|
Jay Dubya, click here
to update your web pages on AuthorsDen.
|
|
|
|
"The Perplexing Pie Picture Puzzle" (Kindle, Nook, Smashwords) is the 19th (of 25) FBI Inspector Joe Giralo story that will be a part of the upcoming hardcover/paperback book, The FBI Inspector, which now exists in e-book formats, Kindle, Nook and Smashwords.
“The Perplexing Pie Picture Puzzle”
On a pleasant seventy-five degree Friday afternoon in late May, FBI Inspector Joe Giralo was seated and somberly commiserating with his loyal Agent Sal Velardi inside the 19th Hole Clubhouse at the public Buena Vista Country Club, the recreational accommodation situated ten miles southeast of somnolent Hammonton, New Jersey. The rather quiet conversation centered-around the Chief’s rare subpar golf outing. After the affable bartender delivered several frosted mugs of beer to the duffers’ square table, the disappointed G-men continued their woeful conversation.
“Sometimes Salvatore I think you’re better off than I am because you don’t take your golf game too seriously,” Joe Giralo began his pessimistic litany. “Eighteen holes of mediocre golf can be a very humbling and frustrating experience to a dedicated player.”
“You’re absolutely right Boss,” Agent Velardi reluctantly verified. “I shoot in the low 80s. If it gets any hotter, I don’t play. But all joking aside,” the Chief’s zany government associate prattled, “I’m usually either looking for a diamond in the rough or a Titleist 2 in the rough. On the fairways or on the greens, my luck is not blessed by St. Andrew; that’s for darned sure!”
“Well Salvatore, you’ve just told me several old, obnoxious, very mediocre jokes. You’d better watch yourself. You might actually be committing wholesale plagiarism from a struggling low-rank amateur comedian! But getting back to today’s distressful reality, I unfortunately shot four strokes over my established twelve-over-par handicap,” the peeved Chief complained, “and the four par fives I encountered today really destroyed my regular game. You know my Friend, several years ago I got two holes in one on this course but after twenty-seven years, I’ve never been able to get an eagle. And please don’t tell me that you wear two pair of pants when playing golf, just in case you get a hole in one, because that’s another one of your leprous, repetitious wisecracks that absolutely tortures my sensitive eardrums.”
“A three on a par five is exceptionally difficult to achieve,” Agent Velardi sincerely admitted and confirmed. “Not even Tiger Woods or Phil Mickelson is an expert at hitting eagles. There is a certain amount of Divine Luck involved, that’s for certain. But if you ever shot an eagle Boss,” the subordinate jested, “I promise I won’t report you to the National Wildlife Association or the equally powerful Environmental Protection Agency.”
“I still can’t get over shooting an 88 on a par 72,” the veteran player explained. “And after I had a score of 78 my last outing. Golf is an unpredictable game that deviously defies a veteran player’s daily improvement.”
Sensing Inspector Giralo’s general and lengthy melancholy mood, Agent Velardi slowly sipped his cold beer and then casually mentioned to his dejected mentor that numerous black bears have been recently sighted meandering around in the Hammonton, Batsto, Winslow Township and Waterford areas.
“Well Sal, the blueberry farmers have been reporting that their crops are running two whole weeks behind schedule because of the severe winter we’ve all suffered through here in South Jersey, so there aren’t too many ripe wild huckleberries in the local forests and woods. So lacking that particular aspect of their food supply, the rarely seen black bears….”
“Are leaving their natural habitats in desperation and looking for any available edibles in trash cans situated in neighborhood backyards,” the Devil-may-care agent orally finished his master’s statement. “Up until last week I had believed that dangerous bears were exclusively a North Jersey phenomenon. And furthermore Boss,” Velardi voluntarily vociferated, “I just can’t wait for the start of the all-too-short eight-week blueberry season. Dukes and Blue Crop are my favorite varieties followed by Bluettas. I buy them a flat at a time over at Atlantic Blueberry. And I gotta’ confess, twelve pints don’t last too long in my household!”
The pair of fatigued men then commenced discussing the still-existing negative after-effects of Hurricane Sandy, which had ravaged the New Jersey shore in Ocean City, in Atlantic City, in Pt. Pleasant and in Seaside Heights two years before. The dull communication suddenly turned more upbeat by next focusing upon where the two would be traveling with their families over the weekend.
