A Fatal Glass of Beer Read Free

have an alarm system that goes on at night,” said the confused Trebblecock.
    Fields twitched his fake mustache and shook his head.
    “But in the light of day a fraud, a miscreant, a double-dealer, a cad and a thief can simply take my money and escape through a toilet window.”
    “I don’t know what to say,” said the man with the pince-nez. “Trebblecock, call the police.”
    “You don’t have a bank dick?” asked Fields.
    “Yes,” said the man softly, “but Mr. Demeringthal phoned in ill this morning, and I can’t see that his presence would have had any effect in this situation.”
    “Easy for you to say. It’s not your money.” Fields looked down at Gunther. “Bopped you one, did he?”
    “I was taken by surprise,” said Gunther. “It will not occur again.”
    “I admire your zeal if not your pugilistic prowess, but the fault was mine,” said Fields. “Never send in a midget to do the job of a sumo wrestler. Unfortunately, we don’t have a sumo wrestler, and they’re all Japs anyway. Well, Peters, what now? Leap through the window? Run thither and yon in search of the thief? He can’t have gotten far.”
    I looked at Fields, who unclipped his mustache and put it in his pocket. My back throbbed, but I did my best to hide it. I had some pills from Doc Hodgdon in my suitcase. The suitcase was in the trunk of the car alongside Fields’s two suitcases and a supply of gin that would be enough to get the entire First Army drunk.
    What now, I thought. I was in no shape to chase anyone, and by this time he could be anywhere in Lancaster County. Would I even know him if I saw him? He was tall. Not heavy. That was about it. He had probably dumped his Amish beard and suit by now and was on his way to the next bank. Nothing came to mind. But that had never stopped me before.
    “Back to the car,” I said.
    Fields shook his head in frustration and I helped Gunther to his feet, though it didn’t do much for my back. We headed through the bank, followed by the confused Trebblecock.
    We left him at the door and the three of us crossed the street, Fields mumbling to himself. We could all see it as we moved toward the car, a shirt board in the front passenger-side window. We stopped; there was a single word neatly printed on it: Altoona.

Chapter Two
     
Never trust a man who puts cash on the table, or one that doesn’t.
     
    Five days earlier, I had come back to my office in the Faraday Building to find a message from W. C. Fields. The note on my desk told me to come to his house immediately.
    Violet Gonsenelli stood across from me as I sat looking down at the message she had taken. Violet was dark, young, a beauty with a husband who had been working his way slowly but steadily up the middleweight rankings when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. For at least the duration of the war, Violet planned to continue working as receptionist for both Sheldon Minck, DDS, and Toby Peters, Private Investigator.
    Violet’s desk was in the reception area, where patients unaware of the danger they were letting themselves in for with Minck the Merciless, and people in need of a cheap, honest, and tenacious detective who could keep his mouth shut, could tell her their immediate needs. There was barely enough room in the reception area for Violet to inch her away around her small desk with the telephone on top of it, but she seemed content.
    The only problem with the arrangement was that Shelly’s wife, the Wicked Witch of the Southwest, was suspicious about what might develop between her short, fat, myopic, and bald husband and the beautiful receptionist. Shelly assured me he was working on that.
    My office was a bit larger than a broom closet. It had once been a small storage room with a window. To get into it, a client had to go through Sheldon Minck’s dental chamber of horror, which was why I did my best to meet potential clients at a restaurant or bar.
    Not that my office was completely without charm. I had a desk and