Another Deep Knight Mystery

[Deep Knight]

A Fistful of Danger!
Another Questionable Deep Knight Adventure!

Chapter 4 – You Don’t Know Dick

Modern science, jealous of its position as a fountain of truth, lies about most of human history and the amazing advancements of old. Ancient Egypt was famous for its electric lights, flying cars, and teleportation, until these lost secrets were hidden beneath the sands, along with chests of Tanna leaves and the incantations to brink mummies to life. The holy grail of these secrets, unless you consider this to be the Holy Grail itself, was the recipe for the Elixir Vitae, the drink of eternal life. It was first discovered when a high priest of Thoth was messing around with grinding large, yellow diamonds and then adding other incredibly rare and esoteric ingredients from the far corners of the earth to the mix, “just to see what happened.” Wars had been fought over its possession, kingdoms won and lost, and beautiful women cast to the winds. The list of those who knew of it and used it to achieve unheard of longevity is secret but well known: Methuselah, Epimenides of Crete, Theodora of Thessaly, Ponce de León, the Prioress of Coueiagwn, the Maharishi of Kailas, Dr. Fu Manchu, and Dick Clark.

Richard Nixon had heard of this elixir during one of the marathon poker games in his South Pacific supply depot during WWII. Between stories of foreign girls with impossible genital anatomies and the lost gold of Egypt he heard whisperings, often no more than a single word, that pieced together led him to the secret. Taking his winnings, at the time a princely sum, he donated it to the Republican Party and, with their backing, ran for congress. His mercurial rise was due to his need for power, the only way he could procure the necessary ingredients. When even as vice president he found the way blocked (the famous “Kitchen Debate” with Khrushchev was actually about his refusal to turn over a certain rare herb grown only in the Siberian tropics), and so set his sights on the presidency. Once elected, he pulled out all the stops to get what he needed, sending men all the way to the moon in one case, and establishing diplomatic relations with China in another. His final push to steal the final ingredient, kept in the national headquarters of the Democratic Party at the Watergate Complex allowed him to complete the elixir, but also brought about his final undoing. Now, bitter and suffering the effects the potion had on both his intellect and sanity, he had become an evil mad genius, and not the good kind either.

Deep Knight awoke in a fine bed with smooth, high-thread-count, linen sheets and a tasteful duvet covering with matching “sham” pillow cases. He was wearing striped pajamas, to his untrained eye they appeared to be the same design he had so rudely been changed into that day at work, and the clothes he had been wearing were neatly laid out on a dresser, cleaned and pressed. As he sat up a servant entered the room carrying a tray loaded with a hearty breakfast. She smiled in that blank zombie way and said, “The master said you’d be hungry when you woke up, so I brought you breakfast. He asks that you eat quickly and dress so you can join him for dinner.”

“And exactly who is this ‘master?’” asked Deep inquisitively, afraid that he already knew the devastating answer.

“Why, the President, of course,” said the maid, with a mindless look that spoke of an inner hunger for the fresh brains of the living. Other than that, she seemed quite nice.

The orange juice was fresh squeezed, the bacon crisp, the eggs sunny side up, the coffee black, the hash browns made with real brown hashish, and the toast buttered with jelly ‘cause jam don’t shake like that, just the way Agent Knight liked it. It was almost as if he had been expected. Halfway through it dawned on him that the maid wasn’t talking about the current president, who was a member of the dark agenda anyway, but a former president. And he didn’t think it was Jimmy Carter. He quickly finished, dressed, and was just finishing the laces on his python boots when the door without a knob opened and an old man with a thick German accent walked in.

“Velcome, agentz Knight, ve vish you vell,” said the strange grey-haired man. “Vould you pleaze follov me?”

It was only then that Deep recognized the former Secretary of State for what he was, Dr. Henry Kissinger! Deep wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be alive or dead, or for that matter his exact state now, but his identification of this as Nixon’s lair seemed complete. He decided to use his famous wit to spar with the old civil servant. “What if I don’t want to follow you? Would you strap me to the laser table and try and make me talk?”

“Don’t be zilly, agentz Knight, if ve had vanted to killz you, ve could have done it atz anyz time. But as you can zee, you are quite alive. Zis vay, pleaze.”

Walking into who knows what, Deep walked into the unknown, hoping that all his answers would be questioned shortly, and that he would find out why it seemed that everybody but him knew what was going on.

[Deep Knight]

The Valley of the Dowels
Another Crafty Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 5 – Return of the River of Doubt

“I hope you find the food to your liking, Mr. Knight,” said the familiar Nixonesque voice from a face Deep couldn’t see under the monk’s robe’s hood, “we don’t get many visitors here, but I think you’ll find our table second to none. It was rated 4 stars in the last Zagnut survey.”

“Fishing for a complement on your skill in the kitchen, mister President?”

“People have got to know whether or not their President is a cook,” said the mad genius and former chief executive, “Well, I'm not a cook! But, I did grow the cook myself in my own test tubes in my own lab, so yes, I can take credit for this meal. Especially the cottage cheese and ketchup course.”

Deep winced at this statement, but kept his cool and tried to find out exactly why he had been kept alive, and what was in store for him. “I may be wrong, but it almost seems as though I was expected.”

“Of course ve expected you,” confirmed Nixon’s faithful lieutenant Henry Kissinger, “Ve sent for you, didn’t ve?”

“Now Henry,” chided his boss, “your blood pressure.”

“I’m confused,” said Deep Knight, obviously confused, “you say you sent for ve, er, me?”

“When we decided to use my textile transmogrifier on NWO headquarters, I knew that if we changed everyone’s clothing into erotic lingerie they would naturally send you to investigate. Our leaking our whereabouts to she-who-must-not-be-named was only lilding the gilly.”

“But my suit wasn’t changed into erotic lingerie, it was changed into the same stupid pajamas I wore here last night!”

“That vas before I took over the controlz,” confessed Henry sheepishly, “The president’z idea of zeductive bedclothez and most people’z differ a bit…”

“They always got Pat hot,” protested the peevish president, “and besides, it was my invention and so I got to use it first.”

Henry rolled his eyes and changed the subject. “Az I zaid, ve invited you here to because it vas to our benefit and yourz. More vine?”

Deep shook his head, refusing another helping of Virginia Creeper. “So, don’t leave me in suspense, what is it?”

“If you want to make beautiful music, you must play the good and the bad notes together. I need an evil cohort, a up to my down, a yin to my yang, an east to my west, a Jimi Hendrix to my Sammy Davis Jr. One with that special skill you are known for, and I don’t mean beating paternity raps. It may be unsavory, and it may be illegal, but when the President does it, that means that it's not illegal.”

“OK, but what is it you want me to do?”

“It will shock you,” Nixon replied, pulling back the hood that had been obscuring his face to reveal the same old Dick, now with a Fu Manchu mustache and small, pointed goatee.

“Arghhh!” suggested Agent Knight, genuinely shocked at seeing the old reprobate after all these years, “Nothing shocks me.”

“Well, I warned you,” came the reply, and what followed made even the emotionless zombie servants serving dinner blush.

[Deep Knight]

The Cuckolded Czech’s Revenge
Another Faithless Deep Knight Mystery

Chapter 6 – Troubleshooting and Error Messages

After a long silence, Deep Knight got tired of waiting and tried to prompt the pompous ex-president. “If this has anything to do with some sort of gay thing, then you’re barking up the wrong tree because that’s not how I roll. Don’t listen to my jilted bitter lovers, they don’t understand a man like me, a man to whom using thousands of women as seminal repositories and then bragging about it was a sacred quest.”

