Lemon Curry?
© 2025 by Walter Reimer

Bernie Phlute ©  EOCostello
Titles by  Major Matt Mason
Music by Ferde Grofé
Suits by ‘Rick’ of Altoona

Thumbnail art by  RockBaker


Part Thirty-three.



Alan Minkerton IV glowered at the two documents in front of him. Both had come from Mixteca City regarding the successful conclusion of the Ortiz case, both had been telegraphed to the Minkerton’s headquarters in New York City, and both writers had been the agents on the spot for the duration of the assignment.

Apart from these points of similarity, the reports were about as different as night and day.

Bernie Phlute’s report was a terse recounting of how he and Jacob Dorpf got to Mixteca City, followed by several mentions of rakes, magic tricks, and concluding with the principal’s kidnapping by “a bunch of wolves with mange” and decrying the “barbaric” methods used to get Diana Ortiz back. Appended to the report was a short note asking if he could come back to New York by rail rather than by ship.

Jacob Dorpf’s report was much longer, describing the chupacabra seen in the Professor’s book and comparing it with the real thing and recounting El Peludo’s steps to help protect Diana. The kidnapping was covered in detail, noting that a priest was at paw and how fire was required to purge the creatures. Dorpf closed his report by adding that Diana Ortiz was unharmed and that she was now safely engaged to Enrique.

The mink glanced up at the wolf and the Irish setter on the other side of his desk. “So,” he said. The two had read the reports after Minkerton had gone over them first.

Robert Thurston, the Agency’s lupine Operations Director, shrugged. “Either way, the mission was successful.”

Father O’Malley looked pensive. “Dorpf’s report is the more accurate,” he said judiciously. “I’d recommend that the entire file go straight to Room 2163.”

“You think so?” Alan Minkerton asked.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," O’Malley quoted.

The mink frowned, recalling a few of the files in the double-locked room. He hadn’t slept well the night after reading the case file labeled The Snout at the Letterbox. He straightened the papers in the folder before closing it. “Agreed,” he said. “Lock it up.”

“I’ll say one thing,” O’Malley said as he picked up the folder. “I think we chose the right fur in Dorpf.” Thurston nodded.

Alan Minkerton IV’s lips quirked in a smile. “It remains to be seen how much he’ll have to unlearn after his exposure to Phlute,” he said, and all three men laughed.


***


13MARCH19391105 MSGSTART FROM MINKERTONS DETECTIVE AGENCY NEW YORK TO AGENT PHLUTE REPORT TO HEAD OFFICE NEW YORK STOP REQUEST APPROVED TRAVEL BY RAIL STOP TAKE YOUR TIME STOP


***


13MARCH19391125 MSGSTART FROM MINKERTONS DETECTIVE AGENCY NEW YORK TO AGENT DORPF REPORT TO HEAD OFFICE NEW YORK STOP REQUEST APPROVED TRAVEL BY SEA STOP NEW ASSIGNMENT TO BOSTON OFFICE AFTER DEBRIEF STOP


***


Dorpf’s ears perked at a knock on the guesthouse door. The Boston terrier opened it and looked up at the Ortiz’s butler, Jackson. “Yes, Jackson?” Dorpf asked.

“Against my better judgement, Professor Ortiz would like to see both of you before you leave,” the canine said, and turned and walked away before Dorpf could say anything.

He shrugged and called out, “Bernie?”

“Yeah?” the stork replied from the bedroom.

“The Professor wants to see us.”

“Huh? Sure! Gimme a minute . . . “ There was a heavy sound, followed by two clicks as the stork finally succeeded in closing his suitcase. Phlute came out of the bedroom, and the two headed to the main house.

“Ah, my friends,” the older goat said happily as the stork and the terrier were shown in by a clearly unenthusiastic Jackson. “I cannot thank you sufficiently for your service in keeping my dear daughter safe.” He glanced back at Diana and Enrique, who were clasping paws and clearly had eyes only for each other. The Professor’s wife looked simultaneously relieved and overjoyed. “You have my unending gratitude.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Dorpf said.

“Thanks, Professor,” Phlute said, “but we’re still leaving. Minkerton’s never sleeps, you know.”

“Indeed. Campoviejo will drive you to the train station, and I wish you a safe journey back to the United States.” He shook paws with Phlute and Dorpf, and the two agents went to collect their suitcases.

The rat chauffeur, amazingly, took his time getting to the station, and the two agents got their tickets after the chauffeur dropped them off. Phlute smiled as he looked at his itinerary. “North, and home. Can’t wait to get into Texas, where they don’t burn people for having mange,” the stork said happily. “Hey, Jacob.”

“Yes?”

“Just remembered something. You were drawing on a map while we were getting down here. Anything come of that?”

Dorpf gave a tiny, almost unnoticeable flinch. “Oh, that. I burned the map.”

“Burned it? Why?”

“It spelled out a word.”

There was a pause and Phlute asked, “Well? What was the word?”

“You don't want to know,” Dorpf replied, and refused to say anything else about it.

The two took seats to wait for the separate trains that would take Dorpf to Veracruz and Phlute to Laredo. “It’ll take a couple days,” the stork said, looking at his ticket, “but better than the boat.” He glanced at Dorpf. “It’s been great getting to know you, Jacob. You’ll go far in the Agency.”

“Thanks, Bernie,” Dorpf said. He smiled. “I learned a lot on this mission.”

“Good!” The stork got to his feet. “I’m going to see if I can find some coffee. You want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Phlute turned and a man seated nearby said, “Sensuous.”

“What?” the stork asked.

The bear gave him a cheeky grin. “Sensuous up, fetch me a cup of coffee too, would ya?”


***


Jacob Dorpf settled into his seat on the train bound for Veracruz and one ear perked at a conversation between two men, a canine and a mink.

“I say, I say, I say,” the mink said.

“What do you say?” the canine asked.

“At supper, do you sip the soup, or sop the soup?”

“I sip the soup, then sop the soup at supper.”

“So you’re a soup sopper-upper at supper. Super.”

The Boston terrier shook his head and relaxed, only to sit up as a young woman’s voice asked, “Jacob?” He looked up at a young Chihuahua-Dachshund mix canine. “Is that you?” she asked.

He blinked up at her for several moments. “Julia?” he asked.

She smiled. “I’m glad you recall me.” She gestured to the empty seat beside him. “Is that seat taken?”

“Huh? Uh, no! Please,” and he made way for her.

“Thanks. Where’s your partner?”

“He’s headed north. He gets seasick.”

Julia chuckled. “So, did everything go well?”

“Pretty much, yes,” Dorpf replied, a slightly dreamy smile on his face.

The trip was a long one, but the two spent a great deal of time talking and it was with a regretful smile on his muzzle that Dorpf shook paws with Julia. “Well,” he said, tearing his gaze away from her glancing around the station, “I have to go.”

“Yeah, so do I,” Julia said. “Please take care of yourself, Jacob.”

“You too.”

Before he could react, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before picking up her suitcase and walking off.

Jacob pressed a paw against the spot where she’d kissed him and watched her go. He sighed, wondering how he’d explain this to Mother and finally shaking himself and, suitcase in paw, he headed for the port.

Julia Garcia stepped out of the train station and the young canine’s face twisted into a grimace as she resisted the urge to flinch under the pressure of the Sun overhead. She caught her reflection in a parked car’s window and paused to exert her will.

Her disguise restored, Julia kept walking.





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