The Case of the Murder at Madhouse Manor

"Damn it Mario, I told you NO anchovies on my pizza!" I yelled into the phone, whapping my hand on the countertop, "Why the hell am I paying you fifteen bucks for you to screw up my order?"

"Well," Mario answered carefully, "I really don't know. What do you want me to do? Fire all my workers and hire new ones?"

"Yes!" I bellowed, "But that's that last time I order from your crummy food stand bucko!" I slammed the receiver down with great force, cracking like a rifle shot." Man, thought I, that's the third time this week. As I was in the midst of this personal thinking, I heard rapid knocks at my door. I also heard a great deal of sneezing from the other side, a clear indication as to who it was. It was my friend and assistant, Dr. Lotson, who was a professional something or other. He was clearly excited about something. "Condo, you won't believe it, I have fantastic news! You have a new case to work on! Someone was murdered on the other side of the world in London." To which, I made my reply in a casual and uninterested tone, "Let Holmes handle it, since he's there anyway."

"Oh. Well, in other news then, some one was kidnapped and murdered right down the street," Lotson stated, in a bored sort of fashion, picking his teeth. At this, I suddenly leapt out of my recliner, (Which I bought at Rooms-To-Go for a terrific price I may add) and shouted, "By Gad…" But the sound of my office door opening stopped me dead. In walked the city inspector, in his usual cliché overcoat and hat.

"Excuse me Mr. Condo, but I…" I cut him off with a growl; "Do not ever interrupt me while I'm saying BY GAD SIR!"

"I'm sorry Mr. Condo, I'll let you finish."

"Thank you inspector. Now then, where was I? Oh yes…" Once more, I stood up straight, lifted a fist to the ceiling, and thundered, "BY GAD SIR, we must take action! Call the army reserves; summon that National Guard, this treachery must be stopped!"

Lotson responded matter-of-factly, "All the reserves are on vacation."

At this, I began to stride across the floor, raving and letting a bit of drool fall. "Damn the creator! It looks like we will have to do this the old fashion way. With the magnifying glasses, and the footprints, and the hey hey hey it hurts me!"

As I spoke, I strolled over to a picture of my father scalding the wide-eyed king with boiling hot tea. By pulling ever so hard, I pulled the portrait down while be showered in plaster and dust. Behind which was a small wall safe, and after imputing the one digit number combination, yanked it open. As I past Lotson, and cried, "Lotson, we need the suitcase from the safe, behind the modem, in front of the china, and to the left of the autographed soccer ball. Fetch it will you?"

While Lotson busied himself with this, I went over to talk with the inspector. "Well inspector, what's the new for this crime?"

"A few hours ago, we received a call from someone calling himself Shadowy Figure. He said that he murdered the post office supervisor for lack of service, and kidnapped a beautiful painting of his daughter, holding it for ransom. Besides that, we found some things the murderer left behind, and we need your expert observation."

"Yes of course. Lotson, have you retrieved the suitcase behind the modem, in front of the china, and to the left of the autographed soccer ball?"

"Why yes, I have it in my hand."

"Very good. Inspector, where did this murder occur?" When he answered, I saw fear in his eyes. "Well…in his house. Duh."

"Watch it bud," I growled through clenched teeth, "else you'll be picking up your teeth with a pair of tweezers. Lotson, bring the me the suitcase from behind the modem, in front of the china, and to the left of the autographed soccer ball!" When I got my suitcase, I proceeded to take out a few important items such: my rubber chicken, fake floppy footprints, a smoke bomb pipe, my yo-yo, a magnifying glass, a semi-automatic silenced M-4 assault rifle, a deck of Tarot cards, and a watch with a built in detonation device to ignite powerful explosives, ready to blast my office into orbit at a moments notice.

After mysteriously stuffing all of this stuff into my pockets and jacket without one little crease to speak of, the three of us proceeded to the crime scene where it all happened. Upon our arrival, we found the victim, William James Clifford the VII, lying on the floor face down, right arm under him, and his right leg twisted sideways. As I rolled over the body, I saw his eyes were wide open. His wife wasn't that upset about the tragic death of her husband.

"I'm surprised he lived this long without being knocked out a couple of times, the damn fool. That bastard was gonna get it one of these days, I just knew it."