“Ve know about your vay vith vomen,” croaked Henry, his accent getting heavier, “I myselv vas quivite ze ladies man vonce. Zey called me ze Zecretary of Great. Vonce I vaz vizz zees zoo girlz und un giraffe …”

“Put a sock in it, Henry,” requested the President, who turning to Deep continued, “No, nothing like that. In fact, your way with women is one of the reasons we chose you.” Looking towards Henry, who had knives coming out of his eyes, he tried to placate him, “I mean, Henry chose you. And I’m sorry I ruined your favorite bestial orgy story like that, Henry, but there will be time for that later. Anyway, it all has to do with my latest invention and ruling the world.”

“Go on,” said Deep Knight politely, thinking that he wasn’t going to rule the world by changing people’s clothing and in general was crazy as a loon.

“You might think I’m crazy, that changing people’s clothing wasn’t going to conquer nations, even if I changed the uniforms of armies in battle like my cook suggested. Henry explained why it wouldn’t work. No, this was only a demonstration of the technology. With minor changes and increased power I can go from the threads in fabrics to things like ropes and cables. Suspension bridges could be taken out like that by converting their supporting cables to rubber bands. But even that isn’t the limit. By taking it up one more notch and moving it sideways, I can convert any penis in America to something else. Something silly, something horrible, something that has teeth and will start to chew on the victim’s thighs. Governments could be brought down in days with an ultimatum after a few prominent examples.”

“And where do I come in?” said Deep Knight, relieved he wasn’t going to be one of those examples.

“We need someone in the field. I, need to stay here in my lab, eating my special gourmet diet. Henry needs to have the slavish attention of the zombie servants and hybrid lab assistants. We need coordinates, expertise in this sort of business, but most of all a man who can seduce our victims’ women, make them talk while in the fog of pleasure about our victims hideous private parts, then post it on YouTube.”

“There’s just one problem,” suggested Deep, “If I work for you that will piss off the big boss, Satan, mister unforgiving himself. In our business we have a saying, ‘don’t mess with Satan, because if you do he’ll rip your throat out.’ Sorry.”

Nixon laughed with that laugh that makes you go cold inside, “Satan doesn’t scare me, and I’m not a quitter. A man is not finished when he is defeated. He is finished when he quits. And I can’t quit you, Deep. Why don’t you tell him that I asked you to be a double agent, and you agreed in order to be a triple agent, but in actuality you were a quadruple agent, cashing in when we rule the world! Or, I could feed you to my trained, wild alligators right now. Which will it be?”

[Deep Knight]

The Short Goodbye
Another Brief Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 7 – A House of Light Shadows

Deep Knight thought thoughtfully and finally revealed his answer. “I’m sorry, Mister President, but when I said that you don’t mess with Satan, I was just cleaning up my language. I meant to say that you don’t !@#$%^&* with Satan. As the Crown Prince of Darkness no one, not even anyone in your alligator pit is as scary as he. You can’t run, you can’t hide, you can’t even drop by a Starbucks for a quick latte.”

The former president smiled and pulled out his trump card. Then he spoke, “I understand that you’ve been having a bit of trouble with pressure being put on Eric Holder to arrest and execute you. This could easily be fixed if a certain Erasmus of America was dealt with by my minions.”

“I tried that, but he won’t stay dead,” commented Deep Knight, his interest heightened, “Call me old fashioned, but I was raised believing that if you killed someone, that was the end of it, except for the dismemberment and mutilation.”

“Yes,” said the former president, his eyes misting over, “The good old days. And no bussing intercity of negroes to suburban white schools either. Let me promise you this, join me in my quest and not only will I keep Satan from finding out but make Erasmus of America simply disappear. Neither you nor your readers will ever have to worry about him intruding into a Deep Knight Adventure ever again.”

Deep, realizing that he could give Nixon the double cross on being a triple agent, pretended to agree enthusiastically. By playing both sides against the middle he could slip out on either side and later swear he was actually working for whichever titan of tortiousness won. After a few rounds of Henry Wallbangers, with Henry Kissinger both mixing and banging, Nixon revealed his evil plan. “We will test my next generation machine on the cables of The Golden Gate Bridge tomorrow. Not only will it announce my return to the world, it will teach those hippies in Haight Ashbury a lesson!”

“Eckzellentz!” affirmed Henry Kissinger, upset he had been left out of the dialog, “Ve vill haff ze mach-cheen upfz und readiez zat dawn!” With the dawn fading his accent only got worse, and it was easy to see why his role was being deemphasized, except for comic relief.

It was an early evening at the Nixon compound, and tucked safely away from the ever-dangerous wilderness of alpine peaks and chasm-filled canyons that was Florida, Deep Knight considered his options and how he could deceive and lie his way out of his present predicament, and still keep his private parts from becoming an alligator’s lunch. Once was enough. Just then, a shadowy figure crept into Deep’s bedroom, silently enough not to be heard, but not silently enough not to be smelled. Professional assassins avoid aftershave and the heavy use of garlic and anchovies for this very reason, but this was an odor that could not be masked, an odor of good loving gone bad. Grabbing the AK-47 he always kept under his pillow, Deep Knight turned on the light, and was horrified at what the binding bedroom lights revealed!

[Deep Knight]

Fruits of the Loom
Another Briefs & Boxers Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 8 – Under Cover and Under Wear

“Damn it, Velna, what are you doing here?”

Deep Knight’s long-suffering secretary looked like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, that is, if the little boy was wearing black lace lingerie. “I’m sorry dear,” she moaned, “I was trying not to wake you.”

“That’s what you weren’t doing,” clarified Deep, “What I’m looking for is why you’re here in the first place.”

“You can’t expect that a sexually mature woman could leave our relationship hanging where it was, just minutes away from fulfillment in the supplies closet. Of course I followed you to throw myself at your feet and allow you to debase my body in ways I can’t even imagine. What woman wouldn’t?”

Accepting her logic, Deep turned his attention to the pack of barking hounds, heavily armed guards, Nixon, and Kissinger who had come bursting into the room. “False alarm, boys, this is my secretary, er, lab assistant.”

“Girlfriend,” corrected Velna, assertively putting her hands on her hips.

“I can’t say I’m pleased, Agent Knight,” said Nixon, sourly, “I find men work harder when there aren’t women around to distract them with their carnal charms. At least it always worked for me. “

“I dizzagree,” said Henry, himself a ladies man at one point obviously very long in the past, but Nixon cut him short.

“No matter. It’s only hours before we destroy the Golden Gate bridge by substituting cotton candy floss for the steel cables. My prospects will rise as it falls into the Pacific. And those hippies will shit their pants.”

Leading them to the deepest level of his underground lab and dungeon combination, next to the pit of boiling acid, Nixon directed Kissinger and a deformed hunchback named “Igor” to close a series of large, manual switches. Various machines started generating high voltages, with cascades of sparks and gleefully dancing around the large insulators leading to a giant black box. Adjusting some knobs as well as a few nobs, Nixon started muttering to himself, “It’s alive! It’s alive” as strange violet rays emitted from the box and towards the general direction of Northern California. Finally, with one large explosion and a puff of purple smoke, the machine let out a huge blast of energy and was silent.

“That’s it, let’s turn on cable news and see what happened,” suggested the almost manic ex-president, the sweat on this upper lip giving his five o’clock shadow a glean in the morning air.

Unfortunately, no one in the Nixon compound knew that the famous artist Cristo had picked that very day to “wrap” the Golden Gate bridge in a variety of strings, fabrics, ropes, and tinsel. The metamorphic rays from the device got a bit confused after their transcontinental journey and converted them to sugar strands instead. The crowd, thinking it was all part of the artistic happening, consumed the candy materials and went home to type-2 diabetes and tooth decay, but otherwise none the wiser. Fortunately for the ex-president, Cristo himself was part of the New World Order, using his building wrapping as a cover for nefarious break-ins, and he immediately realized what was going on and let NWO Headquarters know immediately, if not sooner. Reports are that none of them needed a change of underwear, but it was a near thing. Ironically, a group of hippies was in attendance – they had taken some brown acid in 1967 and we just coming down - and they did mess their drawers, not because of a disappearing bridge, but simply incontinence brought on by old age.

