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Is Mrs. Hunt the Channel or is it the Wringer Washer?

Updated on April 17, 2017
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I'd Sensed Something Mammoth About to Rear its Head

I was going on a wacky call. Madame Fifi the fortune teller didn’t have to warn me. Cuz the sarge was barreling towards my desk with knitted brows. “Yates hostage situation in Washington Heights.”

I crushed my cigarette knocking some butts off the ashtray. “Suspect and hostage are hold up in a flat.” I jotted down the street address he rattled off. “Take Harrison with you.”

All morning I’d sensed something mammoth about to rear its head. A distraction was right up my alley. Outside the precinct an angry sun barked at us. Harrison drove the squad car. He was quiet, smart, and married with three kids.

After pulling up to a hodgepodge of tan bricks squashed between other shoe boxes. We elbowed our way through the crowd. A uniform kept the mob in check. The sup was waiting for us in the lobby. “I heard arguing and gunshots from Apartment 202.”

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SET (commons.wikimedia.org)
SET (commons.wikimedia.org)
HERU (commons.wikimedia.org)
HERU (commons.wikimedia.org)

Their Rivalry Made Set and Heru's Seem Like a Game of Jacks

“Who lives there?” I asked.

“Old Mrs Hunt a widow. She does laundry for a living.”

"Do you know who she was bickering with?" inquired Harrison.

He shrugged. "Some hood." Anybody sweating an old lady had a beef with me too. I could hardly wait to put the handcuffs on the joker. The second floor hallway was vacant except for an officer. And the prying eyeballs lurking behind cracked doors. But it wasn’t quiet.

“You old bat. I told you to stop!" I knew the clown that was speaking. It was Dale Brocks. He was a big time gangster in the numbers racket. And so was his brother, Phil. Their rivalry made Set and Heru's seem like a game of Jacks.

“I’m not afraid of you or that gun.” Well, Mrs. Hunt was still alive and kicking. In fact, she sounded pretty feisty.

“This is the police!” I pounded on the door. “Open up.” A second later, we overheard some tussling and grunting coming from inside. “Open up!” A blood wrenching howl sliced the air.

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Bonnie and Clyde's car (commons.wikimedia.org)
Bonnie and Clyde's car (commons.wikimedia.org)

Reminded me of Bonnie and Clyde's bullet-riddled Ford V8

“Let’s kick the door in,” voiced Harrison.

“Wait - I’m coming.” The door opened revealing a gray-haired woman. Her eyes crackled with lightening. In the foreground Dale was clutching his right hand. I guess where she must've bit him. His gun was laying on the floor. Which I immediately grabbed. After Harrison searched him, I handcuffed him. It was indeed my pleasure to do so.

“You’re under arrest Dale Brocks for the false imprisonment of Mrs. Hunter and illegal possession of a firearm." I advised.

“What!” A look of feigned shock etched his face. “We were just chatting.” Harrison and I laughed our cans off.

“Ma'am where did his gunshots land?” queried Harrison. She indicated the kitchen. I brought the suspect along. The condition of the wringer washer reminded me of Bonnie and Clyde's bullet-riddled Ford V8. Mrs. Hunt patted the machine.

“Teddy bought it for me.”

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"You should arrest her!"

When we returned to the living room, I charged Brocks with criminal damage to property. “You should arrest her!” he yelled. "She's a con artist."

The lavishness of the furnishings did arouse my curiosity: Blue velvet drapes, large gilded mirrors, tapestry upholstered French chairs, white marble top lamp tables, lamps with crystal drops, French loveseats with cabriole legs, and a Philco floor radio-phonograph.

Besides that, Mrs. Hunt’s hands appeared soft. Her hair was nicely coiffed. She was wearing a white ruffled silk blouse, a long black satin skirt, and diamond earrings. How could a laundress afford such extravagance? I spied lots of envelopes and scraps of fabric on the coffee table. Perhaps grandma had a scheme afoot. I guess Detective Harrison was on the same page. He began snooping around the joint. I had the officer in the hallway take Brocks to the precinct.

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TEFNUT  (Lilla Frerichs - publicdomainpictures)
TEFNUT (Lilla Frerichs - publicdomainpictures)

"I clean the darkness from around people..."

Mrs. Hunt where are your customer’s dirty clothes?” I asked.

“I don’t wash nobody's clothes.”

“The sup says you do."

“I clean the darkness from around people and make them bright again.” Her mumble jumbo wasn’t making any sense. Harrison strolled into the living room with two bulging pillow cases.

“They’re filled with money orders and checks made out to *Madame Mary,” he said.

“That’s me.”

“Why are these people sending you money?”

“They want my cloth." What a scam I thought. "It brings them good luck." I had a good belly laugh. After I finished guffawing the widow pressed a fragment of cloth inside my left hand. My palm started to tingle and burn.

"Take that crap off my hand!" She did and my palm was unmarked. I realized right then and there I was dealing with Tefnut.

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Source

I Secretly Wanted to Climb Aboard the Sucker

"My cloth is no joke." She smiled like Mona Lisa. "Brocks is going broke.”

"No one can stop bullets fired at them." I replied. “If I were you, I would leave town fast."

“Madame Mary is retiring to California." She chuckled. "Since my washer is kaput."

On the way back to the precinct Harrison quizzed me about Mrs. Hunter's hustle. “It’s legal and a matter of unflinching belief," I said.

“I think it's more than that.”

"Okay - what then?”

“I think everybody's desires are combined into a magnetic force."

"That's interesting."

"The magnetic field pulls their wishes to them."

I mulled over his theory. But who was the conduit? Mrs. Hunt or the wringer washer? As Harrison and I stepped out of the car, a humongous silver disk appeared in the sky. It hovered for a second and vanished. I kept mum and the theoretician didn’t say a word either. I secretly wanted to climb aboard the sucker.

When we entered the station the phones were on fire. Everyone in Harlem was calling about the flying saucer. If the Martians had landed, I suspected after a little sightseeing in Harlem. They would quickly skedaddle home. Then and again, how many rounds could my .38 Smith and Wesson pump before a ray gun blasted me?

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*Madame Fifi - Fictitious Character.

*Dale Brocks - Fictitious Character.

*Madame Mary - Fictitious Character.


Who is the Channel?

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© 2016 Irma Cowthern

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    • profile image

      NONI OLABISI 15 months ago

      Wow !!! Nice , It left me wanting Mary's cloth..

    • ponder profile image
      Author

      Irma Cowthern 15 months ago from Los Angeles,CA

      Hi Noni, I'm glad you enjoyed the ride. The character Madame Mary aka Mrs. Hunt is kind of growing on me. I like her. She needs room to blossom. Therefore, I'm going to write a story where she's the main character. Thanks.

    • Larry Rankin profile image

      Larry Rankin 14 months ago from Oklahoma

      Great read!

    • ponder profile image
      Author

      Irma Cowthern 14 months ago from Los Angeles,CA

      Hi Larry, I'm glad you enjoyed the ride. Thanks.

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