I’m sure you were practically breakin’ your fingers getting into the MMM for this week’s exciting adventure. For those of you with a serious memory problem, look in your wallet. You should find a little card in there. It will remind you of your name. If your memory is pretty good, but ya can’t quite remember where we left off, last week ended with me just ready to sit down and start preparing my defense. Pretty and perky Paula Primer wanted a piece a’ my patoot to da tune of a hundred and ten grand. The insurance company was sendin’ out Duddly Doright, former Mountie and attorney at law to save the day.
Me and Duddly worked like dogs. First we sorta mapped out a strategy. Then we turned the strategy into a plan. Finally, we tuned it like a fine musical instrument. I didn’t have much time to spend at my favorite spot, the corner joint, but I did pop down for a belt or two a couple of times. Once I saw Rolanda sittin in the corner talkin to some old geezer, real serious like. Rolanda is always workin’ deals. This musta been one of em. Anyways, I wasn’t feelin’ too sociable toward Rolanda so I finished my drink and headed back to the barn.
It was just a couple of weeks later when me and Duddly walked into that courtroom and took our seats at the defendant’s table. Across the isle was Paula Primer, pretty and perky as ever, with some city slicker lawyer. Back behind Paula in the peanut gallery was, guess who? You got it. Ray and Rolanda was sittin’ there. Only this time, Rolanda’s hair was black again. And she looked liked she was dressed for church. I think this was as close to a church as Rolanda would ever get.
In a few minutes, the bailiff stood and began his chant. “Hear Ye, Hear Ye, Hear Ye, for all of you having business with the 1st Circus Court of Last Resort, come close and be heard, the Honorable Olden C. Nyle presiding. I could see the judge getting ready to come in. Someone was behind him with a gentle shove toward the bench and a loud whisper: something about the big chair behind the bench.
The judge mostly stayed awake, at least during Paula’s part. I ain’t gonna take you through the whole thing blow by blow. If ya ever been to a civil trial ya know they ain’t much to write home about. Old Duddly did a stand up job. But no matter how good he did, Judge Nyle wasn’t havin’ any of it. In fact, it was almost like da judge was playin’ for the other team, if ya get my drift. As I was thinkin about that, I remembered the old guy havin a drink with Rolanda down at the corner joint. There was a similarity…..
Anyways, at the end, Judge Nyle said “Mr. Mudsill, you are a disgrace to your profession. I need to teach you a lesson, and teach the whole world ya don’t mess with Olden C. Nyle. I’m throwing the book at you, son.” And folks, that’s just what he did. Olden stood up with a big law book in his right hand. He cocked his arm like a pitcher in the big leagues. Olden had a lotta power for an old guy. That book came sailin’ my way like a fast ball down the middle. Or I guess it was a curve. Anyway, Olden missed, but not with the follow up. Judge Nyle ordered the insurance company to pay the whole hundred and ten grand to Paula. He also ordered me to pay court costs, including his lunch. You gotta love a guy who watches out for number one.
So, ya might think the worst was finally over for old Punky. It almost was, but not quite. I couldn’t pay the rent, so I had to pack up my stuff and move into new digs. I think the insurance company still wanted their grand from me, but I was hard to find. The address, 1967 Plymouth Valiant is hard to deliver to. I hocked most a my stuff, and was able to raise close to $35.00; I wasn’t gonna blow it, either. That $35.00 was my only grub steak to a new life.
A couple of weeks later Duddly came back through town. He saw I was pretty dry, and took me down to the corner joint for a coupla belts. We was sittin’ in the dark corner, lamentin’ our troubles. After the first drink, I noticed a couple a broads come in and take a seat in the other dark corner. They was Paula and Rolanda! Paula was carryin’ her big brief case. They was jabberin’ like teenage girls in heat, and didn’t notice me and Duddly. In a short time an old guy joined them. My jaw dropped six inches when I saw who it was. I never woulda thought that Paula, Rolanda and Olden C. Nyle were drinkin’ buddies. After the first taste, things got real quiet at their table. Paula scanned the joint quickly, but still didn’t see me and Duddly. And then, so quick youda never thought it happened, Paula took out two big stacks of money. She gave one to Rolanda, and one to Olden. Ya know how there never seems to be a cop around when you need one? Well even a camera would have been good. I looked at Duddly to see if he saw what I saw. He looked like he was rubbin’ his eye or somethin’. Duddly smiled at me and winked as he showed me his miniature night vision camera that was about the size of a grape. Duddly’s comment to me was, “I’m RCMP stock you know: we always get our man.” I wouldn’t want to be one a them three at the other table with Duddly on their trail.
I should tell ya there is a happy ending to this story. But ya gotta wait to find out what it is. Old Duddly got me so juiced up that I’m too tired to fill ya in now. And besides, there is always next week.
Will Duddly finally get to Paula &Co. for their dastardly deeds? Will Prince keep running like a good little Valiant? Will Punky’s $35.00 be enough for a grub steak on a new life? Just like in true life, all strings will be tied into a neat bow next week in “Hooda Ever Thunk It”, The Epilogue. Click on the MMM for next weeks concluding adventure in the Occasional Chronicles of Punky Mudsill, alternative to the professionals and house detective extraordinaire. “Hooda Ever Thunk It, Epilogue.