tagHumor & SatireHarry Dick and the Xmas Bank Caper

Harry Dick and the Xmas Bank Caper


The cold, late December wind blew down 7th Avenue making swirls of soft white snowflakes here and there outside the small Lonesome Dove Funeral Chapel and Off-Track Betting Parlor. The cheap, twinkling Christmas lights and fake fir bows wrapping the telephone pole on the corner looked, if anything, just as gaudy and cheap as the suit Harry Dick was wearing. The suit had been bought during a "close-out sale" at Robert Hall some five years before. Until now Harry had only worn the suit on special occasions and at the race tract where the bright yellow plaid fit in with the crowd.

Inside the chapel, Harry was wearing that very suit as he lay in his coffin while the assembled group waited for, if not a genuine eulogy, a few final words from his friends. What was taking so long? He did have friends, right?

The morning issue of the Times carried his obituary, skipping over his many, though dubious, adventures, but giving the cause of death as something referred to as "Advanced Rectal-Brain Dysfunction."

Even though she held a ruffled hanky to her eyes, tears ran down Maria Torres' cheek, dripped from her chin and found their way to the grand canyon between her overly exposed and excessively large knockers. "Oh, Harry. I already miss you so much," she wailed, as she watched the assembled crowd for some well meaning and possibly well hung gentleman to come and comfort her. When it became obvious no one was coming, her sobs became louder and more pronounced, making her fun bags jiggle like Jell-O. Still, she could not see that anyone seemed to notice. Even the funeral attendants playing craps in the back of the Chapel seemed to be ignoring her.

However, Police Inspector "Boney" Malone spotted Maria from the rear door of the chapel as he entered. He moved solemnly forward and sat on the pew beside her and placed his arm around her shoulders as if to comfort her. Actually, he was just trying to peek down the front of her dangerously, low-cut, black mourning dress to see if he could catch a glimpse of her dark brown and well remembered nipples.

Maria leaned over to rest her head on Boney's shoulder while she continued to wail. "Oh, Jenny, why? Why?"

The insane porn writer, Jenny Jackson sat in the pew behind Maria and tried to look innocent, as if she hadn't written Maria's dialogue for her. Jenny was glad to see the minister from the Church of the Immaculate BJ had finally arrived and was mounting the lectern.

After a moment of what seemed like silent prayer, the minister raised his hands toward heaven and intoned, "Friends, this is, indeed, a sad day. Before us lies the remains of...umm..." The minister reached in his breast pocket and consulted a three by five index card then continued. "The famous detective, Harry Dick. Struck down in the prime of life. Harry lies here..." the minister droned on. Nobody really seems to care, as long as they could get Harry safely planted as quickly as possible before he could screw up his own funeral and Jenny would let them leave.

There was a short commotion in the front row as one of the assembled cops slipped up to the lectern and hurriedly spoke in low tones to the minister.

"Um...Yes. That would be Harry Dick and his...umm... cock," the minister corrected. Then off to the side in a low voice he said to the funeral director, "Does this mean I get paid extra for a double?"

The funeral director looked embarrassed and, after looking out over the upturned faces in the pews, nodded. The funeral droned on.

Jenny Jackson had lost interest in the proceedings entirely and was looking around the chapel at the guests. One face she did not recognize leaped out at her. This was a man about thirty, heavy-set with Italian features. The writer scratched her head trying to remember if she had created this character or if he had inadvertently wandered in from some other writer's work. That's when it struck her.

Quietly, Jenny stood and moved to sit next to the stranger. "You're Louis, right?"

The guy turned and stared at the writer. "Yeah. Dats me. I come to get my gun back."

"What the hell is so special about your 21st birthday, Louis?"

Louis' eyes shifted around the room nervously. "Dar's a lota cops here. Let's just say, it was a gift."

"Louis, I never got around to writing that story. So, what gives?"

Sweat began to appear in tiny beads on Louis' upper lip. and trickle in rivulets down his face.. "Hey, just forget it, okay? I got important stuff to do." Louis stood and moved, almost ran, to the exit at the rear of the chapel.

"How odd," Jenny thought to herself. "I only stuck those lines in all Harry's stories to tie them together and confuse the little idiot of a detective. I didn't even write that guy." Jenny shrugged and turned back to the proceedings. Her cell phone chirped in her coat pocket.

"Jackson, here. Who the hell are you?" Jenny listened intently to her cell phone, then grimaced.

"Fuck! I really hate to do this," Jenny said to herself as she pulled a yellow pad out of her purse and began to write.