“I’ll be heading down to Cape May with Gina and my two daughters,” Chief Giralo indicated with a brief smile upon his chubby countenance. “We’ll be staying at the historic Congress Hall, just off the beach. My wife and I plan to stroll around and admire the classic Victorian architecture of the many bed and breakfast guest homes and visit several old tourist-trap mansions in the downtown area,” Giralo disclosed, “while in the meantime the girls will be busy swimming in the hotel’s pool. How about you’ Salvatore?”
“Kathy, me and the kids will be taking the Lindenwold High Speed Line train into Philly’,” Velardi revealed. “We’ll get-off at Eighth and Market and catch a cab to the Franklin Institute. A brand new astronomy show will be featured in the Fels Planetarium, and some new educational hands-on exhibits involving the functions of the human brain will be open too. Of course,” Agent Velardi qualified, “I’ll be also preoccupied downing a few savory Philly’ cheese-steaks and pretzels sold by hawking street vendors. Say Boss, all afternoon you seem to be distracted by something dominating your mind. Is it the four three-for-five eagles you uncharacteristically bogeyed on the 5th, 8th, 16th and 17th holes?”
“Very astute observation! That might be part of my temporary emotional depression,” Inspector Giralo honestly commended and acknowledged. “Yes indeed, three for five is a definite challenge on any given eagle hole. But actually my Good Man, just yesterday I received something quite unusual in the mail.”
“What was it?” a suddenly curious Agent Velardi asked. “A one-way plane ticket to Baghdad or Damascus? How about a bloody horse’s hoof stuffed inside a shoe box! What about King Tut’s petrified right thumb instead?”
“Listen Sal,” Chief Giralo very firmly insisted. “Tonight Gina is taking the girls to a rehearsal for their dance group’s recital being staged in two weeks. Here’s the plan! Get in touch with Arty and Dan, and I want all three of you promising sleuths inside my place at 7 p.m. sharp. This peculiar item that I’ve gotten is somewhere between bizarre and puzzling. Show-up at my place with the guys at seven this evening and you’ll fathom exactly what I mean.”
*************
The front porch light was illuminated at 321 East Orchard Street when the three punctual FBI agents arrived in separate black government cars at precisely 7 p.m. Inspector Giralo cordially greeted his subordinates at the entrance and invited them through the foyer into the spacious home’s dining room. After sitting at opposite sides of the oval conference table, the three anxious visitors awaited vocal declarations from their often shrewd superior, who was now seated next to Agent Velardi.
Finally breaking the room’s tense silent atmosphere, Agent Velardi felt compelled to render a harmless inquiry. “What’s up Boss?”
“The word ‘up’ could either be an adverb or a preposition, depending on how it’s used in a sentence,” the Federal Administrator facetiously quipped. “If you say ‘the balloon is drifting up, in that case ‘up’ is definitely an adverb modifying the verb phrase ‘is drifting’. And if you say the cat climbed up the tree, then ‘up’ is a preposition initially positioned in an adverbial prepositional phrase, which would distinctly be modifying the action verb ‘climbed’.”
“Sorry I had accidentally asked such a thoroughly naked question,” Agent Velardi sarcastically replied with a weak smile expressed upon his lips. “I should’ve known better from past conversations that I’ve had with such a knowledgeable grammarian! I suspect that in your youth you probably were a lackluster private in the French Foreign Legion before you eventually transferred to London and miraculously evolved into an English Major!”
Diplomatically changing the subject, and also resenting being verbally challenged, Chief Giralo coyly asked his three underlings, “I trust that you Fellas’ are gonna’ volunteer for the upcoming St. Anthony Church Chicken Barbecue two weekends from now. Father Tom called me from the rectory up on 206 and said he needs some ambitious cooks and also a few competent counter servers. Salvatore, I believe you’ll be in charge of the soda and beer responsibility; Arty, you’ll handle the combined baked beans and French fries department, and Dan, I designate that you’ll be the parish’s official cashier. And of course Fellas’,” Joe Giralo emphasized, grinned and then paused, “I’ll be on duty meandering around and keenly supervising all the minute details of the entire operation.”
“And if a mob of angry traveling clowns attacks any of us,” Agent Orsi jested, “my sage advice is to go for the juggler.”
Realizing that mediocre comedy time had obviously run its course, the Federal Official grunted, cleared his throat and then closely studied the florid faces of his three dependable G-men. The cardboard back side of a large flat circular figure had inconspicuously occupied the center of the dining room table, and without any apparent hesitation, the Chief Inspector grabbed the object with his two hands and gently turned it over, face-up. Looks of consternation suddenly appeared upon the surprised visages of the Investigator’s three intrigued familiar guests.