[Deep Knight]

Viva Death Valley!
Another Living Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 9 – The Iron Road and Shoe of Despair

The word was out, and it spread like wildfire. Nixon was back! Men who didn’t blink as they sent millions to their doom whimpered like babies having a bad diaper day. Women took vows and joined convents in record numbers. The ruling council of the Dark Agenda meet late into the night, overwhelmed by this new threat to their new world order. Luckily for them, they had a man on the inside, a man who could do deeds others would think impossible, Deep Knight!

The former president, unaware that his newest double agent was really a triple agent, was beside himself in joy. And he was enjoying it. Humming “Let a Smile be your Umbrella,” he laid out the next in his series of plans. “Deep, you and your girl Friday, Velna, will take the next step in our journey by going to Death Valley. I can’t tell you what you’ll do there, but It’s imperative that you do it quickly. You’ll fly into Las Vegas, then immediately take a rented Jeep out into the unforgiving desert. My mutant aides, Haldezombie and Erlichzombie, will accompany you.”

“As muscle?” Enquired Deep Knight.

“No, to make sure you don’t dally in Vegas,” replied the ex-chief executive, “I’ve heard stories, stories about a traveling salesman and farmer’s daughters, and no matter what, they will make sure you never come near the Vegas strip!”

Less than half a day later, Deep was surrounded by cocktail waitresses and feathered showgirls in the casino at the Desert Inn. A crowd had gathered around the high-stakes Baccarat Chemin-de-Fer table to watch him play Le Chiffon, the effeminate younger brother of Le Chiffre. Haldezombie and Erlichzombie were dancing with a bevy of drunken girls wearing little black dresses and giggling every time the boys moaned. Their dark, sunken eyes and shuffling gate were not unusual for the Vegas Strip, especially at five in the morning. In fact, for emotionless shadows motivated only by a hunger for human brains, they seemed to be having a good time.

The spectators audibly gasped as Deep Knight won the hand and had the shoe passed to him. Not having time to wonder how it had gotten off his foot in the first place, he deftly dealt out the cards using the wide wooden paddle-shaped pallet and waited for the bets. “I’ll open with a million dollars,” said a fat jewel-bedecked maharaja, smiling as he viewed his hand. An Arab sheik countered by raising the bet, to one billion dollars. His face a mask, Deep Knight went all in, betting one trillion dollars and a handful of Iraqi Dinars.

The place went wild, as a nervous croupier looked at the well-marked hidden cameras to see if he should accept such a large bet, a bet that exceeded even Deep’s sterling credit. Finally, the word came down, and as the crowd gasped, Deep Knight’s marker was withdrawn and play stopped. Deep, about to explode, demanded to see the casino owner, and was led with his secretary Velna, into the richly paneled penthouse office of Moe Desert himself.

“Agent Knight,” said a voice that sounded like it came from the grave, “I have received instructions to make sure you’re on the next Jeep to Death Valley. Not only are our satanic slave masters upset, but Dick Nixon was on the phone, and you don’t kick around Dick Nixon anymore.”

“But, we haven’t even been to our rooms yet!” protested a frustrated-looking Velna to the mob executive, “A few hours and a large bed are all I ask.”

Deep interrupted, “Forget the dame, I had a winning hand and won’t let you railroad me away from the Chemin-de-Fer! Or at least I think I had good cards, to tell you the truth I’ve never understood how to score the game, but I look cool when I’m playing Baccarat, and I always win.”

“That’s because it’s fixed in your favor as ‘one of us.’ But you’re supposed to be ‘one of them,’ and taking care of business out in the desert with your horny secretary. Now, before the evil Prince of Darkness comes out to see to it himself, and you know how he gets when he’s had a few drinks and hits the penny slots.”

Both Deep and Velna looked dejected as the valet service brought the Jeep around to the front of the casino from the huge parking lot that surrounded it and the 18-hole golf course in the back. It took a bit of work to get the disappointed girls off the mutant zombie aides, but finally they were on the back road to Death Valley in the 100 degree mid-autumn chill.

[Deep Knight]

The Underground City and Stargate of Doom
Another Subterranean Homesick Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 10 – The Hump at Pahrump

After a quick stop at the town of Pahrump for survivalist supplies, Deep Knight, Velna, and the two mutant zombies made their way to Death Valley through land so desolate that not even casinos could be built there. Entering from the east, Deep stopped at Zabriskie point to view the fearsome valley from a pulpit in the colorful and heavily-eroded badlands above it. Unfortunately, the ridges and gullies of the badlands reminded the two zombies of the folds of human brains, and they wandered off into the waterless wastes, never to be seen again except by delighted tourists for whom they posed for pictures. After passing a variety of places with either infernal or fiery namesakes, they ended up at Panamint Springs Resort, a small motel, gas station, and restaurant at one of the few places with water on the western edge of the park. There, a room was reserved in his name, but there were no further instructions.

Deep Knight didn’t know exactly what they were doing there, or for that matter what to do next, but Velna did. Rushing through the check-in process, she literally threw Deep on the bed and started to rip his clothes off. Surprised at the change in roles, and quite frankly tired after the long drive, Deep felt rather cheap and used. Then again, it had been a few days, and the old reflexes soon kicked in and soon a screwed, blued, and tattooed Velna had her lust satisfied and completely blissed out and napping with a big smile on her face. For Deep it was yet another meaningless-yet-intensely-pleasurable encounter, which left him tormented with conflicting feelings. At least being on the bottom had allowed Deep the opportunity to read the note written for him on the room’s ceiling in Illuminati drywall-texturing code, directing him to “Wingate Pass.” Still, it wasn’t enough to break through his post-coital depression, and so he strolled to the modest restaurant to get a drink at their redwood slab bar.

The bartender, Alkali Joe, set him up with a bourbon and branchwater and asked what he was doing ‘round these parts. Deep, playing his cards close to his vest, asked if they had a 4WD map and started scrutinizing it looking for something named Wingate Pass, and not finding it. Joe, his interested piqued, looked over his shoulder, “If you’re looking for Barker Ranch, it’s up Golar Wash, but since the last rain you might not want to drive up there.”

“Huh?” replied Agent Knight, knowledgeably, “Barking what?”

“Barker Ranch, where they arrested the Manson Family,” replied the old, grizzled desert rat, “Most folks who show up here looking lost are true crime nuts or even nuttier Charlie Manson fans wanting to visit the place he and his family holed up after they murdered all those people in LA back in the 60’s.”

Deep had heard of the incident, but knew little of the details except that lots of blood and gore was involved, wondered why anyone would care after all these years. “So I guess you get a few of these folks show up every few years, huh?”

“Nope, we get them all the time, ‘round Thanksgiving to the tune of four or five a day,” confirmed the bartender, “The road is only passible by Jeeps, but some days there’s a gol darn traffic jam goin’ up there. That Manson was one crazy guy, absolutely certifiable, but some of his fans are even worse.”

“Well, I’m not one of them, what I’m looking for is Wingate Pass. Ever heard of it?”

If possible, Alkali Joe’s eyes got even wider than when he was talking about Charlie Manson. “Oh, so you’re one of THEM,” he gasped, the amused fear obvious in his eyes. “You’re looking to the entrance to the underground city and stargate of doom!”

[Deep Knight]

The Good, the Bad, and the Desiccated
Another Dry Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 11 – Charlie’s Angels

“Naw,” countered Deep Knight, “That’s an amusement park in South Carolina they closed after some brutal murders nearby. Not that I know anything about it, of course.”

