There's the rub...
by A C gosser
As the large rodent departed the scene, ducking into a nearby alley, Iggy and the bathroom utensil were again alone. By the angle of the sun and the rumble of his stomach, Iggy knew it must be getting late in the morning, and his highly developed detective senses were all over a D n'D just around the block. As the plunger concered with the idea, they both skipped across the street and pushed back the jingled-belled door of the donut shop.
The aroma of strong joe hit Iggy in the face. The morning crowd had drawn up positions in their accustomed regions and the still clanging bell on the back of the door seemed as much to let them know of an intruder as it was to signal to the incoming customer that they were about to embark into an occupied territory. Nothing stirred, not even Spanky the field mouse working the grill. Every eye focused on the two oddly shaped silhouettes framed by the large glass panel of the door.
But still, the bell chimed away from its perch on the door, seeming not to dye quietly, as is normal fashion for door chimes, but to actually grow louder! Its constant rhythm and pitch seemed all too familiar to Iggy. Its clanging cut through Iggy's head like a dog whistle to a golden retriever. How could the customers of this little hole in the wall allow this kind of noise to continue whenever someone entered?!? Yet, still it grew louder. In desperation Iggy turned around to the door to attempt to silence the ringing himself, but to his surprise the bell wasn't there! It was so close, so loud and strident... Why couldn't he find it?!? Where is it coming from?!? "Why are all you people starring at me?!?" Iggy screamed and bolted upright from bed. Beside him an old Westin, two bell, double coil action repeater alarm clock vibrated across the night table.
"Uhh, only a dream," thought Iggy. "Ha, and to think... A giant plunger! What did I eat last night? Something sure didn't sit right on my stomach."
Iggy scanned his treetop iguana bachelor detective pad for the envelope he had been looking through last night containing the information on his newest case: Sammy the squirrel. Someone had fitted Sammy with a pair of cement goulashes and sent the little nut gatherer on a long walk off a short pier. And sure, the world may be a better place now that the little guy is gone. Sammy wasn't a saint or anything like that, but in this city, five will get you ten that X'n someone, no matter who that someone is, will land you on the other side of the law. And when that happens, you're on the other side of Iggy the Iguana. And that's no place you want to be.
The clock on the wall told Iggy that it was nearly 10:00, and in another 15, he would be late for a meeting with an informer that went by the name of "Tweety." The thug always spent his mornings at Dick's pool hall, and with a little cohersion, was known for telling all kinds of things. Slipping on a pair of darkly tinted Ray-Bans and throwing down a shot of grossly outdated 2% milk, Iggy exited his tree into a particularly bright morning.
The joint that Tweety hung out at was across town in the projects. Not the worst area in the city, but its not the kind of place you would like to call home either.
Out of the corner of his eye, Iggy could see the tail end of the bus stopped just on the other side of Walnut St.. If he ran, he could just about make it.
The next chapter?