SMOKE GOT SMOKED

This man, Callion Hamblin AKA Smoke, was gunned down today by “the law;”
his blood stains our streets.

Tell Us Another One, Park Hills Daily Journal..! 

Who needs AT&T when we've already got Washington U. Professor Stanley Elkin to give us the 411? A dead man speaking up from the grave on behalf of another dead man. This excerpt is from The Bailbondsman, one of three novellas in Searches and Seizures.

“Mr. Main, it's Command Performanceville,” he says softly.

Oh, he's very sinister. “Why didn't you say Command Performanceville in the first place? Command Performanceville's another story. For Command Performanceville my commission is thirty percent.”

“Drinks all around,” he says agreeably. “I'll put you in the picture.”

“I read the book, I seen the picture. Your man downtown calls my man downtown who tells me your lad is under arrest. It's strictly offside vis-a-vis the other bondsmen, but I get to him first, arrange the bail, and he steps out into the sunshine a free man.”

“A hundred percent.”

“That will be sixty-five hundred dollars please.”

“C.O.D.”

“C.O.D.?”

“Phoenecian, Mr. Main, I'm a sporty young man. I drive fast cars fast. How would it look I was picked up for speeding and the cops found sixty-five hundred bucks on me? Use your kepeleh. Did we know you drive such a hard bargain.”

“I drive hard bargains hard.”

“Of course, of course. You'll be paid. The handle plus thirty percent. You'll get registered mail. Who's more honest than a syndicate man?”

“Then why do you speed?” I ask gloomily.

But there's reason on the young fellow's side. We shake and he leaves. The little bakery bell jingles behind him. Mr. Crainpool looks at me reproachfully, sorrow in his eyes like the toothache. “Something on your mind, Jiminy Cricket?”

“No, sir.”

“What would happen if I refused? Fetterman would do it, or Klein. Adams would. Does Macy tell Gimbel?”

“It's only fifteen hundred dollars after the forfeit.”

“Oh ho. I see where it is with you. It's alright to finger a man, just make sure you get a good price. Mr. Crainpool, kid, my finger comes cheap. If they ask how I do it, say it's my terrific turnover.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We would rather be a banker in a fine suit. We would rather conduct discreet business over drinks at the club. Heart to heart, man to man, gentlemen's agreements and a handshake between friends. We would prefer silver at our temples and a portrait in oils in the marble lobby. But...”

The human family lost a brother, father, son, and friend today; we are all diminished.

For all of you cannibals out there who prefer dark meat, those of you on Facebook and elsewhere who  have expressed your glee at a “nigger” being bagged, and the rest of you who kept your traps shut while they did; here's a knock-knock joke written by me especially for you:

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Justice.

Justice who?

Justice many people will laugh their asses off when it's your turn to be bagged as they did today when it happened to Smoke.