SLUICE TUNDRA : THE ADVENTURE OF THE BATTLING BEHEMOTHS

The streets were empty this time of night, but not as empty as my bank account. I sat in my office and studied the words on my door: "Sluice Tundra, Private Eye." I sighed. Next time I was going to make sure the painter knew to paint the words on the outside of the door. I figured this might explain why business was so slow. That’s when the redhead picked that moment to walk through the door. She picked herself up off the floor, brushing off pieces of wood and glass. It looked like I was going to need a new door.

"You’re supposed to use the knob," I suggested.

"Skip the sleazy pickup lines," she snapped. "I have a job for you."

I looked her over. If I had studied English Lit the way I studied her, I probably would have made it through junior college. She had long red hair and the kind of legs you couldn’t find at Colonel Sanders. You’d have to fire her body, because it just wouldn’t quit. I could have looked at her all night but I was running out of metaphors.

"I need you to find someone," she said.

I studied the photograph she handed me. It was a familiar face. A man with gray hair, dressed in a suit….

"Is this some kind of joke?" I said.

"No," she insisted. "If it was a joke, I would have started "A priest, a minister, and a rabbi walk into a bar…"

"Okay, skip it," I said. "But this is a picture of Regis Philbin."

"I know," she said, dabbing at her eyes with a scented handkerchief. "I haven’t seen him in days. And it’s not just me. Over 3.5 million people miss him. Oh, please, Mr. Tundra, you’ve got to find out what happened to him."

I thought it over. I had never liked Philbin. But when the redhead flashed a wad of cash and those legs again, I felt myself weakening. Or maybe that was hunger. Business had been REALLY slow.

"The first thing," I decided out loud, "Will be to go see the Mouse."

***

"It’s a damnable lie!" the Mouse squeaked, pounding his white-gloved fist on the table. "We had nothing to do with it! It was some deranged individual who pulled the plug on Regis!"

"Nice try, big ears, " I said. "But wasn’t it you who was insisting that Warner take your cartoon network and your stupid soap-opera channel? Isn’t that the kind of thing that got Microsoft in trouble?"

The Mouse looked stubborn, no easy trick for someone with a grin painted on. "Sorry, Tundra, I can’t help you. You’ll have to talk to Warner."

***

Warner was a big guy, some might even say bloated. Paint swastikas on him, and you could almost see him exploding over New Jersey. "All we want," he said as he devoured a steak, two milkshakes and a local cable company, "is to protect the consumer. What the Mouse was proposing would raise people’s cable rates."

"Yeah, " I said. "Like you haven’t raised a rate or two yourself in your time. And by the way, when are we getting that channel upgrade you keep promising?"

"Two days, max," he promised. "Or maybe next week. Of course, it could be August. I forget."

"You’re not doing a lot for your credibility, Warner," I said. "But that’s neither here nor there. Take a look at this." I pulled an object out of my pocket and showed it to him.

"What the heck is THAT?" he said.

"A pair of rabbit ears."

"That’s DISGUSTING!" he said. I realized my mistake and stuck the rabbit ears back in my pocket. Then I pulled out an antenna. "See, Warner, you forgot one thing about TV viewers. We don’t care who’s right or wrong. We want the programs. And we can get them with or without your help. Home antennas, satellite dishes…we have alternatives to cable. And they’re looking better all the time when you pull a stunt like this. "

"My god," he said. "You’re right." His face had the same look I once saw on the face of a cat who had made a leap onto a clothesline from a second-floor window, a look that said "I have not thought this thing through."

"Whoever’s right or whoever’s wrong, Warner," I said, "You’re the one that’s going to take the heat."

***

I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Tundra," the redhead said on the phone. "Me and Regis, together again. It’s like a dream."

"It is a dream, sweetheart," I said. "He’s a TV personality. He doesn’t know you exist. You and me, on the other hand, maybe we have a chance in this crazy world."

"I’m sorry, " she said. "You…you’re just not my type."

"Is that…"

"Yes," she said. "it’s my final answer."

Dusty Rhoades is a Southern Pines lawyer, who’s really more a Fox network kinda guy, anyway.

COPYRIGHT 2000 BY JERRY D. RHOADES, JR