“No, this is strictly a Death Valley baseless rumor,” clarified Alkali Joe, “Over the years people have reported underground tunnels underneath Death Valley or the Panamint Range. Sometimes they have cities, sometimes treasure, sometimes just a strange green light. Even the Manson family was looking for these cities, where Charlie taught they had fountains of chocolate milk. At the moment the favorite location seems to be Wingate Pass, the old 20-mule-team road they used to take Borax out of the valley.”

“So there is a road,” breathed Deep Knight with relief, “Funny that it’s not on the map.”

“That’s because it’s no longer there,” confirmed Joe, “When they closed China Lake to make it a naval test station, you couldn’t drive to the pass or out the west end anymore, and people stopped using it. It was just the bottom of a dry wash anyway, so after a few rainstorms any improvements got covered by gravel. Now days that’s all designated wilderness, so you can’t even drive up the dry washes.”

“But, the pass itself is in this China Lake place,” said Deep Knight, “So I could go there.”

Joe laughed, “Good luck! The only people who get to go into China Lake have special super-secret clearance from unknown government agencies. In fact, that’s probably why the rumor-generators used that location, because there’s no way to check it out to prove they’re lying. Get real.”

Deep smiled knowingly and walked back to his room and waiting sex-starved secretary. He found the talk of numerous fans of the Manson Family still being around disturbing, the idea of someone as crazy as Charlie having a cult of followers willing to kill for him was just too unbelievable. In his role as chief thwarter of prosperity deliveries, Deep had run across people just as crazy, but was comforted by the fact that when they did attract followers, they were just talkers and not insane people of action, ready to kill random innocents to start a war based on hidden messages in Beatles songs. At least not this week.

Velna was still asleep when Deep got back, and since there was no TV or radio he settled in with one of her romance novels. Something about a large number of shades of grey. Given the descriptions of bondage and sadism, it was no wonder her libido was over-amped. Still, it was soft-core enough to bore Deep and even though the walls were paper thin and the neighbors working their way through some relationship issues, he was soon asleep.

[Deep Knight]

Weird Scenes Inside the Gold Mine
Another Doors of Perception Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 12 – For Whom the Bell Tolls

The Mohave Desert is stark in its emptiness, and gives up its clues only to those who can read them. Deep Knight was literate in desert, and by a broken blade of grass here, a black mailbox there, and a large sign at the gate on China Lake Blvd. in the city of Ridgecrest told him what he needed to know. At the gate, a series of secret signs, handshakes, and passwords known to all Illuminati types got him through and into the most secret of the well-known secret sites in the western US. Many “in the know” know that Area 51 is a simple misdirection ploy to cover up the existence of China Lake, a freshwater sea so deep that legends stated it “went all the way to China,” giving it the name. Being in the middle of a waterless desert, it was the perfect place to test naval ships and even submarines away from the prying eyes that litter the ocean.

Deep’s “rock star” status in the secret community should have brought out throngs of autograph seekers, but strangely the desert was empty on the drive up Wingate Pass Road. Velna, not being an outdoor type, was a bit put off by the poisonous insects, reptiles, and plants, but otherwise seemed to enjoy the searing heat and blinding sun. Finally, after hitting every rut and rock along the route, they pulled into a group of abandoned-looking buildings, filled with military officers. They all saluted as Deep Knight drove in.

“Agent Knight, President Nixon told us to expect you,” crisply stated the officer with the most gold braid, “I’m Commodore Chaos, and I’ll be your guide to the underground tunnels and alien cities this afternoon. We’ll be joined by Major Mischief from the Army and Sargent Snafu of the Marines.”

Having no idea what he was doing or there to achieve, he decided to take a page from the Dinar Gurus and bluff his way through. “Excellent, Commodore. I assume you know the nature of our mission?”

“To secure the Tri-Lithium Crystals for use against the Viet Cong, of course,” summarized the Commodore, “We’ll finally be able to kick Ho Chi Min’s butt and bring our boys home for Christmas.”

Deep realized that the personnel at this super-secret base hadn’t gotten out very much in the last 40 years, and apparently thought that Nixon was still president and the war hadn’t yet ended. Either that, or he had taken a wrong turn and driven through one of the time tunnels built in the 60’s, a persistent problem for those cruising around the secret bases. The same thing had happened to him twice in the last month. But a quick check of his i-phone showed it was still 2012, even though its GPS app had him located somewhere in the Himalayas.

“Groovy man,” said Deep, trying his best to adopt 60’s-speak, “Uptight and outta sight.”

Leading them into the most disheveled shack, down a high speed elevator, and to the deepest level of the base’s underground lab, just past the pit of boiling acid, the commodore directed a deformed hunchback named “Igor” to close a series of large, manual switches. Various machines started generating high voltages, with cascades of sparks and gleefully dancing around the large insulators leading to a giant black box. Adjusting some knobs Igor started muttering to himself, “It’s alive! It’s alive” as strange violet rays emitted from the box and towards the general direction of the center of the earth. Finally, with one large explosion and a glowing green light, the machine let out a huge blast of energy and was silent.

[Deep Knight]

Your 2012 Voters’ Guide
Another Two-Day-Late Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 13 - Crawling Down the Alley with Sally

Deep Knight felt as if he was being stretched in space, stretched in ways that even hot monkey love with that yoga instructor hadn’t. Velna was being stretched with him and the various military men mentioned in the last chapter, their plasmic bodies being accelerated into another dimension as their DNA went from 2 to 12 stranded. Soon they were in the ancient alien tunnels under the Panamint Range, surrounded by green glowing light and strange ancient alien Agarthonian beings. In a pre-arranged ceremony, the Commodore traded permission to mutilate 1000 cattle, and abduct and anally probe a like number of humans driving on rural roads, in exchange for the holy grail of impossible energy sources, a naked quantum irregularity. With this source of power, former ex-President Nixon could finally transform few prominent penises of the rich and famous, striking terror in the hearts of the corridors of power.

After a small sticking point, when the leader of the Agarthonians tried to stick Velna with a small point, they left with the green-glowing power source in hand and the leader nursing a bruised ovipositor. “What a strange and wonderful world,” mused Velna, “A skilled writer could fill pages with interesting details that would please readers much more than driving through the desert or talking about a hippie cult killer.”

“Can it, sister,” replied Deep wistfully, “I hate the desert, I hate traveling, and mostly I hate aliens. Especially ones that do that to cattle. Brrrrrrrr.”

The trip back to Las Vegas was uneventful, well, with the possible exception of the episode where Deep and Velna were captured by rogue “Tea Partiers” and forced to drink endless cups of the vial brew. They escaped through the use of a homemade sidewinder venom and ammonia explosive Velna knew about from her years as a girl scout. After a mad dash with frequent restroom stops, they were finally back at the Riviera, on The Strip.

Velna purred like a kitten as she lounged in the lush penthouse suite Deep had charged to the Dark Agenda account. Having been satisfied like few women could be, even in their dreams, and even if those dreams involved a dozen oiled bodybuilders in loincloths, she was upset about Agent Knight’s insistence that they not dally in the Las Vegas Valley any longer than it took for him to break the bank at three or four Casinos. Dressing in his most stylish white Tuxedo and hitting the Algiers, Sahara, and Stardust, he amazed the crowd by winning almost every no-limit bet at Roulette, Craps, and Tarzan’s Amazon Adventure. With Velna in a little black dress and spike heels at his side, Deep cashed in his chips, and a few trillion dollars richer, Deep and Velna boarded a chartered flight back to Florida. The only delay was loading the heavy cargo into the plane, knowing what he did about the Federal Reserve, Deep had insisted in being paid in 62 thousand tons of gold.

