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The View from Sherlock Peoria
No. 498, January 15, 2012

'Tis Done

The moment I stepped off the vintage 60s Learjet at Teterboro airport, I felt sparks in the air. If Nicola Tesla was still alive (and who's to say he isn't), I would have thought Tesla was running another "let's transmit electricity through the air" experiment in a populated area. The tingle of imminent peak experience seemed to descend from the sky like fog, coating every cell of exposed skin.

It was Sherlock Holmes's birthday weekend in New York City.

The minions had my bags in the steampunky electro-limo almost before Jabez had the car's door open for me. Jabez's true name is really something repulsive in Sherlockian circles, so I call him "Jabez." He drives. In the back of the limo is Persano, my NYC social secretary for the weekend. He ticky-tacks at his iPhone. Mina, the free-lance assassin, is also there, handing me a highball glass of Mexican Coca-cola and pirate rum. She waits.

The ride in is sooooo much better than the cab from La Guardia of trips past. The Secaucus board of tourism must have put up a facade of Victorian London just for the occasion, complete with bit-players, as the cityscape rolling by my window has that "historic but tidy" feel of a BBC historical drama film set from the 1980s. We glide through town like there are no such thing as potholes or start-and-stop traffic, finally coming to that particular venue where that particular dinner is being held.

My retinue leads me in through a back entrance and we ghost in to a large room full of banquet tables. All eyes are on the guy talking in front, so no one takes the slightest notice, with the exception of one unfortunate busboy. Mina dispatches him and Jabez makes the body disappear. The guy in front says a name.

"Don Hobbs."

As the noise level in the room rises, I turn and leave, having heard all I need to hear. I'm done here. Pity about the busboy.

The ride back to Teterboro is accompanied by one long contented smile. The one last hostage has been released. The snipers are free to fire.

Allegory, bitches. Allegory.

Your humble correspondent,
Edmond Dantes

 

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Past 2012 Columns

January 1, 2012
A League (Out)
Of Her Own

January 8, 2012
Why I Hate PBS

January 15, 2012
'Tis Done