himself as he tried, and failed, to come up with a suitably witty retort. The mist had still not cleared, and made the streets strange with a thick grey haze… this particular street, however, was stranger still. He couldn’t see particularly clearly through the fog, but something about it seemed… wrong.
‘Whoever thought that cobbled streets were a good idea in the first place?’ Dollis grumbled as he thought.
He blinked, and stared down at the ground. ‘That’s a good point,’ he murmured.
‘They’re impossible to balance on in these stupid heels…’
‘Why is the street cobbled?’ Dixon asked himself aloud. He looked up again. ‘Dollis? Does this street seem a bit odd to you?’
Dollis looked about herself. ‘It’s narrower than the other streets,’ she noted. She pointed up at an ornate lamppost; ‘and the lights are different.’
Dixon squinted through the mist. ‘Is that… is that a gas light?’
Before Dollis had chance to reply, a scrawny, hunched man pushed past them and sprinted wildly off into the fog.
Dixon recognised him, a moment too late. ‘That was Sane Charlie.’
‘One of your contacts?’
Dixon nodded, beginning a pursuit. ‘Who was he running from?’
‘Not more running…’ grumbled his niece, following suit.
Dixon could see the silhouette of Sane Charlie fade in and out of the mist as he chased him. He tried calling for the other man to stop, but to no avail. Something must have scared Charlie out of the few wits the poor devil had left. The fog enveloped Charlie once more, and then a gunshot rang out. Dixon skidded to a halt, holding out an arm to stop Dollis in her tracks. Dixon reached beneath his jacket for his gun. Dollis searched her own outfit for a weapon, and cursed beneath her breath at finding none.
‘Charlie?’ Dixon called out into the blank greyness.
‘Show yourself,’ replied a voice from the mist – a voice that was categorically not Charlie’s. ‘I am armed, and I assure you, I never miss my target. Even blinded by this confounded fog, I can judge your whereabouts by your voice...’
‘Who are you?’ Dollis called. ‘Why did you shoot Sane Charlie?’
There was a momentary pause. ‘I did no such thing. I was merely trying to apprehend the man. As for whom I am…’ a man in a thick, woollen cape stepped through the fog into view, ‘I flatter myself that I need no introdu… Oh.’
‘Oh,’ echoed Dixon and Dollis, as all parties concerned lowered their weapons.
‘What,’ puzzled a most confused looking Sherlock Holmes, ‘if you do not mind my asking, are you doing here?’
‘I was just about to ask you the same question.’
‘I am attempting to solve,’ replied Holmes, dramatically, ‘The Mystery of the Bombay Star.’
Dixon and Dollis exchanged glances. ‘So are we.’
Holmes blinked, and frowned, slipping out of his brash demeanour as he did so, and into a persona that was considerably more collected and courteous. ‘Sir…?’
‘What exactly is Sherlock Holmes doing in a Dixon Hill adventure?’ Dollis asked him.
‘With respect,’ Data replied, ‘this is not a Dixon Hill mystery, but one created by the Holodeck computer…’
‘…for Dixon Hill,’ completed Picard.
Data shook his head. ‘I do not believe so, Sir. Dixon Hill is based in 1940s San Francisco, whereas this…’ the android pointed to a nearby red pillar post-box, embossed with a royal insignia, ‘is clearly London of the early 1900s.’
‘But this was San Francisco,’ argued Tasha, ‘only a few minutes ago. ‘we just turned the corner, and here you were with all of this froofy Victorian stuff.’
‘Edwardian,’ corrected Data, breaking into Holmes again. ‘The year is Nineteen Hundred and Four; the dear old Queen has been buried now for three years, God rest her soul, and King Edward VII is upon the throne…’
‘Please don’t do the accent,’ Tasha interrupted.
‘This is a suitable voice for London’s Great Detective…’ replied Holmes with a snap.
‘It’s annoying.’
‘That is your issue, Madam. I am attempting to remain in character as appropriate…’
‘Look.’ Picard pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. ‘There’s obviously been some sort of error with the Holodeck computer. It must have mixed up my latest mystery simulation with yours…’
‘There have been some similar problems lately with double-booked parties using related simulations on the Holodeck stumbling accidentally upon one another,’ Data informed him. ‘Only last month, Geordi was attempting to take Lieutenant Blackburn on a moonlight sail in the Adriatic Sea when his yacht was boarded by seventeen children enjoying a Pirate adventure. Lieutenant Barclay is working on the malfunction.’
