Charles Boeckman Presents: Judson and Gardner

By Pro Se Press

Since the 1930s, Charles Boeckman has created characters that have thrilled Pulp and Genre Fans of all sorts. Cowboys, detectives, and jazz musicians have played, rode, and solved their way through adventures untold. Pro Se Productions brings the best of this pulp master’s creations back to life in new stories by today’s best authors. Two such characters found their way into Boeckman’s original tale, Blind Date, as a team and they live on that way now in Charles Boeckman Presents Judson and Gardner!
Frank Judson, a mid 1960s small town reporter, and Buddy Gardner, a deputy in the same small town with detective skills to spare, find new stories and cases to follow and crack in Kingsbury, thanks to authors Lee Houston, Jr. and R. P. Steeves. Judson, a tightly wound trouble prone reporter and Gardner, a rather laidback, subtly ingenious investigator, make the perfect pair to pull unwilling skeletons from closets and dig up murder, corruption, and crime. Death and mystery haunt this unlikely pair of adventurous crime solvers in Charles Boeckman Presents Judson and Gardner. From Pro Se Productions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Mar 24, 2015

Pro Se Press

Based in Batesville, Arkansas, Pro Se Productions has become a leader on the cutting edge of New Pulp Fiction in a very short time.Pulp Fiction, known by many names and identified as being action/adventure, fast paced, hero versus villain, over the top characters and tight, yet extravagant plots, is experiencing a resurgence like never before. And Pro Se Press is a major part of the revival, one of the reasons that New Pulp is growing by leaps and bounds.

Book preview

CHARLES BOECKMAN PRESENTS:

JUDSON AND GARDNER

Published by Pro Se Press

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

Copyright © 2015 Pro Se Productions

Under licensed agreement with Charles & Pattie Boeckman, Inc.

All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

IT ALL STARTED INNOCENTLY ENOUGH…

by Lee Houston, Jr.

BACKWARD PAWN

by RP Steeves

About the Authors

A FRANK JUDSON-BUDDY GARDNER ADVENTURE

IT ALL STARTED INNOCENTLY ENOUGH…

by Lee Houston, Jr.

My friend, Deputy Buddy Gardner, had traffic patrol duty on the Kingsbury stretch of the state highway. With Kingsbury being a relatively small town, it was pretty quiet for a weekday, with seeing another vehicle a rare occurrence until a sleek Oldsmobile 88 drove past. Other than appreciating such a nice car, Gardner didn’t think much else of it until he noticed that the Olds had a broken taillight. Duty bound, he briefly flashed the patrol car’s roof lights, wanting the driver to pull over to warn him about the potential safety hazard.

Instead, the driver jammed his foot to the gas pedal and began to speed away. Gardner shook his head in disbelief as he turned on the patrol car's full lights and sirens and began to give chase.

It was a short lived incident, ending with a crash at Boeckman’s Bend. Yet what happened in the days that followed...

*****

I knocked on Buddy Gardner’s door the best I could with my hands full. I was actually on time for resuming our never-ending chess tournament this evening, but he didn’t answer. That was odd, since I could see his car was here, meaning he should be too. I knocked again, with no response. Maybe Buddy was either with his parents or briefly ‘indisposed’.

After the third fruitless attempt to gain entry, I began to grow concerned. I walked back over to his car and laid enough of my burdens down on it so I could feel the engine hood. The metal was totally cold to the touch, indicating Buddy had been home a lot longer than the recent end of his shift. Could he have stayed home sick and just forgot to call off tonight’s game?

Whatever the case, it was two more knocks before he finally acknowledged my presence on his doorstep, and I was shocked at the sight that greeted me. It appeared as if a ghost, wearing his clothing, had answered the door. My friend looked quite pale, as if the devil himself had paid Buddy a surprise visit. Although still in his deputy’s uniform, the clothes were all rumpled, as if he had been wearing them for days on end without a break.

Yet the most telling sign that something was wrong had to be the large stain of dried blood across the front of his shirt.

As Buddy let me in, I asked if he was alright. His only reply was, I had a very rough day at work.

I bet. It was getting dark outside. A quick look around the sectioned off rooms of his parents’ ramshackle house that he occupied, after I turned on a few lights, confirmed that whatever happened occurred elsewhere. Buddy’s place was still about as neatly an organized mess as any bachelor’s.

Want to talk about it? I asked, offering a sympathetic ear. I wondered how long Buddy had been home, let alone how long he would have sat in the mood matching darkness if I hadn’t arrived.

If I can have one of those, he said, finally noticing the case of beer I was holding in one hand. The other was still carefully balancing the pizza pie I had picked up at the diner.

Sure, I replied, pausing only long enough to set everything down before I opened the container and handed him a beer.

Buddy Gardner slumped his weary six foot frame back into his worn, but comfortable, easy chair before draining that bottle almost completely dry in his first attempt, as if he was a severely dehydrated man lost in the desert who had just stumbled upon a clean source of fresh water. Yet despite the cold repast, he still looked like Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He motioned for another beer while finishing the first. I gave him a second, along with a piping hot slice of pizza so he wouldn’t risk getting drunk quickly.

Buddy looked at the slice as if I had just handed him a foreign object. Not making a single move to take a bite, he continued to stare at the pizza in his hand. I had no idea what the combination of tomato sauce, melted cheese, meat, and toppings on a thick crust might have reminded him of; but my friend was definitely lost in some serious thought.

It was still a good minute or so before he broke the silence by announcing, I had a suspect die on me today. First time it’s ever happened to me, but there is absolutely no reason on God’s green Earth that it should have. A statement accented by a fist pounding on the easy chair's arm rest in frustration.

I leaned back in the guest chair across from him with a shocked expression on my face, forgetting any thoughts of playing chess tonight. I waited patiently, and was about to start eating a slice myself when Buddy finally spoke again. We’re friends Frank, but anything I tell you has to stay off the record, just between us.

I nodded my head in silent agreement. Frank Judson may be a struggling reporter for the Kingsbury Record, but that didn’t mean they owned me, or that I had a twenty-four/seven obligation to them.

Buddy finally took a few bites of his pizza before he started recounting his day.

*****

The guy just took off! exclaimed Gardner, shaking his head in disbelief. Even if I did write him up, it would have been just a minor traffic infraction. What was he afraid of?

I don’t understand it myself, but I’ve heard that for some odd reason, there are people who just naturally get nervous around police officers, I commented. Was there anything else wrong?

"Not that I was aware of at the time. In any event, I clocked that Olds doing seventy-five in a fifty zone as the driver sped away! I started to pursue, yet the suspect never slowed down. I radioed for assistance, but the closest help was a State Trooper on patrol about ten minutes from my position.

I started to inch closer to the suspect, hoping he'd give up and pull over as we approached Boeckman’s Bend. Unfortunately, he ignored both me and the warning signs, said Buddy, as his voice trailed off.

Boeckman’s Bend was a naturally formed, but very sharp, curve in the state highway between Kingsbury and the next town’s border. The Olds didn’t make it, I realized,