The three-feet in diameter configuration situated upon the table was a sort of pie graph having a circumference of sixteen pasted triangular sections, all individually pointing to the round object’s center. Four particular colors were deliberately presented in sequence in each of the four quadrants, consecutively repeating the outstanding hues of blue, red, yellow and brown. After analyzing the extraordinarily odd color display, Sal Velardi garnered the courage to make a remotely relevant statement.
“Boss, at first I theorized that this weird artwork was a clock, but then I quickly recognized that there were more than twelve hours being represented. I automatically concluded that the strange notion of a thirty-two hour day is absolutely preposterous and fundamentally illogical.”
Another agent then felt compelled to speak. “Well Chief, I originally thought that the unusual item was a two-dimensional model of the type of wheels-of-chance you ordinarily see spinning on the Wildwood and Seaside Heights boardwalks,” Agent Art Orsi shared, “but then I noticed that the sixteen colors were blank without any associated numbers being provided. This thing you’re showing us Boss is both rather irritating and perplexing! But I’m quite eager to find-out more about it.”
“The four repeating colors in the accompanying quadrants must indicate or symbolize something rather obscure,” a baffled Agent Blachford offered, “but exactly what that factor is in this ridiculous riddle remains a complete mystery annoying my very limited mind.”
Inspector Giralo then had a fleeting moment of positive inspiration. The notorious crime-solving guru methodically removed a black magic marker from his cotton shirt pocket, lifted-off the cap and then carefully labeled the pie chart’s various color elements ranging from Number ‘1’ to Number ‘16’.
“Now finally, the oddball chart possesses an aura of arithmetical plausibility,” Joe Giralo evaluated and uttered. “But what really agitates my delicate psyche is this lousy computer typed note that had accompanied this bothersome enigma that had unexpectedly arrived on my front porch via U.S. mail at nine this morning. Does anyone have any idea with what we’re dealing with here?”
“That weird pie chart reminds me of my extremely boring high school geometry class in which I was lucky to pass with a D. Where was the thing shipped from anyway?” Sal Velardi asked. “From what Post Office did it originate?”
“It had been mailed from the Trenton Post Office, but which facility in the State’s Capital can’t be traced or identified,” Inspector Giralo regrettably divulged. “A person can obtain a similar carton from any post office, put the appropriate postage on the package and then hand it to any mail carrier who is inadvertently stopped at a traffic light while sitting in his or her truck. The preoccupied driver probably only checked to see that adequate postage was on the standard carton and never checked for a return address, which if given, could’ve easily been a false wild-goose-chase residence. Then the traffic light might have changed, and the mail truck zoomed off!”
Seeing that his accomplished colleagues were just as beleaguered and dumbfounded as he’ was, Inspector Giralo then read a taunting memo’ that had been stealthily inserted inside the folded-up sixteen section round design. The three avid listeners sat virtually mesmerized as their illustrious superior slowly read the disturbing missive.
Treasured Toledo Tomfool Tumorbrain:
Today will be tedious Tomfool. Tomorrow you’ll
be tattered, tortured, trounced and traumatized.
Tzar Tantalus Tease
“Apparently this new-found treacherous jokester has a certain infatuation with the letter T,” Agent Velardi readily determined. “And the ludicrous salutation ‘Treasured Toledo’ undoubtedly is a lame way of saying ‘Holy Toledo’.”
“Yes Salvatore,” Inspector Giralo incidentally concurred. “And the closing I.D. is ostensibly plagued with several unique etymologies. Tsar, for instance, is a Russian corruption of Czar, a derivation of the Roman ‘Caesar’. And in the realm of ancient Greek Mythology,” the contemplative Boss further editorialized, “Tantalus had been a wealthy king who had offended the gods. His eternal punishment in Hades was to be chained while standing inside a huge vat of water. When thirsty Tantalus would bend over to drink, the water would quickly funnel out of the tub,” Inspector Giralo explained. “Then amazingly, delicious fruit would appear on overhead branches, and when the hungry victim would desperately reach up, the apples, peaches and bananas would vanish as a volume of fresh water would predictably surge into the vat. Consequently, our English word ‘tantalize’ has its origin…”
“From the name Tantalus, meaning to deeply tease,” Agent Orsi realized and commented, “but Boss, I’m more impressed with this devious trickster having a psychological fixation with the letter T than I am with your totally pedantic English lesson.”