‘That goes towards explaining matters,’ Picard replied. ‘Looks like we ended up “double-booked”.’
‘Indeed,’ nodded Data. ‘Perhaps you and Commander Yar could return after I have finished, Sir. You can count on me not to tell you how the adventure ends.’
‘Now, wait a minute,’ answered Picard. ‘Tasha and I have been here for nearly half an hour so far, and…’
‘I have been here for four hours, Sir,’ Data replied, plainly, ‘thirteen minutes and twenty-f…’
‘Four hours straight on the Holodeck?’ Tasha interrupted him. ‘Don’t you have anything else to do?’
‘I have been advised that I should “throw myself in to something”,’ the android told her, ‘following yesterday’s… unfortunate events.’
Data cast Tasha what could have almost as passed as a reproachful glare. Tasha just rolled her eyes away from his gaze.
‘Therefore,’ continued Data, ‘I spent much of last night partaking in this simulation, and intend to do so again this evening. It is refreshing to be faced with a puzzle which I am capable of solving.’
‘Nevertheless,’ interjected Picard, ‘I have been working on the case of the Bombay Star for several months now. It was originally intended as a further Dixon Hill adventure, and I would appreciate being allowed to complete it first, since I am so close to the end.’
‘I am also reaching the denouement of this mystery, Sir.’
‘Ah,’ Picard wagged his finger at the android with a wry smile. ‘You may well think that’s the case, Mr Data, but this is a plot with more twists and turns than a sidewinder on Lombard Street. What point are you up to?’
‘I have deduced that the theft of Lady Tewkesbury’s necklace was, in actuality a Red Herring – that, in fact, the various misfortunes of the Tewkesbury family, as well as Sir Tewkesbury’s mistress, are the result of Cedric Tewkesbury’s involvement with the nefarious dealings of the infamous Bloom Brothers Gang. My attempts to acquire underworld knowledge of the gang’s behaviour and whereabouts, by bribing petty criminals James Michelson and Charles Pratt – the gentleman who was running from me earlier – have not been successful, but I have reason to believe that the gang may well be based at the dockyard, and have therefore…’
‘That’s where I am,’ Picard interrupted, a little dismayed. ‘You’ve been playing this since yesterday and you’ve already got up to the same point as me?’
‘I work very fast, Sir.’
Tasha scoffed a little. Data turned his attention back to her.
‘And what is your role in this circumstance, Commander? I have not known you to indulge in a narrative Holodeck simulation before.’
‘Tasha is my guest this evening,’ Picard told Data, quickly. ‘Mr Holmes, may I introduce to you my niece, Dollis.’
‘Madam…’ greeted Holmes, before swiftly falling out of character again. ‘Dollis Hill, Sir?’ Data addressed Picard, with an air of incredulity. ‘The protagonist of “The Mystery of the Thirteenth Door”, “The Clue of the Satin Ribbon” and “The Haunted Arcade”?’
‘The very same.’
Data glanced Dollis up and down. ‘You are aware, are you not, that Dollis Hill is, at her oldest, nineteen years of age?’
‘And…?’ asked Dollis, folding her arms, menacingly.
‘You are not a teenager, Tasha. Neither do you have the appearance of one.’
‘Funnily enough,’ Tasha retorted, ‘I can’t remember reading the part where Holmes looks like he’s about to collapse from jaundice at any second…’
‘…and in “The Scarlet Monkey”, Dix is described as having a thick head of ash blond hair,’ volunteered Picard, growing desperate, ‘so let’s not get in to who looks the part here and who doesn’t. I’d like to just get on with the programme.’
‘Why don’t you let us finish first, Data,’ Tasha suggested, ‘and then as soon as we’re done, you can complete it as Holmes. We won’t tell you the ending.’
‘Do you expect me to believe that, Commander?’