In the air, Deep and Velna relaxed in their private cabin by having gymnastic non-stop sex in every way imaginable, and several that weren’t. Dripping with sweat and less-publically-mentionable-fluids, they unboarded the plane and rushed with their prize back to the secret compound on the coast. There, Deep carefully carried the glowing green naked quantum irregularity into Nixon’s private bedroom to show the former disgraced president. The president was smiling, but it was that sort of smile you get in the tropics when you’ve been dead for a few days.

[Burnaby49]

Try to be accurate in the details. Tea is drunk in a china cup, not a "vial". Too much time in the lab?

[Deep Knight]

Try to be accurate in the details. Tea is drunk in a china cup, not a "vial". Too much time in the lab?

I know I wrote "vile," but Erasmus of America must have hacked into my computer and changed it to "vial" to embarass me. After all, he was named by a well-know who the @#$! is who organization as the "Nadya 'Octomom' Suleman of unauthorized computer access."

As for using a china cup, that reeks of the British Royal Draconian Family, which definitely pegs you as a shape-shifting double agent. The good news is that that gets you off the Dark Agenda assassination list (homocidal reptilians are our kind of folks) and once again keeps me from having to travel to Canada in the winter. Thank your luckly stars, it was a near thing - you had moved up to #315,687,541 on the waiting list, and was tentatively scheduled for December of 2125.

[Burnaby49]

Try to be accurate in the details. Tea is drunk in a china cup, not a "vial". Too much time in the lab?

I know I wrote "vile," but Erasmus of America must have hacked into my computer and changed it to "vial" to embarass me. After all, he was named by a well-know who the @#$! is who organization as the "Nadya 'Octomom' Suleman of unauthorized computer access."

As for using a china cup, that reeks of the British Royal Draconian Family, which definitely pegs you as a shape-shifting double agent. The good news is that that gets you off the Dark Agenda assassination list (homocidal reptilians are our kind of folks) and once again keeps me from having to travel to Canada in the winter. Thank your luckly stars, it was a near thing - you had moved up to #315,687,541 on the waiting list, and was tentatively scheduled for December of 2125.

My comment had nothing to do with the evil machinations of the "British Royal Draconian Family", whoever they may be, but a response from a lifetime of instructions from my mother, a born and "till death do we part" Englander. A tea addict (I shudder at the thought much as you do, a fleeting bond between us) who had a tea ritual that put the Japanese to shame. Anyhow, given my current actuarial lifespan, 2125 works for me because I should be reposing deceasedfully (I made that word up, copyright to follow) for about 90 years by then.

[Deep Knight]

The Ascent of Men
Another Virile Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 14 – Caught in the Dragnet

Captain Hardasse of the Florida State Police motioned to the coroner to move the body, all the evidence having been gathered and pictures taken, including those with the detectives posing alongside the famous ex-president. Realizing Deep Knight’s status within the conspiracy against all that was good and holy, he deferentially allowed him to run the investigation, especially as Deep obviously knew more about murders than he did, both solving and committing them. With Velna at his side, they reviewed the evidence.

“When I got here,” confessed Agent Knight, “He had been dead for days. I didn’t need a CSI report for that, just my nose. Velna and I had been gone for a couple weeks to Death Valley and Vegas, and it couldn’t have been that long or he would have been more bloated than he was, but it was certainly more than a couple of days.”

“And nobody noticed?” complained the Detective Captain, “I can understand the Zombies, they all look and smell like that so I guess he appeared normal. But what about his not eating any food and not getting out of bed? And what about Henry Kissinger?”

“He was known for staying in bed, watching 50’s porn and, only eating after he had come down from the effects of the Viagra, which would sometimes be days,” said Deep Knight to the disgust of the detectives. “It’s not what you think, zombie girls and barnyard animals were rarely involved, but let’s just say the former president used his evil genius to clone some of the world’s most beautiful women, and he keeps them in a freezer in the back of that walk-in closet to quick-thaw when he’s in the mood. The servant naturally thought that’s what was happening, although I checked the freezer logs and they haven’t been accessed for quite some time. And all the sheep are accounted for.”

“You mean he wasn’t alone when he died?” observed the Detective, “I have trouble with imagining him having sex with any woman, cloned, zombie, or what passes for normal. So would any jury. I would be happy with chalking it up to old age and leaving it at that.”

“My evil slave masters will want to know what really happened, they’re sticklers for the truth,” objected Deep, “I suggest we take a page out of “The Thin Man” series and invite all the suspects to dinner, where we’ll discuss the crime until one of them reveals him or herself. Works every time.”

“I don’t know,” cooed the Captain, “It still sounds far-fetched to me. But this whole thing sounded strange from the beginning, especially the part about the beached whale, so I’m willing to follow your lead.”

“We’ll use your detectives as waiters and to round up the participants. Velna will be hostess and plan the menu, something light but yet festive. After all, it will be one of the participants’ last free meals.”

The captain motioned to his secretary, who made it so. She reported back to Deep and Velna to hammer out the details and get hammered in a ménage a trois which I won’t detail. Let it suffice to say that a dragnet was put out, the twelve suspects contacted by male detectives in women’s clothing, brought back to Dodge, and seated for a 9 course dinner. A dinner of despair and death for one, and no doubt indigestion for others, but liberty and justice for all!

[Deep Knight]

The River of Doubt
A Fluid Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 15 – The Iron Chef

The dinner guests were led in one by one. Sitting to Deep’s right was Velna, so suspect number one, Henry Kissinger, was put to his left. Henry had never satisfactorily explained what he was doing when Nixon was killed, not because he wasn’t talking, but because his accent had become so thick it was almost impossible to tell what he was saying. Next to him was former disgraced Vice President, Spiro T. Agnew, who had the most to gain from Nixon’s death, being next in line to take over. Going clockwise, there was Hunter S. Thompson, well-known Nixon critic and gonzo journalist; killer cult leader Charlie Manson, let out of prison just for this dinner; and having a friendly chat with Cuban Premier Fidel Castro. On his left was Olympic gold medalist Gabby Douglas; fresh from Graceland Elvis Presley; and former DA and Manson family prosecutor, Vincent Bugliosi. Next to him was Anita Ekberg, Swedish-American actress, model, and cult sex symbol, best known for her role as Sylvia in the 1960 Federico Fellini film La Dolce Vita, which features the legendary scene of her cavorting in Trevi Fountain alongside Marcello Mastroianni; and next to her famed Italian actor Marcello Mastroianni himself. Completing the guests and sitting next to Velna were pin up model, Betty Page and the aging-but-still-deadly Kung Fu legend Brigitte Bardot. Deep rang for the waiters to serve the nuts, that is, serve the guests the nuts as the first course.

“Vhat arrrrrrh ve doingz herrrre, mine herr?” complimented Dr. Kissinger, flicking a filbert at his old enemy Brigitte. Velna smiled and maintained order by slapping him before Brigitte could decapitate Henry praying mantis style. Spiro laughed and got a lap full of the former Secretary of State’s hot coffee for is effort. “Please, please, stop acting like children!” begged Agent Knight, “Henry asks a good question, or at least I think he did, and it deserves an answer. What are we doing here? What are we really here for? Are we soulless beings who live and die in a vacuum or immortal demigods co-creating our own realities? In specific, who knocked off Nixon? I remember a saying from the second campaign that summed up what we need to focus on here. ‘Why change Dicks in the middle of a good screw. Vote for Nixon in ’72.’ Waiters, serve the salad please.”

The arugula, fig, goat cheese and avocado with balsamic vinaigrette that Velna had specified, much to the delight of Hunter S. Thompson, well-known connoisseur of fine food, fine wines, and women with purses full of dangerous drugs. Deep continued, “First we have Charles Manson, homicidal psychotic whose body was incarcerated but fan base was roaming around Death Valley. He was the most evil man of the century until Nixon and Watergate knocked him off his throne, and he wanted the title back. Then there’s Betty Page, who Nixon promised he’d divorce Pat for and marry, but was left waiting at the altar. Heck hath no fury like a woman in black lace lingerie scorned, as I’ve learned the hard way one too many times. Waiters, you can serve the shrimp cocktails.”