At the front of the chapel, Harry Dick, third-class private detective and well known masturbator, opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "What the fuck?" he said under his breath.

Harry's Cock moaned. "I don't feel so good, Harry."

The private eye sat up and stared at the assembled guests. "What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

The guests jumped out of their pews. Women screamed. Hilda, the Swedish wrestling manager, grabbed the cop sitting in the pew in front of her by the balls. Boney Malone tried to quiet the crowd which was now rushing head long toward the exit in complete disarray, with the exception of Hilda, who was frantically trying to tear the pants of the cop. Boney looked around for Maria and saw her leaving through a side exit with the funeral director.

The minister screamed, "I still wanna be paid for this. Ain't my fault this asshole and his cock ain't dead!"

Jenny Jackson got up and walked toward Harry's casket. "Get up, Big Guy. You have a case."

"What the hell did you do to me this time, Jackson," Harry asked angrily.

"I killed you, Harry. But it looks like you get a reprieve. So get up and get going."

"Fuck off, Jenny. I'm going home. I'm done with your stupid stories."

"Yeah. Fuck off, Jenny," chimed in Harry's Cock.

"Look you two. I'm serious. You need to find Boney and get down to the Third National Bank right now. There's a big robbery going on."

"Robbery? What kind of robbery. Someone stealing donuts from the cop on the beat down there? That's about your style, Jackson."

"No, Harry. Some mob gang is holding up the bank. They are after the accumulated Christmas Fund money people have been stashing away all year. This could wreck Christmas for a lot of people you know."

"And what the hell is this crap about 'Rectal-Brain Dysfunction'? Couldn't you think of anything better?" demanded Harry's Cock.

Jenny rolled her eyes and said, "I thought about having you shot off so I could shut you the hell up."

Harry's Cock started to say something but was interrupted by Harry. "Look, Jackson. This better be good. No fucking midgets. No fat-ass women wrestlers. No gaggle of raging dykes. And you have to fix Maria. Making her a transvestite was just fucking mean, you bitch."

"Ok, Harry. None of those characters will be in this story and Maria is all woman again," Jenny intoned. "And by the way, how's your asshole?"

Harry glared at her.

"Oh. And don't forget your precious gun, Harry. You get to find out who Louis is in this story." With that, Jenny sat down and began scribbling madly.


Meanwhile, across town on the sidewalk in front of the Third National Bank, Louis was speaking to his father. "No, I couldn't get da gun. It wasn't my fault, pop."

The elderly Luciano Bonzerello glared at his son, Louis. "It was a simple ting. You walk in dare and grab da gun off the corpse. What's so hard about dat?"

"Da place was full of cops, pop."

"So? Da don't know you?"

Just then a police car siren could be hear coming up Eleventh Avenue. The gang moved to the corner of the building and stepped back out of sight in the darkness of the alley. The police cruiser went past without slowing.

"So, tell me, Louis. How you going to hold up dis bank if you ain't got your gun?"

Louis looked nervous. "Umm. I can use my finger inside my coat pocket, pop."

"Jesus. I'm certain you did not spring from my loins. I am going to have to take this up wit your mama," Luciano moaned.

"But, pop..." Louis whined.

"You just wait until da real boss off all the gangs gets here. Den you will see real trouble," Luciano said with what could only be a look of fear in his eyes.

The others in the gang, looked exceedingly uncomfortable. Their eyes darted around at the darkened alley as if some horror was about to jump out of the dark corners and trash cans at any moment to reveal some hound of hell sent to devour them on the spot.

"Can we get on with da robbery now, boxes?" pleaded one.

"Yeah, Boss. We don't wanna be caught out here. Let's get dis done on over wit," asked another.

Luciano thought for a moment of the Bit Boss and his evil henchmen and what they would do if they discovered what a cock-up he had made of this bank robbery. "Okay. We go in. Louis, try and stay outta sight. I don't want dem laughing at us during da robbery."

The gang moved cautiously around the corner to the main door of the bank. Luciano looked first up the street, then down the street to make sure the coast of clear. Then he reached for the door handle and pulled.


Harry Dick was at this time racing up 11th Avenue in his Packard, a cloud of dark-gray exhaust smoke following him.

"Faster!" screamed Harry's Cock in anticipation of finally seeing some real action (though not the "action" he really wanted, this would do).

Harry tried to keep his eyes on the street ahead as the Packard careened right and left through traffic. However, mental visions of Maria Torres massive, undulating bazookas seemed to blur his vision from time to time, making the drive more than dangerous. Thje Packard zoomed up the soft mound on 5th Street, then down into the cleavage and around lower Park then up over the swelling mountian of 10th. As Harry rounded Maria's left nipple he came to a screeching halt in front of the bank.