Yar sighed. ‘Oh, here we go…’
‘I have an alternative suggestion,’ Picard butted in before the proto-argument could escalate any further. ‘Since we are at the same stage of the mystery, and since this simulation seems to be able to accommodate both Dixon Hill and Holmes’ worlds, perhaps… perhaps both investigators could collaborate in order to solve this particular case.’
‘Hmm.’ Holmes put a thoughtful finger to his lips. ‘Holmes does prefer to work with company, and since Dr Watson is indisposed at present… would it not be unsuitable to cross the fictional realities?’
‘We’ve already got Hill & Hill working on this case tonight,’ shrugged Dixon. ‘Why not Hill, Hill & Holmes?’
‘Holmes, Hill & Hill,’ corrected Holmes.
‘Great,’ grumbled Dollis. ‘So, now what? Didn’t our lead just get shot five minutes ago?’
‘Not necessarily, Miss Hill,’ Holmes replied. ‘There was a gunshot from the mist, but as I recall, the two of you assumed it was I who had fired, when I did not.’
‘I hadn’t even drawn my gun,’ added Dix.
‘At least you’ve got a gun…’ Dollis complained.
‘Dollis Hill never carries a gun,’ replied Data. ‘Nor does she ever have need to fire one, since her adventures are, in comparison to both Dixon Hill and Holmes, fairly uneventful.’
‘What do you mean, “uneventful”?’
‘The best selling of her three novels was about the recovery of a wealthy Debutante’s abducted Chihuahua.’
‘Well, I’m sure the great Sherlock Holmes can’t imagine the indignity of having his most famous mystery revolve around a dog…’
‘Data, Tasha… could we please try to stay in character?’
‘Apologies, Mr Hill.’
‘So,’ continued Dix after taking a moment to recover his train of thought, ‘if it wasn’t either of us who fired, then who was it? Surely, a common enemy would have made attempts on our lives, too.’
‘Sane Charlie knew that Holmes was looking for him as well as us,’ reasoned Dollis, ‘and whatever he knew, I reckon he’d been intimidated so that he wasn’t willing to tell any of us anything. He found himself cornered in the fog, trapped between us and Holmes, so he shot into the air and fled during the resulting distraction.’
‘Almost, Miss Hill,’ mused Holmes, ‘almost. However, there is one crucial detail which you have missed. There was no sound of running footsteps after the gunshot fired. Charles was wearing hobnail boots, which on cobbles make quite a racket when one runs, let me assure you. No. He did not run.’
‘He’s hiding,’ Dixon added. ‘He’s still here.’
All three sleuths heard the strangulated gasp of terror at the same time. As one, they turned their heads in the direction of the sound - a set of dustbins, standing a few inches away from the wall.
‘Charlie…?’ Ventured Dixon.
‘Mr Pratt?’ Holmes added as the trio gingerly approached the bins, ‘I assure you, we mean you no harm…’ Nevertheless, Holmes kept his revolver trained on the dustbins.
Dollis reached the hiding place first, and gently pulled a dustbin lid away to reveal the trembling, scrawny wretch, an empty-barrelled revolver at his feet.
‘Whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout there?’ gibbered the hunched Cockney. ‘Wossat about all “character” and “Hollydecks”, eh?’
Dixon shook his head in a placatory manner. ‘It was nothing, Charlie. Just a little joke between my friends and me.’
‘You’re trying to confuse me,’ Charlie stammered, ‘intcha? Trying to make me think I’m crazy. I ain’t crazy! Don’t let ‘em tell you I’m crazy!’
‘Of course you’re not crazy, Charlie.’ Dollis gave Sane Charlie a kind pat on the shoulder. ‘Everybody knows, you’re perfectly sane. We wouldn’t call you Sane Charlie if we didn’t, would we?’
‘I am Sane,’ insisted Sane Charlie. ‘Don’t let them tell you I ain’t. Don’t let ‘em send me back ter that place…’
Dixon leaned in close to Charlie. ‘You know something, don’t you, Sane Charlie? That’s why you hid.’
‘N…no…’ stuttered Charlie. ‘Don’t know nuffink.’
‘I think you do,’ replied Dixon, ‘only something’s got you scared. Something’s causing your mind to… to start playing tricks on you.’