As the waiters brought out various sweet mixed drinks made with added shrimp, Betty protested her innocence. “That was long ago, and besides, he wasn’t the only man to have lied to me, and only a few of them died mysteriously.” She slurped her shrimp daiquiri through its twisty straw and thrust her ample chest into Elvis’ face. “Thank you very much,” replied the King, who was a known raving hetrosexual even at his age. Deep leveled his eyes at him. “Then there are those here who wanted the Elixir Vitae, aging pretending-they’re-dead rock stars and Communist dictators and cigar smokers. Waiter, it’s time for the fish.”

“I’m all shook up,” protested Elvis, “I’ve lived a good life and good faked death and don’t fear going to that better place in the sky. So don’t you step on my blue suede shoes, step on Fidel’s.”

Deep noticed that Castro’s shoes were blue suede, which clashed with his army fatigues and beard, but didn’t say anything more about the revolutionary thorn in America’s side. He had stubbornly refused to join the New World Order all these years, citing their attitude towards cigars. The poached salmon was brought in, illegally fished from an English lord’s game preserve, with cream dill sauce, real capers, and a wedge of lemon brightening up an otherwise tense and stressful table. “Mr. Thompson’s distaste for Nixon is well known, you’ll notice that his being dead hasn’t prevented him from joining us this evening. And then there’s Brigitte Bardot, who vowed revenge when he jilted her for Anita and burned the Shaolin temple where she was trained during his visit to China. As I know too well, having one too many lovers can get you into trouble.”

Anita and Brigitte locked eyes, and if looks could kill the State of Florida, including the keys, would have been a smoldering crater. Unknown to most outside of his inner circle, Richard “Tricky Dick” Nixon was one of the greatest poker players of WWII and lovers of the 50’s and 60’s. A non-stop line of budding starlets found out how he got his nickname and title of “Vice” President. It had never leaked out because it was so unbelievable, but here were aging sex symbols of that era, prime suspects in his murder after all these years. Que macho! Deep was impressed, but also impatient to end the charade, so he moved dinner along as fast and he could and ordered the soup be served.

[Deep Knight]

The Wasted and the Tasteless
Another Culinary Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 16 – Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast

Large tureens of the wild mushroom soup were brought out and the thick broth ladled out to the nervous guests. They had undergone more grilling than the poached fish during the first four courses, and after this one there were four more left. Deep Knight was known as a crack detective, who’s who in fiction had rated him the Albert Schweitzer of brutally violent novellas, and they knew their backgrounds and whereabouts would be probed as thoroughly as the Panamint aliens were at that very moment probing the backsides and who-knows-where of innocent citizens. They ate their soup apprehensively, as if waiting for a hidden hand to emerge from the bowl, grabbing them and pulling them down into the abyss of the Florida legal system. Deep night smiled, he had considered that kind of soup, but the ingredients didn’t arrive in time, so he had the servants gather some of the blue-staining mushrooms that wild in the lush cow pastures surrounding the house.

“Marcello, your feelings about Nixon were well known, both for stealing Anita away from you and ruining her as both a woman and an actress, and that secret nuclear attack on Italy. What can I say, you people have been really good sports keeping quiet about that all these years. And Gabby here is one of the few women gymnastic enough to have evaded the laser security, climbed up the building, fit through the skylight, and take the former President to a fatal level of ecstasy. That evidence may be circumstantial and thin, but not as thin as the philistine waiters are going to slice the next course. Besides, she’s so young and fresh and cute, and in my experience that’s always evidence of a homicidal nature.”

The roast beef was brought out and true to Deep’s word, the pieces were tender but thin. Luckily for the chef and hostess, the guests had lost their appetites by this time, possibly from a strange altered state brought on by the mushrooms in the soup. That is, all except Charles Manson who was putting it away and pawing at the women. Agent Knight cast an evil eye his way.

“Henry’s here because he was on the premises when the deed was done, supposedly playing video games in his room. Spiro Agnew is here for obvious reasons, with his disgraced boss dead he’s now the disgraced president heir apparent. This brings us to Vincent Bugliosi, who’s actually not a suspect in this case. I brought him here because we needed 12 guests for form’s sake, and to watch Charlie Manson brutally killed and eaten by zombies. I know that I’m a servant of an evil conspiracy to kill all but 20 million of the world’s inhabitants and enslave them, but there’s ‘evil’ and there’s ‘evil.’ Besides, it will break the tension and compliment the next course.”

As if not believing what he was hearing, or perhaps being so out of touch from two servings of extra-wild mushroom soup and he thought he was hallucinating it, Manson kept up his gregarious behavior and didn’t even try to run as the Nixon’s mutant zombie servants gathered around him, which took some time given their slow, shuffling gate. Even if he had fled, Deep had instructed the waiter/police to delay his flight by tripping him or kicking him in the groin, not only had his well-healed victims all been part of the New World Order, Hollywood branch, but crazy people who get other crazy people to believe crazy conspiracy theories needed to be discouraged. Aggressively. Once the circle of Zombie death had surrounded Charlie his fate was sealed and his number up. The zombie servants surged forward, literally engulfed him, and started to chew. Manson didn’t seem to realize what was happening until the last moments, and had time to write only half of “Helter Skelter” on the walls in blood before his brain was scooped out and divided into bite-sized pieces. A wave of relief and scattered applause filled the room, Charlie was one creepy guy and his presence was a definite damper on the evening. As if on cue, the seventh course was brought out, monkey brains on the half skull, Chicago style.

It is said throughout Asia that monkey brains are best eaten raw, but always in some neighboring less-civilized country. In reality people in the American Midwestern know how to turn this ordinary food into something really special, “deep dish” brains on the half skull. There was the sauce and sausage and the cheese of course, but Nixon’s chef had added his own special touch, hard-boiled monkey eyeballs peering over the edge of the skull serving dish. The guests seemed to appreciate this course as much as the demise of Manson, especially those who had been squeamish at some of the earlier exotic dishes. Deep, pleased at how his dinner party was going, decided to forgo any more questioning and asked the waiters to serve the fruit. Large platters of tropical delights soon followed.

Unfortunately for decorum, the various women who were still jealous for Nixon’s favor, even postmortem, used some of the heavier whole fruit, to attack each other. Betty Page got the worst of it from Anita and a pineapple, but all three ample-but-aging women ended up juicier than they had been in years. All too soon, however, order was restored and with only one course to go, Deep started to sum up the facts in the case. “So, we have a dead ex-president that perhaps millions of people would have wanted dead, but almost all of them thought he already was dead, so didn’t think about it. Come to think of it, the people in this room probably thought that too, and quite frankly, most of them couldn’t have gone three rounds with Tricky Dick, much less killed him.” Deep peeled a banana that had somehow escaped the carnage and ate it pensively, all eyes on him. As he chewed slowly, milking the suspense, the answer suddenly occurred. How could he have been so stupid? So ignorant? Or was this just an illusion brought on by the soup? It was times like these that tried his soul, loosened his resolve, and thrust reality’s ugly buttocks into his face. The waiters were bringing out the desert, a rich cake called “death by triple chocolate cocoa brownie cake” and all the 11 remaining suspect-guests held their breath while they waited to hear whose death it portended. But Deep didn’t rely on old superstitions regarding extra sugary and rich deserts, or for that matter hunches concerning the seat of his pants. He used the scientific method. Reaching forward to receive the envelope from the panel of judges, Deep opened it, read it to himself slowly, and started to reveal the name of Nixon’s killer.