“Well Boss, what’s next on the agenda besides the imminent Chicken Barbecue over at St. Anthony picnic grounds?” Agent Blachford inquired.
“This scheming culprit reminds me of the elusive Puzzler, but since that dangerous nemesis is still isolated behind prison bars,” Agent Velardi intelligently reckoned, “this reprehensible Tzar knave can’t possibly be him. Perhaps that slippery criminal Thomas Cask apprehended up in Burlington has a twin brother who is just as diabolical as he is.”
“Guys, I suggest that next week you go about your regular routine investigative assignments,” Chief Giralo sternly directed. “In the meantime, if anything untowardst or bizarre develops in relation to this demented new tricky twit Tzar Tantalus Tease, then we’ll swiftly meet again to organize a comprehensive attack strategy.”
*************
Early on Saturday morning Inspector Joe Giralo received an urgent phone call from a rather frantic Agent Sal Velardi. After calming his almost-hysterical agent down, the ever-rational Boss insisted that the hyperactive G-man inform him about what all of the novel emotional pandemonium was about.
“Chief! We can’t procrastinate!” Velardi boisterously yelled into his cell phone. “At 9 this morning the mailman dropped off four standard post office packages at my home. I opened one up and found the blue, green, yellow and brown pattern of the first quadrant, but it was sort of a convenient overlay with the numbers one-through-four along with certain small-sized related clues cut-out from magazines and Internet displays, which I presume had been run-off on what appears to be computer printer paper.”
“Stop hyperventilating Sal like you need to be put on hospital life support!” Joe Giralo reprimanded and answered. “Your information sounds quite interesting; I’ll change that noteworthy description to ‘fascinating’. Now here’s how we’ll proceed. Get in touch with Arty and Dan right away. We’ll meet at eleven at Joe’s Maplewood for lunch. It’ll be my treat, I promise,” the normally parsimonious Inspector related. “I’ll call Jimmy Italiano right after I get off the horn with you and reserve the restaurant’s back room where the four of us could have some decent privacy to review the material that you have, and then we’ll construct some viable plan of operation. We’ll meet first and eat afterwards.”
“Sounds pretty copacetic to me’ Boss! I could taste the homemade spaghetti and delectable secret recipe meatballs already!” Agent Velardi jubilantly exclaimed. “This sinister Tzar Tantalus Tease guy is going to great lengths attempting to thwart us. We’ll nab him good once we discover and solve his specific M.O.”
“Yes Salvatore, but like most cocky overconfident idiots of his inferior ilk, his narcissism along with his basic arrogance will ultimately defeat him. I’ve seen this same-type of oddball scenario enacted before. I imagine that Tzar Tantalus Tease will spend plenty of quality time in a federal penitentiary. Matt Riley down in DC headquarters has meticulously assembled a list of heinous crimes that have recently been executed, and I have a distinct feeling that our mail post tormentor is both the organizer and the perpetrator, possibly heinously contriving an elaborate destructive rampage against both the United States government and civilized American society.”
"It doesn’t get any more complicated than that!” Agent Velardi spontaneously attested. “Boss, Arty, Dan and I will be at Joe’s Maplewood up on the Pike promptly at 11 a.m.”
“In all your excitement Salvatore,” Chief Giralo cautioned, “don’t forget to bring the four sets of numbered blue, red, yellow and brown quadrants that had been delivered to your residence. We have to conscientiously decipher the exact whereabouts of this possibly very formidable evasive fellow, Tzar Tantalus Tease.”
*************
The regular lunch crowd was just arriving at the popular White Horse Pike eatery when the four on-a-mission government law enforcement men met outside in the asphalt parking lot and then nonchalantly sauntered into the bustling dining establishment. Giralo, Velardi, Orsi and Blachford were soon merrily greeted by Jimmy Italiano, the venue’s congenial proprietor, who then casually escorted the foursome to the unoccupied reserved back room.
After seating themselves at a large square table, Chief Giralo carefully removed and unfolded his circular pie diagram from a brown grocery store shopping bag, and next Agent Velardi followed suit and adroitly opened the four commonplace shipping cartons and then laid the four sets of numbered and pictured quadrants directly upon the Boss’s original designed pattern.
