THE BIG SLEEP

         What is this on my sweatshirt? Tomato sauce? Dribbled down the front of it? Oh my, and look, the candidates are shaking hands outside the post office. How can I face them looking like this? Why didn't I wear a jacket? Why is the first Saturday in November as warm as September? Oh, the shame! The infamy!

         These people won't want someone who wears their dinner instead of eating it to vote for them. Who will I vote for? Will it be the two women who visited my house two Saturdays ago? They were very impressive in their spiffy outfits, unlike that large woman barely filling her blue jeans and passing out circulars here. One of their names was Jefferson! How can I go wrong?

         Hmmmm? Was it Jefferson or Connally who was driving the Volvo sedan that day? Which one of them decided they could drive over the one part of my lawn that supports grass? "He is just a prole. Let 'em eat cake, huh?" They were on the same ticket as my neighbor, whatsisname, who has many lawn signs up and down this road. His vita curricula tell me that he has studied agronomy. Maybe I should vote for him. If he wins I will offer to become his bailiff.

         I am disappointed. Winston hasn't popped in for a visit, nor has Shenk. I suppose I am fortunate; the dog's license is not current. It would be a great photo opportunity for either candidate for sheriff to bring the malefactor to justice. Electing a sheriff seems so odd, but then we also elect District Attorneys so that each party may have its own brand of law. Out here in the country I think the pro-dog party would win easily.

         I rue the fact I was not the campaign consultant who came up with the slogan, "Win With Winston." I wonder how much they charged Mr. Winston to think that one up. I suspect it is too late to advise Shenk to change his name to the more electable Samuel Spade. I got the idea from watching Sam again last night on my newly acquired 'Special Edition' of the tape.

         This meant I had to sit through a feature produced by TCM that showed how Warner Brothers transformed Bogie from a heavy into a romantic lead through its 'trailers'. They should label these featurettes, "Trailers for Dummies." Watch Duke Mantee, a man who can scare the bejesus out of Bette Davis while Leslie Howard spins 1936 era pop-psychology, transform himself into the romantic roughneck Harry Morgan who wins Lauren Bacall between whistles.

         I could make my own feature and point out how Duke Mantee takes the Leslie Howard role by the time Edward G. Robinson pops into the hotel in Key Largo ten years later. I am sure I could be as boring, non-critical and vapid as the host of these snippets. Thankfully the real dingus appeared after thirty minutes of this claptrap and I was enthralled by this most perfect of films again.

         As Brigid rode the elevator downward, I dove into my video drawer to find my copy of "The Big Sleep". I am not sure who taped it. I believe it was Morgan's Uncle Bob. Was he a critic, or was there some reason the tape omits the final twenty minutes, while tacking on the last forty minutes of "To Have and Have Not?” I put in a call to Messrs. Shenk and Winston and told them to get over here.

         They were mystified too. After watching the truncated version, they wanted to solve the puzzle of Sean Reagan. It was going to be a long evening. We sent out for pizza and began watching again. I let fly an opinion that it fascinated me that none of the heavies in the film were major Warner Brothers players of the day. This showed Bogie needed little support. One of the lawmen spritzed my sweatshirt with pizza sauce as he gesticulated, "For Pete sake, don't go artsy-fartsy on us. Get your own web site. We’re trying to solve a crime!" Realizing he was right, I kept my mouth shut unless asked. I won't tell you which candidate said that because your vote may be undecided.

         Both did a good job on getting the Reagan case down to its basics. They were sure he had not run off with Eddie Mars wife, and both thought him dead, but when it came to wrapping up, opinions were all over the place as to who did it. About the only people not blamed were Colonel Mustard and Nurse Prim. I told them the writers of the film had to bring in Raymond Chandler to solve one of the murders. This made them feel better. They left about three in the morning. I fell asleep immediately on the couch, dreaming of what might be in Carmen Sternwood's photos.

         I returned from the post office in my soiled shirt and slipped the tape into the VCR again. Marlowe was putting the heat on Joe Brodie. A van pulled up out by the road and a casually dressed woman came walking across the lawn. Mary K. was running for Council. She braved the dog and stepped inside, looked at my stained shirt, but then saw the tape and told me it was a favorite of hers. I told her the final twenty minutes were missing and that Messrs. Winston and Shenk were out here last night trying to solve the case. "Men! How can they be so stupid? It's obvious, Carmen shot Sean Reagan."

         I’ve made up my mind. I will write in Mary's name on the line for Sheriff. Maybe I will even sell her a campaign slogan "Mary K. is the boss with the hot sauce. Hooray for Mary K." Waddyathink?