Wordzzles 33 and 34, a Twofer

As I previously noted we have moved and are on the road at present. This post was started in Arkansas and is being completed in Enid, Oklahoma. We’ll be here a few days with our middle daughter and her family. So I’ll do two and get caught up. Here’s the one that should have posted last week and the one for this week.

If you're new to Wordzzling then please go by the Raven's Nest and get all the scoop.

The words for last week's ten word challenge are: tattletale, homogeneous, flighty, cornucopia, plethora, militant, lovelorn, myopic, digitalized, mute
And for the Mini Challenge: washing machine, cholesterol, blatantly, Birdman of Alcatraz, poltergeist

Sgt Johnson was surrounded by a cornucopia of hi-tech law enforcement technology and still was unable to locate McCool. The FBI's plethora of blatantly overpriced equipment, including digitalized video of the entire area and crime scene, remained mute on McCool's whereabouts. Missing were the tattletale forensic clues so much in vogue with CSI viewers.

There had to be something he was missing. Johnson called his video tech over and asked to see the area video. A non-descript white van was leaving the area just as they set up the perimeter. "Can I have a close-up on the van?" Johnson asked. "We missed getting the driver, but we have a good shot of the plate." "Run it" Johnson ordered.

Sure enough the plate came back stolen. Some local activist militant group had reported it missing just a few short hours ago. "It will be stashed somewhere by now, but we need to look for it." It's our only lead."

Now McCool understood what the metallic leotards were about. He could see the wires leading to what looked like an old washing machine motor, but he knew it was something else entirely. "Do you understand now Thomas?" asked Claude. "You're going to take a lie detector test and the results will determine if you live." "Look at it this way; you won't have to worry about your high cholesterol killing you." I'm going to apply the leads to you now."

For the next hour Thomas was interrogated about the investigation. Since he believed that Claude wasn't the perpetrator he told the truth as he knew it right from the start. He was not interested in seeing how Claude's contraption worked. At one point he did prevaricate a bit about timing and the resulting shock was agonizing. He did not repeat his mistake again.

McCool would be happy to report back to Sgt Johnson that he was alive, had evidence about the murders and had successfully eliminated their chief suspect.

“Thomas, it’s been good seeing you again.” “Give my best to Jean” Claude said as he left. “Your bonds will deteriorate in a couple of hours; I’ve treated them with acid.” “Don’t move till you can break them or you’ll get chemical burns” he added over his shoulder. McCool looked after Claude with a chagrined smile and then a grimace. It would be embarrassing to have to admit how easily Claude had taken him. At least he had learned who was responsible for the "Alley Cat Murders."

The halls of the French secret service were a homogeneous cluster of doors with no information on them except small plates with numbers. Like all the myopic bureaucracies of the world it never occurred to them to actually label the rooms with information about their purpose. So 3rd grade clerk Evian Laflagrantien missed room 411-B-112 the first time he walked by it. When he finally found his way back to the dusty room, it was if poltergeists or vandals had been through it. Files were strewn from end to end.

He found trivia from a French translation of the Birdman of Alcatraz to a declassified file on America's area 51, but no file on Debaucherrie, at least not the first day. But third grade clerk Evian was no flighty air head; he was determined to accomplish his mission. In addition, his recent separation from his long time paramour left the lovelorn clerk with little else to do. He threw himself into the search for the Debaucherrie file. It would only take him two weeks to find it; 10 days too late to matter.

Now for volume two of the twofer.


This Week's Ten Word Challenge is: bluebottle, puppy love, livid, misanthrope, torrid, apathy, erudite, catalyst, hockey puck, parakeet
And for the Mini Challenge: totalitarian, moronic, boondoggle, tycoon, insipid

Surprisingly the white van was found outside an abandoned warehouse just 15 miles from the storage facility. Within a short time McCool was found; bound, dazed and for the most part unharmed. He knew enough to not argue with the paramedics; Jean would be livid when she found out anyway. Best not to make it worse by refusing care. He should be able to break it to her easy in conversation if he was lucky. Sure, she might call him a hockey puck for his carelessness, but it would be with relief and love. He knew that his lack of preparation for this rendezvous was moronic. It had just never occurred to him that if the message’s writer was indeed Claude Debaucherrie, that he would want information and assurances from him. Go figure!

While no misanthrope, McCool was beginning to dislike his fellow man as instances like this occurred. This would look like another law enforcement boondoggle, with the FBI coming up short again; if word about the incident got out. Thomas prayed that would not happen. Perhaps modern media’s apathy would actually help this time. The last thing he wanted to do was to be interviewed by some insipid reporter from Fox News or the like.

Well, he would look at it this way: Like a coal miner uses a parakeet to check for poison gas; he had been used to monitor the veracity and danger of the alleged “Alley Cat Murderer.” Fortunately he had survived. Besides the one-time shock from Claude’s gadget the only damage sustained by McCool were some scrapes and scratches he’d gotten being dragged after he was gassed at the storage facility. The bluebottle flies that had feasted on his wounds had been an annoyance and potential infection source that the paramedics now eliminated with topical antibiotics. The good news was that he would not need stitches.

Sgt Johnson waited for the paramedics to finish before he spoke with McCool. “You don’t look much worse for the wear Thomas” he said as an introduction. “Thanks Paul.” “Have you looked at the tapes yet?” McCool asked. “Yea, while you were being attended to.” “I’m going to have to find someone at DOJ to go to with this and I will have to be careful who sees this in the FBI as well.” The response from the administration will be torrid once we start arresting their people.” “We’ll need all the evidence we can get to fight the totalitarian regime that the current administration had become.” Sgt Johnson finished.

“Neither of us saw this coming Paul.” “This information could act as a catalyst to ignite outrage against the administration.” “Civilians murdered as a cover up, not going to go down well with the public, is it?” McCool commented. “What are our chances of finding this Armistead character or the female operative?” Johnson asked. “Not good” McCool responded. “We’ll have to use the other info and names given us by Debaucherrie” added McCool. Both knew that it would take time and finesse to pull this off. And both knew that though Debaucherrie wasn’t the Alley Cat Murderer, he had most likely done away with Armistead and Glenda the operative. And both wondered why Debaucherrie had been so interested in clearing his name.

In Paris the lovesick 3rd grade clerk, Evian, was busy searching for the Debaucherrie file and convincing himself that his infatuation with the sweet Jilliane was simple puppy love.

In Arlington Virginia Claude Debaucherrie was finalizing his preparations for a little surprise he had cooked up for some of the corporate world’s leading tycoons. These erudite minions of the new world order were going to get their comeuppance.

RT