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Side Trax
Pseudonym
The dame walked into the office, carrying with her a set of long legs and a short temper. It was apparent she recognized that both were effective weapons. But I wasn’t about to ask her to show off either one of them. I’m a private eye. Not a pervert. At least at work.
I shifted my eyes long enough to ask her what the problem was. She said she had a problem. I had problems too, but it was nothing a night with Jack Daniels couldn’t solve. But as long as she had the cash, her problem was the one that mattered. Money talks. And I’m very attentive.
I asked her for her name. I like getting close. But not too close. She replied she changed it recently. No one liked the name, but I did. It worked for her. Succinct. Memorable. Marketable. Just like my speaking style. Miss Case. And I worked for her. I’m a private eye. Not an altruist.
She wasted no time. This wasn’t a dinner conversation, and if it was, I had no plans to foot the bill. She wept softly as she discussed The Baker, a dark figure who walked along the sidewalks of Adelbert. The Baker was a heartless one. Always promising he’d leave, but apparently, his fingers were crossed behind his back. He wasn’t going anywhere. In his wake, things just looked ugly.
The Baker was out of place. For years, people had tried to rub him out. But the man couldn’t be erased. He was written in indelible ink.
The man didn’t bake. The meals he prepared, no one survived. Much like my cooking. He served people bullets, and they always went down painfully. He wasn’t a baker; he was a killer. One could say he specialized in indigestion.
His group of enforcers was large, loyal, lethal. The Baker was just lethal. A large man, he wore suits that looked like they were from the ‘70s. Clashed with everything. He didn’t care. Neither did the people around him. He offered his most loyal employees their own crowded lounges, hideous classrooms, and as many uncomfortable seats as they could want. A travesty their taste for property was as bad as The Baker’s appearance. The Baker called his group they formed the Baker’s Dozen. He wasn’t a comedian. He was a killer.
The Baker worked with his Dozen to threaten and coerce area colleges, offering “protection” for a heavy fee. Protection. Like a joke with a really poor punch-line. Like a writer bastardizing the film noir tradition. It just doesn’t work. But those colleges had no choice. So that’s why that private school in Cleveland raised tuition 50 percent this year. All this time I thought they were funding SAGES. But it was all a pretense, to divert attention away from The Baker. It all made sense. The dame was giving some good information.
She finished her story. The task she had for me was simple. Take down The Baker. Do what every student paying high tuition wanted. The best part was that I was getting paid for it. I’m a private eye. Not a millionaire.
I went down to Euclid Avenue. I stood in front of Severance Hall. I saw him across the street. He sure saw me. But he didn’t move. He just stood there, in his plaid suit, making everything uglier. He was a sore thumb. He loved it. He didn’t last long, though. I’m a private eye. And a darn good shot.
The Baker was finally brought down. The students rejoiced. I was paid. I rejoiced.
Seriously, tear down the Baker Building already.
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Vonnegut entertains Case
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Tuition to increase 10 percent next year
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Adelbert Road bridge to be replaced in 2005, construction continues
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City Club extends forums to students
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Jan Hopkins speaks of experience at CNN, Citibank
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Knowledge lecture series begins
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Federal judge rules Microsoft violated patents on software
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Congress may pass laws, dropping pell grant funds
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Greek Update
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The Brief Case
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Lady Spartans sputter against Violets, Judges
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Spartans split with Brandeis, NYU
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Case teams turn out first place finishes at Spartan Relays
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Crew club prepares for winter ergattas
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Men defeat, women fall to swimming Wittenberg Tigers
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Bored waiting for football? Watch the Cavs
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Wrestlers finish second in the Second City
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Finnigan Fields construction moves slowly but surely
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Pats win second Super Bowl in three years, 32-29
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Home Shopping poor replacement for sports
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Editorial
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Strategic voting in 2004
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Letters to the Editor
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Simple Plan guitarist discusses stereotypes, sellouts, losing MTV music award to 50 Cent
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Punk bands sound great despite bad crowd
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Where has all the folk music gone?
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Art museum photography exhibit reveals natural lovin'
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Simon's Dinner Party leaves audience hungry
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Miracle: Adrenaline pumping, Communist-friendly fun
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Side Trax
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