‘My mind ain’t playing tricks! I’m sane! I am! I’ll tell yer…’ Charlie craned his neck around, peering feverishly into the fog. ‘T’aint safe here… people watching out…’
‘There is a vacated shop just across the street,’ Holmes nodded at a small, desolate looking building over the road. ‘You may tell us what you know in safety and privacy there.'
Charlie nodded in agreement, and the four of them scurried over to the abandoned shop. A quick thump from Holmes’ elbow against the lock opened the door up nicely, and they slipped inside. Charlie relaxed visibly once they were out of the open. He shot Dollis a nervous smile.
‘Who’s the girl?’
‘Dollis Hill: Girl Detective,’ greeted Dollis, proudly extending her hand.
‘She is a spin-off,’ added Holmes as Charlie attempted to chivalrously kiss the girl’s hand, but ended up with a firm handshake instead, ‘and a not particularly successful one at that.’
‘”Dollis Hill”…?’ repeated Charlie, apparently failing either to hear or comprehend Holmes’ momentary foray beyond the 4th Wall. He gave a shy laugh. ‘I ‘ad an Auntie from near there.’
Dollis frowned in confusion.
‘Dollis Hill was named after an area of North-West London,’ Data told her, quietly. ‘Most likely, in fact, after the underground railway station of the same name situated there, not far from the building in which the publisher of the first of her adventures was…’
‘I’m named after a railway station?’ Tasha repeated in despair. She turned to Picard. ‘You never told me I had a Comedy Name…’
‘I don’t think that really matters right now…’ placated Picard.
‘Of course it matters! I thought I was supposed to be a serious trailblazer, now I find out I’m just some cash cow with a punning name…?’
Charlie whimpered a little, backing slightly away from them. ‘You’re doing it again. Talking all funny, like…’
‘Charlie,’ sighed Dix. ‘I’m sorry.’ He put a calming hand on the terrified Cockney’s shoulder, while giving the other two a loaded glare. ‘Let’s get back to business, shall we? No more of this silly talk.’
‘What has caused you to believe you are not safe, Mr Pratt?’ Holmes interjected. ‘Who are the people that you believe to be watching you?’
Sane Charlie frowned down at the floor, then from side to side, nervously.
‘They got Jimmy Three Fingers.’
‘The Bloom Brothers?’ specified Dixon.
‘They said he’d been asking too many questions for their liking.’ Charlie lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. ‘They said they’re going to cut off another one of his fingers.’
‘How dreadful,’ replied Dollis. ‘Now he’ll have to change his name.’
‘They took him to Aldous Bloom’s boat…’
‘A boat!’ chorused Dixon and Holmes in a unison of sudden comprehension.
‘We were so close with the dockyard,’ added Dix.
‘Only…’ interjected Charlie. He stopped, embarrassed, and stared down at his feet again.
‘Only what?’ prompted Dollis.
Charlie shook his head, cringing unhappily. ‘You’re going to hate me. You’re going to be so upset with me…’
‘No we won’t, Charlie,’ soothed Dollis.
Suddenly, there was the sound of several pistols being cocked from the dark shell of the shop behind them.
‘Oh,’ sang a syrupy voice from behind their backs, ‘I really think you will.’
Dix felt the cold muzzle of a revolver press against the small of his neck. A quick glance to the side confirmed that Dollis and Holmes were in similar predicaments. To the other side oozed the smug features of Algernon Bloom.
‘Messers Hill and Holmes,’ smarmed Algernon as his Heavies took the detectives’ firearms from their hands. ‘What a distinguished honour, gentlemen. And such a delightful ladyfriend with you to boot. Oh, we are going to have a marvellous time together, simply marvellous.’
‘Charlie,’ breathed Dix, ‘what have you done? Did you lead them here? Was… was this a trap all along…?’
Sane Charlie looked slowly up from the floor. He was no longer hunched or trembling. He was, for the first time Dixon had ever seen him, utterly collected and calm. He looked each of the captured trio in the eye, one by one, with a knowing smile, lighting a cigarette as his gaze rested on Dollis.
‘Sorry about that, folks,’ he breezed, blowing a smooth ring of smoke, ‘but it’s a grim old world out there. I know which way my bread’s buttered.’ He gave Dollis a sly wink before turning away and leaving them to Bloom’s gang. ‘After all, like I told yer – I ain’t mad.’
