In 8th grade we all wrote letters using slang from the 1920s. I think mine is pretty good...pretty good indeed.
The speak easy case 73 was a major success, I am glad to tell you that, but just in case you wana give me an award or something I will tell you what happened.
It was a clear night. The bee’s knees. My partner and I walked up to a gin mill, just behind the shops on the main drag. It looked shady from the start, so I decided that I would be doing the talking. We knocked on the door and I gave the man a password. The doors opened to reveal some big torpedo. We chose a spot in the corner next to some flappers. They were all ritzy lookin’, and talking about some sheik they all had their eyes on. I cleared my throat and they looked at us. “You girls mind if we ask you a couple of questions?” The just giggled and I could see several glasses of hooch at their table. “What types of questions?” one girl asked. “Well if you could tell us what kind of stuff goes on around here, or who the big cheese is around here? That would be copasetic.” The ossified girls were obviously more interested in my partner than in me, but I got their attention. I told the goofy girls that I would set them up with a blind date if they could just answer my questions. The spifflicated girls pointed to a rather suspicious looking lounge lizard. We left the girls and walked over. He was having a bull session with some of his friends, the torpedo was one of them. “Listen,” I told him, “you own this place? And don’t give me no hokum either! I want the truth.” With that the torpedo man fired and I dodged out of the way -or maybe my partner saved my life by knocking me out of the way, but anyway- bumping into some drugstore cowboy and his girl. “I don’t own this place,” the leader of the group said, “he does.” He nodded to some drunk fall guy. “Your story is all wet.” I said. “I know you own this place, and don’t high hat me! We could pinch you and every other person in this place, now do you own it or not?” He still refused to answer so I arrested them all and the day was saved, thanks to me –or to my partner who punched the man in the kisser to get him to surrender.
I know it sounds like my partner is swell, but really he isn’t all that great. I am the best one around, the real McCoy. That is why I think I need a raise or something like that. I mean without me the plan would have fallen in, because who would have driven the jalopy?
Undercover Agent 12