“Let’s study all aspects of this sophisticated configuration and see what sort of clever hypothesis we can ascertain,” Joe Giralo instructed. “Salvatore, you can now adequately describe the principal ingredients evident in quadrant Number One.”
“Well now,” Agent Velardi stated before drawing-in a deep breath to relax his abundant overzealous enthusiasm, “Blue Triangle One in Quadrant One has a tiny picture of what seems to be Edgar Allan Poe, Red Triangle Number Two has a pair of blithe nuns, Yellow Triangle Number Three has several little quacky ducks, and Brown Quadrant Number Four has what appears to be two red-robed Catholic Cardinals.”
“Nuns are often defined in slang terms as penguins,” alert Agent Blachford observed and proudly expressed.
“If you incorporate the literary fact that Edgar Allan Poe had authored the classic poem ‘The Raven’,” Chief Giralo conjectured and authoritatively commented, “then we could have four different types of birds being identified: the raven, the penguin, the duck and the cardinal.”
“I think you’re on to something concrete,” Agent Orsi genuinely commended. “I’ll describe the four pictures connected with the somewhat mysterious Second Quadrant. Perhaps additional bird discoveries can be made.”
Art Orsi quickly remarked that Blue Triangle One in Quadrant Two featured a set of blue jays, the Red Triangle in Quadrant Two depicted a cookie, the Yellow Triangle in Quadrant Two showed amorous falcon love-mates and the Brown Triangle in the Second Quadrant exhibited a small photo’ of a flying pelican.
“Boss,” Agent Orsi impulsively declared, “three bird species are also given here in the Second Quadrant, blue jays, falcons and the pelican. But I’m a trifle confused about the out-of-place cookie drawing.”
“Arty,” Chief Giralo indulgently laughed. “The cookie hint is actually an Oreo, which sounds almost like ‘oriole’. That pertinent understanding ought to mitigate your temporary quandary.”
Next Agent Dan Blachford discussed the four representations displayed in the now not-so-arcane Third Quadrant. “The blue portion in Triangle Number Nine has a hawk’ duo, the red area in Triangle Ten again has two red-robed Catholic Cardinals for the second time, the yellow segment in Triangle Eleven in Quadrant Three has the words ‘three-for-five’, and lastly, the brown division in Triangle Twelve indicates a rather crude drawing of a futuristic space needle.”
“This entire fiasco is astonishingly remarkable!” Chief Giralo bellowed. ‘Remember Salvatore, the terminology ‘three-for-five’ over at Buena Vista Country Club. You had maintained that the phrase meant your version of an ‘eagle’, which is indeed a very fabulous predator, just like the aforementioned falcon and hawk happen to be. “But where does the space needle clue fit into the general equation?”
"I get it now!” boomed sports fan Salvatore Velardi. “The space needle is in Seattle, the city where the Seahawks NFL team plays their home games.”
“Good surmising Sal!” congratulated and praised Inspector Giralo. “The Seattle Space Needle is six hundred feet high and had been constructed for the Seattle World’s Fair of 1962,” the erudite FBI Chief academically pontificated. “This is grand fun we’re having, making basic sense out of sheer nonsense!”
Without any sign of reluctance, Agent Dan Blachford felt obligated to review the compelling facets slyly portrayed in Quadrant Four. “Blue Triangle Number Thirteen has a pair of dinosaurs, and I’m bewildered that Red Triangle Fourteen, Yellow Triangle Fifteen and Brown Triangle Sixteen are essentially blank, completely devoid of necessary clues!”
“Well now,” perceptively noticed Inspector Giralo, “dinosaurs are frequently referred to as ‘raptors,’ the hulking prehistoric creatures being the extinct ancestors of today’s birds of prey like the eagle, the falcon and the hawk!”
“Tremendous deduction Boss!” Sal Velardi generously lauded. “And now I think I partially understand the whole general conundrum. The birds on the complicated diagram can synchronize with various professional baseball, football, basketball and ice hockey sports teams in different cities. For example, in Quadrant One we could have the Baltimore Ravens football team, the Pittsburgh Penguins and the Anaheim Ducks ice hockey squads and the St. Louis Cardinals baseball unit.”
“And Fellas’,” Agent Orsi instinctively hollered, euphorically interrupting his more vociferous comrade, Agent Velardi, “in Quadrant Two we have the Toronto Blue Jays and Baltimore Orioles baseball teams, the Atlanta Falcons football squad and the New Orleans Pelicans NBA basketball guys.”