I was astounded, quite frankly, at her coolness about this somewhat grisly subject. Most wives would be crying their eyes out and hugging their children. But no, this was not the case. I stared about the room, looking for clues that no ordinary eyes could see. Seeing nothing, I studied the body and looked for the cause of death. Once more, seeing nothing, and feeling rather puzzled to say the least, I checked his neck, for a red mark or some type of rash around his flabby neck. Nothing, all I saw was a fat corpse. This gave me a lot of information about his death. No wounds meant he was neither stabbed nor shot in anyway. Secondly, no rash about the neck area meant that he hadn't been strangled or throttled to death. Having discovered this, I cleared my throat and addressed the people in the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Padlock Condo, mystery solver extraordinaire, and I have an announcement for everyone here." I went on to explain my observations carefully, using little words so that they might understand it.

"Smashing Condo," cried the inspector, "so does that mean you know who did it?"

"Don't be an ass; of course I don't know who did it yet! What am I Sherlock Holmes? I have no idea who did this foul deed, but make no mistake; I will find out who is responsible and make sure he pays for this hideous crime! Come hell or high water!" After this speech, I heard a loud applause from the house as everyone cheered for myself. I made my way over to the inspector, and asked him, "You said the murderer left some items behind, did you not?"

"Why yes, they are right on that table in front of you." I pulled out my magnifying glass and studied the three objects left behind by the killer. A cork grease box, a thermometer, and a rabbit's foot." After studying them, I called over Lotson. "My dear Lotson, do have any idea what these clues mean?"

"Why no Condo. What do they mean?"

"They mean absolutely nothing, something that we shouldn't care anything about. Now I'd like to question the wife." I strode over to said wife, who was smoking a huge smoldering cigar, with ash falling off the tip, and getting on the living room rug. She seemed to have strayed away from the body, and was just lingering near the door. "Excuse me madam, may I ask you a few questions about the murder?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Okay, let's see. What were you and your husband doing in the last twenty four hours?" She shuffled into the kitchen, and poured brandy and whiskey into a quart glass, and drank it down in one colossal swig.

"Well nothing, until he came home and took me and the kids to Saladbar Steakhouse. You know, that place that serves nothing but slop? And Will asked for the spiciest thing on the menus, and he chugged fifteen Maddog beers. Afterwards, on the way home, he skidded twice, clipped a car, and was pulled over for speeding. At home, instead of collapsing on the couch, so that it squeaked like a rusty gate hinge, he collapsed on the floor, with puffy red eyes, purple lips, and a blue face. After gurgling a couple of times like a drowned horse, he turned over on his stomach and died."

After interrogating Mrs. Clifford, I spoke to both the inspector and Lotson. "Well Condo," Lotson questioned, "what did you find out from the woman?"

"Well my dear Lotson, the family apparently went out to eat at Saladbar Steakhouse, and after gorging themselves, Will collapsed home with clear signs of drunkenness. But something doesn't add up. Inspector, whenever you get ripped off your ass, do you ever get purple lips or a blue face?" He thought back on this. "I don't believe so. Those are not the normal signs."

"Just as I thought, Lotson. If what I am thinking is what I am thinking, then I know how Mr. Clifford died." Lotson stared at me with awe and wonder.

"Really, already? Sherlock is not even half as good as that! What is this theory that I'm dying to hear! Out with it Condo!" I pulled out of my jacket my deck of Tarot cards, placing them on a coffee table, and arranged the cards while speaking.

"Quite simple Lotson, if you put all the clues together correctly. First we know are victim was not cut nor strangled in any way right? Right. Second, Mr. Clifford had purple lips and a blue face, and as we have determined, is not a telltale sign of alcoholism. And lastly, he was at a restaurant for two and a half hours, which is more than enough time for a sinister operation to be placed into action. So, by simple logic, Mr. Clifford consumed nano toxins, in turn corrupting his digestive system and caused a complete loss of body power, in which case caused him to collapse due to a lack of corrdination." My two companions were staring at me, instead of at the fortune cards, which were positioned in a skull and crossbones on a bottle, being poured into a drink, and then said drink being consumed and digested. At last, the inspector spoke.