Immediately, Harry and his Cock spied the gang standing in front of the bank's main door. Harry opened the drivers door and dove out onto the pavement. He reached for his precious .38 Special in the shoulder holster under his left armpit and aimed the weapon over the hood of the car. "Okay, you guys. Hands up. I caught you red-handed."

Harry's Cock pulled out his mini-cell phone and dialed Police Inspector Boney Malone, who, it turns out had already read a few pages of Jenny's story and was on his way to the bank with a dozen of New York's finest.

Luciano took a step toward the Packard. "Harry Dick, I presume?"

"Yeah. That's me," Harry said over his gun site.

Luciano grinned. "I tink you made a big mistake, Harry."

'Why's that?" Harry asked with an inward grin of his own.

"Well, for two reasons. Da big boss is on his way here right now to take care of you. And..."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll take care of him too and send him up the rive with you and your gang," Harry cut in.

At that moment things began to happen very quickly. Simultaneously, Boney Malone and four police cars all converged on the bank with guns drawn. A reporter from the Times that Jenny had called just to make sure Harry made the front page and a bright red sleigh drawn by eight reindeer landed in the midst of the mess.

"Ho, Ho, Ho," laughted the Big Boss. One of the reindeer took a dump on Boney's best pair of shoes. Luciano and the gang all cowered back against the Bank's main door.

Jenny Jackson rode up to the scene on a unicycle while play "Jingle Bells" on a bag pipe. She stopped and waved. "Hi, guys."

Boney Malone, who was trying to wipe the reindeer shit off his shoe said, Okay, Jenny. Do you want to explain what the fuck is going on. Jesus H. Tap Dancing Christ. It's Sunday and the bank isn't even open."

"Oh, yes. I know that Boney. This is what's really going on. It starts with the fat guy up at the North Pole. He and his elf henchmen are making toys and giving them away every year. That sucks because the pay is awful.

"Yeah. That's right," moaned the fat man.

"So," Jenny went on, "He hatched this plan to get all the gangs together and rob the banks in New York of the "Christmas Fund" savings accounts. Then he takes to money and just buys the toys at Wal-Mart. See? He cuts his cost. The FDIC has to pay back the money and everyone is happy. Right, Santa?"

"Yeah. That's the way it's worked for a few years now," Santa Claus said with a moan. "But then you had to interfere."

"But why? It was working just fine before," Boney asked. "The elves made toy and..."

"You see. The elves unionized. The union dues, pension plan and so on were costing a lot. Then the cost of materials were rising. It was getting out of hand. So..." Jenny explained.

Santa Claus nodded sadly. "I suppose there's nothing I can do until next year," he said shaking his head.

"And what do I get out of this," whined Harry's Cock.

Everyone turned to stare at Harry's crotch.

"Get?" Jenny asked. "Don't worry. I have that all worked out. I'm sending over a hooker for you and Harry on Christmas Eve. Sort of a celebration for a job well done."

Harry's Cock did his best to make a one-eyed smile.

"And what about my gun? It was a present," Louis demanded.

"How the hell should I know," Jenny retorted. "I still haven't written that yet."

Jenny leaned over to Boney and whispered, "Yeah. I know just what to give Harry and his little friend all right. The hooker I have in mind is the most pox ridden skank in New York. He'll be in treatment until Easter."

Boney chuckled under his breath. Then asked, "But what about these guys? They haven't really done anything. The bank isn't even open. They didn't break in or anything."

Jenny rubbed her chin. "I suppose you can just let them go. They aren't my characters anyway. They must have escaped from a really bad Mickey Spillane novel or something."

On the side-lines, the reporter was scribbling madly, thinking to himself, "This is going to be a great story." The reporter laughed thinking of the headlines.


The next morning Harry sat in his office overlooking 3rd Avenue. "You bitch! You did it too me again. Have you seen the headlines in the Times? Harry Dick Ruins Christmas for Everyone.," he screamed into the telephone.

"Next time, just leave me dead, Jenny. I'm through with your fucked-up stories."

Jenny Jackson closed her cell phone and sat back thinking. Then she picked up her Bic pen and began to write. "Harry's going to really hate this," she told herself with a laugh.

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byJenny_Jackson© 8 comments/ 16830 views/ 1 favorites
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by Anonymous

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by Samuel_T_Cogsley10/01/17

Harry Dick, is my hero!

Wonderful writing- wish I had your sense of humor

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