“And in Quadrant Three,” Agent Blachford assertively contributed to the intensive analysis, “we have the Atlanta Hawks, the St. Louis Cardinals again, the Philadelphia Eagles and the Seattle Seahawks. But Boss, why are the Toronto Raptors the only team shown in Quadrant Four?”
“Because Dan, your eyes ought to examine and scrutinize the pie graph a little more accurately,” Chief Giralo advised. “Notice that four of the cities depicted in Quadrants One-through-Three have two separate bird teams. My guess is that Toronto is eliminated because the Raptors already are exhibited in Quadrant Four and the Toronto Blue Jays are already alluded to in Quadrant Two. Therefore,” Chief Giralo resumed his stellar monologue, “the remaining cities with two separate already-evident bird teams are Baltimore, Atlanta and perhaps the city of Phoenix, with the Phoenix Cardinals football team being a likely candidate for Red Triangle Two of Quadrant Four. I predict that Phoenix Baltimore, and maybe Atlanta will be the wily conspirators’ next selected targets. But I predict that the Phoenix electrical grid is the crafty perpetrator’s next designated target.”
“Kindly go back to Chapter 1, Page 1,” Agent Velardi requested. “You’ve lost me Boss! My addled mind is now as clear as extra-muddy water!”
The FBI Official orally conveyed to his somewhat astounded three-man-audience that the ever-wary Washington bureaucrats didn’t want the nosy press and TV media to learn about the drastic proliferation of certain nefarious sabotage incidents that had been occurring over the course of the last four months in metropolitan regions all across America. But the Chief Inspector deftly told his flabbergasted men about what the DC FBI brass suspected was the true significance of the intricate blue, red, yellow and brown color coding prevalent on the colorful flat pie graph.
“Blue signifies water treatment plants, and in March and April,” Joe Giralo bluntly stated, “guided missiles had been launched into large facilities in Baltimore, in Toronto, in Atlanta and in Toronto again, respectively, causing widespread devastation. And then also during those two difficult months,” the Chief patiently announced, “other missiles destroyed red area electrical grids in Pittsburgh, again in Baltimore and then in St. Louis.”
“I see,” chimed-in Agent Blachford. “Electrical grids had been compromised in Pittsburgh, in Baltimore, in St. Louis and next, according to the Boss’s astute speculation, next will be Phoenix!”
“Well then, what about the yellow zones?” Art Orsi wondered and asked. “I suppose that they had been vulnerable to missile attacks too!”
“Important radio towers had been targeted and destroyed in Anaheim, in Atlanta, and in Philly’. The unidentified three remaining targets of Quadrant Four have yet to be clearly determined.”
“So what do the Brown Triangles mean in all Four Quadrants?” Dan Blachford politely interrogated his revered fearless leader. “How do you theorize they fit into this growing sensational plot?”
“I’ve concluded that Brown denotes sewage treatment plants,” the Chief Inspector instantly disclosed. “And we already know that sewage treatment operations in St. Louis, in New Orleans and in Seattle have all been greatly crippled by rocket detonations.”
“And Boss, you now conjecture that this insane person Tzar Tantalus Tease is evilly orchestrating this terrible rash of catastrophic explosions all across the continental U.S.,” Agent Orsi quizzed.
“Yes Arty, as you’re well-aware, domestic terrorism is dramatically on the rise,” Giralo said with convincing certainty. “But within the next week, I prognosticate that this vindictive lunatic barbarian, namely Tzar Tantalus Tease, along with his malicious accomplices will be expertly apprehended and brought to justice. And I’m more than relatively inclined to believe that the next impending strike will be enacted in one of the cities shown twice, but my gut conjecture is most probably Phoenix, Arizona!”
“Why do you’ say that Inspector?” Dan Blachford questioned. “To me, your assumption seems to be rather remote.”
“Because Dan, in mythology, the Phoenix was a remarkable desert bird that would burn itself up and then be reborn from its ashes,” Joe Giralo admirably lectured. “And I believe that these pernicious saboteurs we’re about to hunt-down want to obliterate American civilization and wickedly wish to create an anarchistic New World Order from the ashes.”
“My throbbing brain is about to disintegrate, and my frivolous mind is frazzled, feeble and it also feels fully frayed and fractured,” Agent Velardi exaggerated and alliterated. “Let’s take a break, reward ourselves and order some Maplewood homemade spaghetti and meatball platters. My empty stomach demands digesting some tasty Italian grub immediately!”