"Could you…um…say that again Condo. Perhaps in English please?" Annoyed immensely by his thick head, I roared, "What it means you asshole, is that the son of a bitch was poisoned and collapsed on the floor in that disgusting heap!" After this outburst, I slipped back into the kitchen, and witnessed Mrs. Clifford drink an entire milk carton labeled Gordon's Gin in one breath. It made me feel quite ill to see all that liquor being drunk in such large quantities. This family had serious drinking problems, I thought to myself. "Excuse me again, but I have one more question I need to ask you. What was the name of your server at the restaurant?" I hoped she could answer before she passed out or simply keel over from drinking that much alcohol. At last, she spoke. "His name was Cody Wipskin, my old college sweetheart." At with those famous last words, she crashed to the floor, snoring like a pig. Ah, said I to myself, the plot does indeed thicken. Now we have a former lover in the equation.

I slowly walked out the door, and took the inspector and Lotson with me, out to my car and sped off. "Where are we off to now Condo?" asked my partner Lotson. While holding the steering wheel in one hand, I picked up my cell phone, and told him, "You will see my dear Lotson, you will see." Quickly dialing a number, I told the voice that answered, "Hello Saladbar Steakhouse? Can I reserve a table for three? Mr. Padlock Condo's the name. And could you see to it that Cody Wipskin is our waiter? Thank you." My passengers knew what I was up to, and were silent up to the point when they saw the greasy, slimy table at the restaurant.

"No way," yelled the inspector, struggling, "I will not sit there, not no way, not no how!" Lotson and I yanked him into a chair, and sat down just as our server approached to order our drinks. As I had requested, he was Cody Wipskin. He was a tall thin man, with muscles and eyes either really dark brown or black, as I couldn't see his pupils.

I leaned out and whispered to Lotson, "What woman said that this guy was her college sweetheart. Then why the hell did she go with that fat bastard Clifford?" Before Lotson could answer, Cody started to speak, and at once made that clear.

"I see you're whispering. Is it about me? I'll bet it is. I know I'm really good looking, like you know, I am good looking, and like, I mean, I looks so hot all the time, that I want to ask myself out on a date like you know, I look like, that good. Like." Now, probably like everyone else, I was getting really tired of hearing that, so I stood and told him. "Look…shut up! Alright? Shut it! Either take our order, or beat it, and stop looking at yourself and get back to work!" That did precisely what it was meant to, and he did indeed shut up, and throughout the whole night, he merely spoke at how our food was and how everything was doing. As we were rising to leave, I asked him, "Does the name William James Clifford mean anything to you?" At the sound of this name, he dropped the dishes he was carrying, and dashed off to the bathroom. My colleagues and I followed him, and found him coughing into a sink, and sweating all over.

He turned to me, and snarled, "Don't ever mention the name of my arch-nemesis around me. One day, I will get him for stealing my girl and…"

"Would that girl," I interrupted, "by any chance be Ms. Samantha Binds Clifford?"

"Yeah, that's the girl I fell in love with, until she marred that guy Williams, and I swore I would get him if it was the last thing I ever did!" I cleared my throat, stepping forward, and spoke to the pale faced young man. "Well, here's some shocking new for you. William Clifford was murdered by poison at this very restaurant, and to top it off, you were their waiter, and a former flame with the wife of the victim, bearing a grudge, who would get back at him anyway that you could. If I didn't know any better, I would say that YOU murdered William James Clifford the VII!" At the sound of this, he broke down and started sobbing on the vile bathroom floor.

"Okay I admit it! I'll tell you everything. I helped in part of the murder, but I didn't know it would kill him. I swear!" As he said this, I walked over to the quivering mass on the floor, and asked, "You mean, YOU didn't kill William, but you know who did?"

"Yes, I know," he sniffed, "You see, he made a reservation and I was whispering to myself at how I could get back at him, when one of the cooks heard me, and asked me whom I was speaking about. I said William Clifford. He then asked why, and I answered, he stole my girlfriend. He told me he had a way for me to get Samantha back, and he said he would get revenge for slow service at the post office, so naturally…I agreed."

Interrupting him, I asked Cody, "So you agreed you would help kill him? So, you did take part in the murder, so you will be prosecuted as the same as the real mastermind!"

"No, no! He said he would load his food with light poison, which would embarrass him, so his wife would divorce him, and I could get her back. My part was to drug him by pouring mild toxins into his beer that would cause his eyes to blur, and so he couldn't see what he was eating or doing. So, after drugging him, he placed the poison sprinkles on his food, and I served it to him. He promised me it would daze him, but not kill him. Honest!"

"Well Lotson," said I, "that's all I need to know. Who was this cook-friend of yours, who promised you William would not die?"

