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Sunday, December 24, 2023

The Watson Report: THE PULP AVENGER’S CHRISTMAS

by I.A. Watson

 


’Twas the night before Christmas and down in the gutters

The vermin were stirring with curses and mutters.

Mister Big puffed on his big fat cigar

And stared at his henchman beside the wrecked car.

 

“What do you mean that the loot isn’t there?

How can it be missing?” he said with a glare.

“And where are the guys that we sent out as guard?

And who wrecked the auto? And who left that card?”

 

For all that was left of the briefcase of loot

Was a silhouette logo, some man in a suit

With a mask and a gun, on a card on the dash.

No sign of the gunsels, no sign of the cash.

 

“I want all the boys out patrolling the street.

Beat up all the stoolies and turn on the heat.

I want that case found and my money returned!”

Mr Big wasn’t about to get burned.

 

But as all the goons made to shake down the bars

A smoke grenade rolled out right under the cars

And a horrible laugh pierced the still Christmas night

And the thugs and enforcers looked round them with fright.

 

“Oh felons! Oh killers! Oh infamous crushers!

Oh murderous cutthroats and drug-dealing pushers!

Oh sinners! Oh cowards! O criminal scum -

Your dark days are numbered, your reign here is done!”

 

Then out from the alley through shadow and fume

Came a fast-moving figure of terror and doom

With two pistols blazing and fire-filled eyes

As he cut through the villains and made for the prize.

 

“Protect me, you idiots!” the overboss cried.

His thugs screamed and scattered as more of them died.

And the gentleman champion advanced on his prey;

Their crime-spree was over and now they must pay.

 

Mr Big fumbled a gun from his coat.

Before he could fire, strong hands clutched his throat.

“You thought you could kill me,” the gentleman said.

“But nothing can stop me at all now I’m dead!”

 

Police sirens roared through the slush-slickened street

To the site where the gangsters had met their defeat

And some men lay dying and some lay there dead

And Mr Big gibbered, his sanity fled.

 

And they heard a voice call, as the snow blurred their sight:

“There is justice for all… and to all a good night!”

 

Best wishes

 IW

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