It was a hazy L.A. morning, the kind of day when the city slept under a blanket of smog and broken dreams. I hadn’t seen the sun in so long, my quills were pale.
I was on my second pack of Luckies when the call came. It concerned Vivien Brooke-Troute, star soccer player for the Keosaqua Kicks. His legs were insured for a cool million, but now those legs were missing, along with the rest of him. Before you could say “bend it like baked ham,” I was on the next plane to Iowa.
Brooke-Troute had been imported all the way from England, and he was last seen enjoying afternoon tea with a mysterious brunette. The table was set for two, but somebody didn’t have time to finish his biscuit.
I went to the soccer field and looked for clues. The place was deserted, except for a lone soccer ball — and judging by the smell, it had been freshly kicked.
The lead pipe stung the back of my head like a nearsighted dentist had put me in the chair face down and started drilling. When I came to, I was at the wharf wearing cement galoshes. “Since you’re so keen on findin’ dis guy, shamus,” said a voice, “we’ll take you ta’ meet ‘im — at da bottom o’ da river!”
Is this the end for Benson Hedges? Tune in for the next episode whenever we get more pictures and I feel like writing it!
Christine L. checks in: “In January you featured my hedgie, Barnaby, typing at his little desk. I thought you might like to know that Barnaby now has his own Instagram account! You can follow him at @barnabyhedgehog. Here are a few of my favorite pics.”