"He never told me his name, but he was tall, with dark hair, thick glasses, a broad curly mustache, and scars all over his body. After placing the poison in his food, he walked out to his car, and told me to meet him, to discuss how to get my Sammy back. That's it, I swear!"

After taking this in, I walked away a few paces, and was quite for a spell. Slowly turning, I said, "Well my dear Lotson, this is very interesting, very interesting indeed. Now, Mr. Wipskin, we'll be back for you, so don't go anywhere." The cowering waiter climbed to his feet, wiping his tears and snot onto the sleeve of his already incredibly dirty shirt sleeve. I strode out, with Lotson and the Inspector at my heels. Then the three of us left, and I don't think we even paid. We walked to the car silently, until I broke the silence. "With all do respect Inspector, I would like to go back to my condo and get some rest, while gathering thoughts about this evening. Do you agree, my dear Lotson?"

"A superb idea Condo. I am so weary, that I will simply collapse with exhaustion." The inspector seemed to hesitate, but replied, "I understand. I too am weary. I guess I will see you tomorrow." But we were already in the car and down the road, because the restaurant owners came charging out, saying we had skipped out and had to pay the penalty. "Well," Lotson mused with a tone of dignity, "All good things come to an end, don't they Condo?" To which I made my reply. "Who the hell cares Lotson? Who the hell cares?"
Back at my condo, we sat down to think. "Lotson, this is a real mind-boggling situation. I think our best course of action would be to review the facts. What do you say old chum?"

"Of course Condo, I'd be very much obliged. Ahem. First Will Clifford was poisoned at Saladbar Steakhouse by a mysterious man, his wife is a chronic alcoholic, the sky is blue, butterflies are very pretty, and…"

"Lotson," I yelled, "Let's stick to the fact of the murder, what do you say?"

"Smashing idea Condo. Okay, let's do this. Second, Cody Wipskin is the only one who knows where this guy lives, That's about all that I know, because I am a mere inferior to your greatness. Could you enlighten me?"

"Of course Lotson. That's all there is. Now, why don't we get some rest? My mind is as tangled as a knot the size of a volleyball." Yawning, I laid down on my bed, and tried to piece it all together, and solve this goddamn blundering mystery. "My dear Lotson, I've just had a thought."

"Really Condo? Do tell."

"Well, when the inspector came by this evening, he told us that the station got a call from someone identifying themselves as "Shadowy Figure". Remember? Now, correct me if I am wrong, but can't the station trace the lines, and find out where the call was made from, what with the circuitry in the building? So, if we find the place where the guy's call was traced, then we find the murderer. How's that Lotson, pretty good huh?" My partner stared at me as if he was in the grips of an angelic vision. "Absolutely SMASHING Condo! Astounding! Brilliant! Genius!"

"Thank you, my dear Lotson. Now we must stop all this lounging about and catch this fiend!" I jumped out of bed, and ran to the closet, and grabbed my stuff, and hopping about to get my shoes on. "Hurry up Lotson, we must not dawdle. A case awaits!"

"But Condo, it's ten-thirty-three, and besides, no one will be at the station."

"Come Lotson, of course they'll be there. Now we must hurry and dash to the station."

"But…"

"No time for that now Lotson!"
"But…"
"No time for that either! Let's get a move on!" We bolted to the Saturn, and drove off to the station to solve a mystery. Upon our arrival, we met the inspector, who looked both tired, and beaten to a pulp, with an expression that was far from cheerful.

"Well, look who comes walking in the door but Rip'em Off Condo. What do you want now? I thought you went home to your bed."

"Why yes, we both went home, and Condo here made an interesting connection. You people got a call from Shadowy Figure correct? Well, why can't you trace where that call came from?"

"Of course," the inspector cried, slapping his face, "Why didn't we think of that? And sorry for the yelling. I guess I would have done the same thing too. Now then," he then turned to an officer next to him, and instructed, "Go get Lenny, and look sharp about it!" The officer then dashed down the hall, screaming "LENNY!" at the top of his voice, when another man (supposedly Lenny) was standing beside us and awaiting orders from the inspector.

"Ah Lenny my boy, there you are. Go trace the Shadowy Figure call, and make it snappy!" While he was gone, we talked amongst ourselves, and I pulled out my magnifying glass and kneeled down.

"Now," Lotson was explaining, "We will find out where this guy is, and when we do, you will send every officer you have there to capture this man."

"But what if there is more than one there," the inspector questioned, "Which one is the real murderer?"