[Deep Knight]

The Gold of Egypt
Another Glittering Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 17 – After the Fox

“Damn it Deep,” came the loud voice of Agent Knight’s boss as he crashed through the window in the dining hall door, “What the hell are you up to now? We ask you to assassinate just one guy and steal some technology, and find you cleaning out three long-closed casinos in Vegas and throwing a swanky dinner party! Just because we control the world's banks doesn't mean we're made from money!”

Deep winced at this intrusion into his dramatic and investigatory climax, and wondered why he hadn’t eliminated his boss yet. One of the hazards of working for an organization above the law where disgruntled employees have access to guns, bombs, and a large variety of poisons was a high level of managerial turnover. And this one was getting on his nerves, not to mention in all probability looking to seize his ill-gotten Vegas gains. “With you in a minute, boss,” he lied, “As soon as I wrap up here.”

“You’re wrapping up now and I’m taking over,” insisted his boss timidly, “What I want from you is a complete report, starting with who killed Nixon.”

“I was just getting to that,” said Deep, “If I could get you a cup of coffee or something to eat. We had some fabulous wild mushroom soup that’s the cook’s specialty and especially good in Florida’s autumn chill.”

Deep’s boss made a face. “Soup!?! Sounds vile. But … I am a bit hungry and … is that Chicago-style deep dish money brains?” he said looking at the late Charlie Manson’s uneaten portion. “I’ll just help myself.”

For a mad moment Deep thought about distracting his boss with Velna’s naked breasts and slipping some wild mushrooms into his his meal, but decided to focus on the task at hand and worry about dirty tricks afterward. Besides, families read his adventures, and while murder and cannibalistic zombies were OK, descriptions of firm, ripe breasts with erect nipples yearning to be diddled were not. So, he continued his boring revelation of the truth so long hidden. “As I was saying, the murder has revealed him or herself through my cunning trap of having them to dinner. As Oliver Wendell Sherlock Holmes said, ‘It is a wise father that knows his own child. Truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son may, but at the length truth will out.’ Well, I’ve got the length and that’s the truth, girth too if the truth be told, and as the bearer of this sacred rod of veracity I tell you all now that none of you done it.”

The dinner guests looked confused, but not as confused as the author of the dialog in the last paragraph. What did it all mean? Deep continued, “So, you’re all free to go home. Don’t let the screen door hit you in the butt as you leave.”

“But,” countered Vincent Bugliosi, “If none of us did it, who did? After all I sat through your boring dinner, and even if the dismemberment of Charles Manson did provide a few minutes of amusement, I deserve to know the answer to this mystery! And you promised me a return ticket.” Deep smiled at his naiveté, being part of legitimate law enforcement the former DA thought Deep was telling the truth, when in truth he had planned on killing all the guests whether they were guilty or not, either because they knew too much, or knew too little.

“Yeah,” injected Deep’s boss, his mouth full of brains, “Why did you do this ‘Thin Man’ dinner anyway? I much prefer the ‘Perry Mason’ model with someone jumping up in court and confessing. Faster, cheaper, and obviously more effective.”

Deep rolled his eyes at his boss’ ignorance, a public trial was almost always the last thing the Illuminati wanted. Secret and under the cover of darkness and gag orders was the general rule, except for false flag operations and parades. “The dinner is how I found out who did it,” he explained, “I can’t explain how right now, or even later, but I can wrap this caper up right here and now.”

“Well,” said his boss rudely, wiping his sleeve with his mouth, “Then tell us already! What are you waiting for?”

“Yeah,” said Elvis impatiently, “It’s time to take care of business, uh, huh, huh.”

“OK,” admitted Deep, “If everyone will shut up I’ll tell you. The person who done it was …”

Suddenly, a bevy of stun grenades exploded, obscuring the name that Deep revealed. The guests looked stunned, which I suppose is the point of stun grenades, but as much from disappointment as aural pain. Would this dinner of death ever be over? Would they ever hear the murder’s name, that is, once their ears stopped ringing? Deep was about to answer them when yet another series of stunning explosions stunned them all once more. What kind of sick game was someone playing, who was it, and what did they have to hide?

[Deep Knight]

The Mold of Egypt
Another Mummified Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 18 – An After Dinner Mint

Once the clamor from the stun grenades had subsided. Deep Knight looked around as he began to speak once more, expecting someone to interrupt him, but all was quiet. Then, Deep’s boss, in the middle of a mouthful of brains, turned green, and excused himself. No doubt someone had put something unappetizing into that particular serving, knowing it was slated to be served to Charles Manson. There are some people even Zombies don’t like. Waiting for him to run to the bathroom in that funny way that indicates you’re clenching certain muscles to prevent an embarrassing accident, Deep continued.

“The murderer is … my secretary and lover, Velna. OK? Satisfied? Now, get outta here.”

The assembled suspects and detectives gasped in disbelief. There had been no clue anywhere in the story to indicate this. That, added to the introduction of new characters and suspects in the last scene, made this sudden turn of the plot impossible to follow or understand. They all cocked an ear, waiting for Agent Knight to explain his startling conclusion.

“OK, I’ll explain,” he explained, “But only if you promise to leave immediately afterwards.” The crowd nodded in agreement. “It’s really quite simple. My boss mentioned Perry Mason’s courtroom confessions, but he didn’t mention that it was always the least likely suspect. It’s a common mystery novel ploy, and good for a plot twist at the end. Well, I applied it here, and the least likely suspect is Velna – we know of no motive, she had no opportunity, and she didn’t make any slip ups. This alone is enough to convict her, but add to that my tendency to get bored with lovers and need to shed old ones, and the picture is complete. Perhaps she’d like to tell us why she did it.”

Velna’s look went from surprise to hatred to that misty-eyed one that says you’re about to confess to something revealing. “OK, I confess, I done it, it’s a fair cop. I’ve hated Nixon for years and swore to kill him, even after he was dead, if I ever got a chance. Well that chance came and I took it. I’m not sorry I killed him, only sorry I was caught.”

“You see, my father was in irrigation control, with a thriving business and bright future. His only problem was that he named his company “Water Gate” and from 1973 to 1974 saw his customer base dry up due to the bad publicity associated with the scandal of the same name at the time. It didn’t matter that he had little to do with Nixon’s dirty tricks, he paid the price just the same and ended up as a bitter ditch digger who died a few years after that. I’m not sure exactly when, it was years before I was born. Since then, revenge has been my constant companion, and I even took the job with the NWO on the slight chance that Nixon was still alive and that someone in my department would someday get involved with him. It did, I followed him to Florida on the pretense that I loved him, and the rest was easy.”

Deep winced at the revelation that Velna’s feelings had been a sham. Despite his casting away thousands of lovers a week, he was actually a sensitive soul who took rejection badly. Then again, this could all be the bluster of a woman caught in a web of deceit, one who wouldn’t or couldn’t admit her true feelings. Yeah, that was it.

“What I don’t understand was how you could have snuck back here from Vegas to kill him. I was with you every minute of the day, except for a few of those trips to the bathroom.”

Velna smiled. “You forget that winning one trillion dollars in the casino takes some time, even with those billion dollar bets you were placing. Even if each hand only took 2 minutes, it would still take more than 33 hours to accumulate a trillion bucks, and you did it 3 times over. I had plenty of time to excuse myself, fly here and back, and return before you missed me, even with security delays at the airport.”

“Nixon had been giving me the eye ever since I arrived, and copping a feel now and again while you weren’t looking. The old fool thought that I had snuck away from you for some of his manly essence, and rushed me into his bed, or as much as he could rush me without any of his zombie servants seeing me. Once there, it was easy for me to use the old poison in the honeypot trick Mata Hari used on Winnie the Pooh, and Tricky Dick was soon dead without a mark on him except for that horrible grin!”

Velna lowered her eyes in shame, “I know I’ve done wrong and am willing to pay for my crimes. It was worth it. Just make it quick. And, if you ever loved me, give me one kiss before the deed is done, and that chance to go view the body and kick Dick Nixon around one more time.”