“You’re truly a marvelous revelation Salvatore!” Chief Giralo candidly complimented. “How sublimely terrific! How mystically ironic! How supremely coincidental! Yes, my Good Man,” the super-elated FBI Chief propitiously added, “you’ve just given me a fantastic idea! In fact Agent Velardi, you’ve just afforded me two rather incredible ideas!”
*************
Just after dawn on the Saturday morning of the St. Anthony Chicken Barbecue, Chief Joe Giralo contact his three trusty agents and told them to head on over to the recently remodeled Canoe Club at Hammonton Lake Park for a hastily scheduled “very important information exchange.” The Boss had already arranged to have the upstairs conference room exclusively reserved while the town’s Senior Citizens Club members were busy eating doughnuts and sipping coffee and tea in the capacious facility’s downstairs’ recreation room.
“This senior citizen hangout is called the Canoe Club because an actual boathouse existed on this lagoon’s location in the 1940s and 1950s,” Giralo expounded.
“Canoes were rented-out and happy paddlers enjoyed gliding along tranquil Hammonton Lake from late spring to mid-fall.”
“Thanks for the unsolicited local history lesson,” Sal Velardi cynically balked. “But why did you summon us here at 7:30 a.m. on the same day we’re supposed to be working in the sweltering heat out on the St. Anthony picnic grounds way across town?”
“I want you three wannabe’ FBI inspectors to fathom that late last night the scoundrel known to us as Tzar Tantalus Tease had been taken into government custody and is now in jail up in Teaneck, Bergen County. Commissioner Matt Riley had the head FBI honchos dispatch my good golfing pal Colonel Bob Bauers and his elite Delta Force Army Commandos to the exact site where the criminal apprehension had been strategically implemented.”
Desiring to learn the specifics of the reported arrest, the three impressed agents pressed their superior for supplemental data pertaining to the apprehension of the new-found deceptive trickster/rogue. The effervescent Boss eagerly accommodated the G-men’s request to further comprehend the saga’s full story.
“This mendacious thug possesses the birth name Theodore Timothy Thurston, whose alias we presently recognize as Tzar Tantalus Tease, had been a radical anti-Vietnam War college hippie back in the late 1960s. The feckless weasel began his teaching career at a Toledo high school after eventually graduating from Tulsa University in 1973. Then the disgraceful Mr. Thurston earned a Master’s Degree in political science from Towson University and later obtained his doctorate from Temple over in North Philly’.”
“I see that Mr. T. never lost his special infatuation with that particular alphabet letter,” Agent Orsi accurately generalized. “It’s no wonder why this rather eccentric jerk Theodore Timothy Thurston mailed his no-return-address pie graph packages to Hammonton via the Trenton Post Office.”
“Well Guys,” Inspector Giralo continued with his extraordinary explanation, “this erratic bozo criminal Mr. T. is still active teaching political science with a definite liberal bias. Over the years the unscrupulous Mr. Thurston had become friendly with other militant 60s era professors instructing their slanted ideology to gullible students in the social studies and science departments at various colleges and universities all across the country.”
“And these radical left-wing dissidents all deeply despise American capitalism,” Dan Blachford inferred and said, “and I presume all of them diabolically want to diminish this great nation by attacking its aging infrastructure in the form of water treatment plants, electrical grids, communications’ towers and vital urban waste management facilities.”
“But Boss,” a still-perplexed Agent Velardi informally addressed his sagacious superior, “how was I instrumental in helping to effectively crack-open this very complex FBI Mr. T case?”
Inspector Joe Giralo then elucidated that Professor Theodore Timothy Thurston had invested his life’s savings in vacation homes and condominium properties in Toms River, New Jersey, in Titusville, Florida, and also along the Hudson River in Tarrytown, New York. The crazed “America hater” had intentions of flipping the residences and making handsome profits, but then the housing bubble of 2008 had caused the horrible recession, and Mr. Theodore Timothy Thurston then loathed the federal government even more, blaming his prodigious losses on good old Uncle Sam, Wall Street and the ever-vacillating and all-too-risky American free enterprise system.
“Well then,” Agent Orsi piped-up, “how do the disenfranchised warped-minded science professors mesh into Thurston’s prolific animosity toward apple pie, truth, justice and the American way?”