"Not to worry inspector, as I'm sure Condo remembers the description, don't you Condo? Condo, what on earth are you doing?"

"I'm roasting ants with the glass. It's fun. Oh yes, the description. Okay, he had dark hair, thick glasses, a broad curly mustache, and scars all over his body. A grisly picture, if I do say so myself."

"Good. So we have a description, and soon a destination. Now all we have to do is sit tight and wait." After waiting a few seconds, Lenny returned, and approached us with a puzzled expression, and sat down.

"Well, I traced the call, and found out the house in which it was sent from. But what is puzzling about it is the house has been abandoned for about ten years, and I thought the power had been disabled for the past fourteen years, and there were no communications going in or out."

"This is very interesting. But tell us the goddamn house it was transmitted from."

"Yes Mr. Condo, of course. The only haunted house around. The Madhouse Manor. Where that crazy guy butchered anyone who walked in."

"Ah yes, I remember now. Inspector, get over there and check it out!"

"But Mr. Condo," the inspector whined, "we just ordered a pizza, and it should be here any minute."

"Listen up buddy boy," I told him, "You had dinner less than an hour ago, and I will be damned if I let you stuff any more garbage into your fat craw. Now move it!" The inspector meekly order his men to go to the house, and arrest and people there, and kill if any resistance was mounted. There was a bunch of people running around, yelling and jumping into cars and roaring off.

"My dear Lotson, it is time to act rationally, and go to the Madhouse Manor, and investigate ourselves."

"Smashing idea Condo, and we could catch the criminal ourselves. Let's go!" With that, we dashed outside, jumped into our car, and roared out of the parking lot, and drove less than half a minute to the manor.

"Well now Lotson, the cops are swarming the building like bees on flowers. Now, if we can get away from those bastards, we could do this mystery right. Follow me Lotson." We walked around the huge house, found an opening, and went creeping inside. The halls were close together, and incredibly long, a claustrophobics nightmare, in other words.

"My dear Lotson, I do not wish to alarm you, but there is someone following us."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Positive. Pull out any weapon you've got, and prepare to engage in combat." Lotson picked up a wooden rod, while I secured an iron one. We could hear him walking closer. But I could hear many pairs of feet. I could tell we were outnumbered. This was going to be bad. When they were in the same room, Lotson and I jumped out and screamed, "AHHHHH!"

"Jesus Christ, you scared the bloody hell out of me, you nosy assholes! How did you track us rather than the criminals?" As you might have guessed, it was the police officers who had followed us.

"Well, we saw footprints on the floorboards, and like T.V., we followed them."

"Damn it, my pocket must have broken, and my fake floppy footprints fell out in a trail. Well, good day gentlemen. Actually, good night, and good hunting." After the force left, Lotson and I decided to look in the basement for more clues. But as we got there, we saw a terrifying sight…Nothing. The basement was totally dark except for two candles. We crept around looking into the semi-blackness but saw nothing. We were leaving, and I stopped to catch my breath, and spoke. "My dear Lotson, this is all wrong. The murderer might have called the station from here, but do you think he would be stupid enough to just sit here and wait to get caught while he could escape?"

"But Condo, what is that light over there which is not being generated by the candles?"

"Good heavens Lotson, it is light! Quick Lotson, give me some more light here!" Quick as a flash, we turned on a flashlight, and looked at the alleged light which seemed to be coming from behind a bookcase.

"Condo, this looks like a secret door. If it is, how do we open it?"

"Wait Lotson, I know. Remember the movies? The secret door was activated by pulling out a candle!"
"But Condo, that was a movie, and this is reality. It wouldn't work!"

"We shall see my dear Lotson, we shall see." Whereupon, I pulled out the candle closest to me, and by some weird coincidence, the lifted up ever so nicely, revealing a hidden room. And inside this room, was a figure that looked shadowy.

"Excuse me, Mr. Shadowy Figure, but I am mystery solver, clue-finder, and expert chess player, Mr. Padlock Condo! And you are under arrest for the murder of William James Clifford the VII!" After this speech, the figure that was shadowy turned around. His description matched the one Cody had given us a few hours ago to the letter.

"Ah, Mr. Condo, so nice of you to drop by, before you had to die!"

"Hah ha, my friend! You shall find that it is you shall die, either by my hands of your useless resistance, or by the authorities. But there must be another reason to your actions that Cody didn't tell us about. Tell me now!"