[Deep Knight]

The Fold of Egypt
Another Labial Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 19 – The Spy Who Came Out of the Hold

Captain Hardasse looked at Velna, ready for summary justice on the spot, with amusement. “You have nothing to worry about, my dear. You can’t be prosecuted for killing someone who was already dead, as your victim legally was. In reality you’re a murderer, but legally you just poisoned a corpse using your private parts, which is not only legal, but encouraged in high society. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Velna brightened up rapidly and squeezed Deep’s hand. “You mean I’m free?” she giggled solemnly, “Free to be with the man I love?” She turned to Deep and kissed him, confessing, “I haven't lived a good life. I've been bad, worse than you could know.”

“You know, that's good, because if you actually were as innocent as you pretend to be, we'd never get anywhere,” said Deep, in deep déjà vu. He knew he had heard that dialog somewhere. “You’re also half wrong about being free, you don’t have to worry about the law, but there are all the mutant zombie servants, fanatically loyal to Nixon, who want revenge regardless of his being legally dead. They were 95% of the way there themselves, so it’s easy to see why they wouldn’t care."

“You've got to trust me, Deep. Oh, I'm so alone and afraid. I've got nobody to help me if you won't help me. Be generous, Honey Bunny. You're brave. You're strong. You can spare me some of that courage and strength surely. Help me, Deepy-Peepy. I need help so badly. I've no right to ask you, I know I haven't, but I do ask you. Help me.”

“You won't need much of anybody's help. You're good. It's chiefly your eyes, I think, and that throb you get in your voice when you say things like ‘Be generous, Honey Bunny.’”

“I deserve that. But the lie was in the way I said it. Not at all in what I said,” said Velna, “It's my own fault if you can't believe me now.”

“Now you are dangerous,” concluded Spade, “Dangerous enough that you just might understand. When a man's disgraced ex-President is killed, he's supposed to do something about it. It doesn't make any difference what you thought of him. He was your disgraced ex-President and you're supposed to do something about it. And it happens we're in the evildoing business. Well, when one of your organization gets killed, it's-it's bad business to let the killer get away with it, bad all around, bad for every evildoer everywhere.”

“You killed Nixon with your sweet but toxic parts and you're going over for it. Or rather under a wave of mutant zombie gnashing teeth, hungry for living flesh. So what if I thought I had found the woman I could settle down with, a woman to match me in my hunger for injustice, a woman with a deadly dingus. But what does that get us? All we've got is that maybe you love me and maybe I love you.”

“You know whether you love me or not.”

“Maybe I do. I'll have some rotten nights after I've sent you over, but that'll pass,” crooned Deep, “I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of two little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that.” Agent Knight felt confused, like he had been ripped from one reality to another. But what he heard next ripped him a new one.

“I still have some poison, your boss was giving me the eye and suggesting we slip away to Nixon’s bedroom earlier, and if you took care of the zombies I could take care of your boss, or do I have that situation wrong.”

“I’m not saying it’s right or wrong,” said Deep, eyeing his boss returning with a grim look on his face, “But tell him that if you slip away right now you can use the very bed where Nixon died. He’s an old-fashioned romantic that way.” And grabbing her hand and squeezing it, he remarked softly, “And I’ll see you’ll not only survive this night, but that you move into my fabulous penthouse when we get home."

Deep left Velna licking the side of his boss’ face and rubbing his chest with hers as he went to find the Florida State Detectives who were watching the zombies eat the guests one by one. All except Henry Kissinger, who was locked in his room, and Brigitte Bardot whose Kung Fu skills were almost a good enough match for he hoards. But not quite, and she went down in the 9th round, leaving only Spiro T. Agnew, who was cowering behind a potted palm. Deep and the Detectives chose this time to attack the Zombies, using silver bullets and machetes, until only former Vice President Agnew was left, and then Deep Killed him too, using the old technique of a death by a thousand cuts, only reducing it to 10 due to limited time.

Deep helped the detectives clean up and board their police helicopter. “I can’t say when I’ve had a more fun dinner party,” said Captain Hardasse, “If you’re ever in the neighborhood, look us up again.” Waving and smiling as they took off, Deep, who had grown genuinely fond of the crusty old detective, waited until they were over deep water before pushing the detonator button.

[Deep Knight]

The Cold of Egypt
Another Frigid Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 20 – Running out of Time, Running out of Rhymes

Velna returned, a shocked look on her face. “Is the deed done?” demanded Deep, alliterative as usual. Velna shook her head, “It was horrible. In order to save myself for you, not to mention keep my lady parts non-toxic for later tonight, I shot him in the head instead.”

“What was so horrible about that?” inquired Agent Knight, wondering if he had chosen wrong, if his new lady friend didn’t have what it takes to do what needed to be done when needed.

“It was over too soon!” she cried, tears in her eyes, “I should have used the vat of boiling sulfuric acid down in the lab, but I was as nervous as a new bride trying bondage for the first time, and wanted to get back to you.”

Deep smiled, and suggested they go and gather up Henry Kissinger. Velna made a face, “What do you want that old reprobate for? Were you saving him for me to kill as a surprise?”

“No,” Deep confirmed, “You have to leave him alive, for the time being. But don’t worry, it’s all part of my fiendish plan.”

As he unlocked Henry’s room door, Deep smelled the sickly sweet smell of burning opium, the religion of the masses, and knew why the crafty old Secretary of State’s accent seemed to ebb and flow. No doubt a bad habit picked up during his days as a Shanghaied seaman in Shanghai. Bleary eyed but with a smile on his face, Nixon’s Secretary of State slowly got up out of his plush silk chair. “I zee zat you haff come to kill me too,” he said, “Zat iz vat it iz, izn’t it?”

“Of course not, Dr. Kissinger,” said Deep, “I’m here to take you to Washington DC for an exciting new job opportunity in the New World Order!”

“Vat,” said Henry, “Me as von of your slaffish serfants?”

“No,” agreed Deep, “Whatever that was. I want you as my new Boss! You see, there’s an opening that just recently opened, quite recently, and you’re perfect for the bill. The Big Cheese, whose name I can’t say but he’s a prominent character in the Bible, wanted Nixon dead, but he also wanted his inventions and him working for us. With Nixon dead and you working for us, he would get the best of both worlds and be able to report a successful mission to the stockholders. But we’ve got to get you back and in the office by Thanksgiving, due to the heavy volume of evil work to be done on Black Friday. Then there’s the election, we need to convince people we fixed it for Obama, if they ever knew we were really fixing it for Romney and failed, we’d never get any work ever again for two of three years.”

“It vill be fary much likez vorking for ze Nixon vhite houze,” said Henry, a smile on his face, “I vill help you get ze equipmentz, zee nev pover zorze und zuch together.”

“And I’ll call for an emergency extraction,” said Velna, adjusting her hidden transmitter, “They should be here within the hour.”

Deep grabbed Velna by the arm and addressed Henry, “The first thing you need to do is approve my leave, Velna and I are going to Las Vegas.”

“The 3 trillion dollars in gold on the plane burning a hole in your pocket?” asked Velna, pleased that he was including her, but upset he was more interested in gambling than love.

“No,” countered Deep, “I want to go there for our wedding! I always promised myself that if I found the right girl I would do things right, and what could be more right than a wedding in Vegas, spend the night getting hammered and gambling, and then jetting off to someplace romantic.”

“Oh Deep!” exclaimed Velna, her dreams fulfilled, as any woman’s would be upon learning the Deep Knight was going to use them as a semi-regular seminal repository on a more-or-less permanent basis. “I’ll make you a good wife and happy, Deep, really I will. We’ll have a family, invest wisely for our retirement, and of course still thwart worldwide prosperity at every turn.”