“Those misguided academic clowns amply resent the USA too and the nihilistic morons have always wished to weaken the homeland nationally, thus essentially limiting American military involvement in foreign affairs,” Joe Giralo aptly summarized. “This quasi-intellectual lethal snake, namely Professor Thurston, had leased an apartment in the Tacony section of Philadelphia while he was teaching at Temple, but over the weekends the cunning conspirator commuted back and forth between his main bailiwick up in Teaneck to his other place in Tacony, principally to visit his two girlfriends, one up in Tenafly in Bergen County, and his second lady friend residing in Tinicum, just south of Philly’.”
“But Chief, you still haven’t answered how I had magically motivated you to interpret and put this exceptional pie chart puzzle all together!” adamantly implored Agent Velardi. “Sometimes you make me feel like an Arctic Eskimo without an igloo, left completely stranded out in the miserable polar cold!”
The amused Boss inhaled a deep breath and resumed his participation in the fairly extensive dialogue. “Salvatore, when you had mentioned that you had an appetite for Italian ‘grub’ over at the Maplewood Inn, I quickly thought that ‘grub’ were the wriggling larvae of insects in addition to being American slang for food.”
“So what do insects have to do with the dynamics of this all-too-confusing pie chart case?” bewildered Agent Velardi strenuously objected. “At times I think that ancient Indian Sanskrit and Babylonian cuneiform tablets make more sense than your irrational commentaries do!”
“Salvatore,” Chief Giralo mildly chided, “common honey bees are a unique variety of flying insects. During the mating season, male flying insects called ‘drones’ by instinct accompany the airborne future queen bee to start a new nest or colony.”
“I get the big picture now!” Agent Velardi loudly articulated. “The alienated science professor goons were assigned by Professor T to design and build remote-control drones in university towns all over the country, and the loathsome odious plotters probably attached powerful loaded guided missiles to the illicit flying machines. And after the destructive weapons were discharged into the selected urban utility plants, the drones were….”
“Were self-exploded via remote control devices precisely over the inflamed target area, thus obliterating most of the convicting physical evidence,” Agent Blachford rapidly comprehended and orally rendered. “What a stunning and shocking set of outlandish circumstances!”
“Well now Boss, where was Professor Thurston finally captured?” Sal Velardi insisted on knowing.
“At Teterboro Airport up in Bergen County,” Inspector Giralo enunciated. “He and six of his vile comrades were caught boarding a chartered flight originally slated to take off for Phoenix, but then the plane’s destination plan was cunningly switched to Toronto, Canada where coincidentally, the entire entourage happened to become cowardly draft dodgers way back in the tumultuous 1960s. The escaping group would’ve been encountered at Teterboro whether the chartered plane was heading to Phoenix or Toronto. So as you Gentlemen can now readily determine,” the garrulous-but-egotistical speaker emphasized, “beneficial insightful knowledge of both etymology and entomology can be absolutely crucial while professionally pursuing advanced detective work!”
“So this delusional gigolo fanatic Mr. Theodore Timothy Thurston and his craven college colleagues were probably suspicious that the government was close on their heels,” Dan Blachford concluded and affirmed. “They were hastily heading to Toronto, but not to see Blue Jays or Raptors!”
Just then Mrs. Eleanor Flood entered the Canoe Club’s upstairs conference room carrying a tray of assorted fresh doughnuts. “Would any of you like to sample some leftover pastries? I hate to see them go to waste.”
“No thank you Eleanor,” Chief Giralo answered, much to the total disappointment of hungry Agents Velardi, Orsi and Blachford. “We’re about to promptly head over to the St. Anthony picnic grounds for the Annual Chicken Barbecue, and I’m sure we’ll soon be deluged with a variety of tempting treats along with a myriad of mouth-watering desserts!”
Jay Dubya
Author of 49 Books
Google: Jay Dubya Books
|
|
Web Site:
Jay Dubya Books
|
|
|
|
|
|
enjoyed reading your interesting narrative
This particular "over-the-top" comic book style, story reminds me of Batman and Sherlock Holmes combined. The lifestyle of the agents and the apparent superiority of the "boss" suggests that the life of a FBI agent is more leisurely fun than tedious research or surveillance work. The story also has strong overtones of a naïve ideology where the government hating capitalists employ government employees to solve serious crimes perpetrated by intelligentsia misfits.
The satire is quite good. However, I don't believe the general reading public will get it. Maybe I got tired of reading all the trivia, but I failed to see the connection between the discussion of the pie chart taunts by the perpetrator and the solution and apprehension of the culprit(s).
Ron