"Very well. Even though I've hated the post office management, my real motive was to lure out, and kill the famous mystery solver, Mr. Padlock Condo. And as you can see, I am successful in step one. And now, it's is time for you to meet your end!" And with that, he lunged at me with a sword, and attempted to slice my head off. Even though I ducked, the sword hit the bookcase. You see, Lotson was gone, having left to alert the police of our discovery. I quickly pulled out my own weapon…my rubber chicken. This may have seemed foolish, but I knew exactly what I was doing.

The maniac began swinging that sword again, but I ducked, rolled under his legs, and I wrapped my chicken around his neck, and started strangling him. He yelled out dirty words, and tried to jab me and slice my head in two. Finally, he pulled free, and was so red in the face; a tomato was colorless compared to him. He pulled back to strike again, but I pulled out my next weapon…my yo-yo. He laughed, and jabbed at me, but I blocked it with the "Around the world" technique. Then, quick as a flash, I made a "Baby in a cradle", and as he thrusted the blade at me again, I jumped to the side, so that his sword went into the center of the string, and I pulled the sword right out of his hands, which clattered to the side. Then, he rushed me, but I preformed my "Forward throw" maneuver, to crack him squarely in the jaw. I repeated this again, until he caught hold of my projectile, and tore it off my finger, rushing me once more.

Before he took his third step, he gurgled in surprise. The reason he gurgled, was his mouth was full of a smoke bomb from my smoke bomb pipe. I jumped into the cloud of smoke, and swung my fists until I hit him, and didn't stop until Lotson and the boys and girls in blueish green came to pull me off the bruised, bloodied, and part way unconscious man. They brought him upstairs, and into the streetlight, to get a good look at him. "E Gad Lotson, so you know who he is?"

"Why no Condo. Who is he?"

"I have no idea in hell as to who this nutbar is." We all looked at him. He glared up at us, with a bruised cheek and a black eye. "I should have known not to attempt to kill the most talented, and sophisticated mystery solver since the great Sherlock Holmes." And with that, he was loaded onto a truck, and it went down the road, and back to the station.

"By gad Condo, however did you manage to track down the murderer, beat the living crap out of him without so much as a scratch, and solve the mystery all in one night?"

"Well my dear Lotson, the world is a strange place, but as a mystery solver, we do the best we can, as fast as we can. In other words, do a half-assed job, sometimes, and do a good job the next time."

"Oh, you mean like the bank employee who stole candy from a store, you did a half assed job then? And on the case of the insane crazy guy that looted the bank employee's house, you did a skilled job?"

"Yes Lotson, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to go talk to the man who is at the station." We climbed into our car and sped away. We arrived at the station, walked in, and went to the cell of our new friend. "Tell me friend. Why?"

"The main reason is my family and friends, were all in crime. Caught by you, and sentenced to death at the smallest of offence, like stealing a candy bar or whatever. Just be warned that there are others out there who will do what I could not." We slowly walked out of the station, before I called back, "Your families offences may have been small, but in this town, nobody murderers without paying the price!" We strolled out, and Lotson congratulated me.

"Well put old chum! Now what do you say we go home to our beds and push up a long line of Z's?"

"I think my dear Lotson, that is a fine idea." We got home, and slowly trudged up the stairs, put my key in the lock, turned it, and filed inside. The dozens of ugly brutish men that greeted us, sneered at us in the most unpleasant way possible. "Well Mr. Condo, it's about time. With our friend in jail, we will kill you ourselves, and your little friend behind you." Whereupon, he nodded his head a couple of times, and the men, (obviously getting in through the window) pulled out guns and knives and started towards us. My reaction was simple.

I pulled out my semi-automatic silenced M-4 assault rifle, and in less than seven seconds, they all lay dead at my feet. "Jesus Condo, you yourself have just committed murder!"

"The hell with that." We threw the bodies out the window, cleaned the floor, and climbed into bed. For the first five minutes, it was silent, and we heard nothing. Not even a cricket.

"Hey Condo?"

"Yes my dear Lotson?" I rolled onto my side, and I heard to sounds. The first was a quiet beep, and the second was Lotson saying. "I find it astounding that during this adventure, you used all of your equipment, except your watch that will launch our office into space." I chose not to respond to that, and kept quite when I heard the rockets under the floor warm up, and start firing for all their worth. There in the not so quite night, I said, "Lotson, we have a problem."