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The Case of the Snora Diamond Thief
The Case of the Snora Diamond Thief
The Case of the Snora Diamond Thief
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The Case of the Snora Diamond Thief

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A humerous Science fiction short story. This time Wally Pazooza is once again headed for Earth to solve a crime. But this time, when he gets there, he finds much more than he expected.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJohn Northern
Release dateJul 31, 2011
ISBN9781466134317
The Case of the Snora Diamond Thief
Author

John Northern

Doctor of Chiropractic

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    Book preview

    The Case of the Snora Diamond Thief - John Northern

    THE CASE

    of the

    SNORA DIAMOND THIEF

    Published by John Northern at Smashwords

    Copyright 2011 by John Northern

    Second Edition 11/23/2014

    Table of Contents

    Part One

    Part Two

    Part Three

    Part Four

    Part Five

    Part Six

    Part Seven

    Part Eight

    Part Nine

    Last Part

    Foreword

    I have a friend who lives in another solar system—not too far from ours as light years go. His name is Wally Pazooza and he is a detective on his home planet, Irth. Once in awhile he tells me a story about his adventures as a detective, and then I write them down and publish them so that you too might experience his adventures.

    As he was relating this particular story to me, I noticed it was getting a little long. So, I decided to divide it into parts. The story is written from his point of view and is therefore written in first person.

    In some places it may seem that he embellished the story a bit, but I wrote it exactly how he told it. And I believe it to be true, at least, most of it. When he talked about the snoring actually shaking the buildings, and the snoring being so loud that he had to shout over it, I thought that might have been a little exaggerated. But the other parts of the story I’m sure are accurate.

    The story is as follows.

    Part One

    The intercom squawked.

    I pushed the button, and the voice on the other end asked, Sweetheart?

    Yes.

    There's a Mrs. Fran Jimson on the televiewer. She wants to hire you.

    Okay, I said. I let go of the intercom button, and then I thought, at last, maybe I can get out of this boring, day to day sitting at my desk twiddling my thumbs routine. Since I had solved the Schmoldenese Falcon case, and since I had gotten a lot of media exposure I had thought the cases would be flooding in—but they weren't. I flipped the switch on the televiewer. The screen came to life, and there was a very large, grossly-overweight, extremely tan woman with long black hair falling over her shoulders, her breasts, and down to her waist.

    Hello, I said. Can I help you?

    Are you Mr. Wally Pazooza?

    That's what my license says.

    She immediately had an irritated look on her face. I guess she didn't understand that sarcasm is the highest form of humor. She said, I hear you're the best detective on the planet, so I would like to hire you to track a thief who stole my diamonds. I want them back.

    I'm sure you do want them back, I said. And you will have them back if the trail is still hot, and if there are enough clues. But I can't guarantee anything.

    You can't?

    Damn, I thought. I may have worded that the wrong way. I didn’t want her to have the impression that it was a lost cause. Look toots, I said, if anyone can get them back, it will be me.

    Okay, she said with a funny sound in her voice. She paused and continued with, When you get here, my husband, Fred, will make all the arrangements, and by that, I mean your fees and expenses.

    Suits me. I was about to hang up. I had my finger hovering over the button. I started to push the button, but then I wondered why she didn’t say, ‘Good bye,’ and then I realized I didn't know her address. Damn, I thought. I quickly withdrew my finger. So, where are you?

    We're in a little village in Mexico on Earth, called Snora.

    Snora? Is that short for Sonora?

    No. Snora is a little village in the mountains of southern Mexico.

    Must be little. I've been to Mexico several times and I've never heard of it. Okay, so where are you exactly?

    She gave me the address, and then said, Get here as quickly as you can. And she hung up.

    It was time for me to do my detective work. The investigation would start immediately . . . , but first I had to think on it. And also, I had to have my morning cup of coffee and doughnut. My stomach was growling. I looked over at my robot, who was standing silently in the corner waiting for orders, and I said, Robo, get me some coffee.

    The robot went to the coffee dispenser and pushed the button. After the cup was filled with a steaming brew, the robot brought it to my desk and set it next to my box of colorful, various-flavored doughnuts. I pulled out a cherry-frosted one, tore it in half, and dunked it into the coffee. It was delicious. To myself I said, 'I don't care what they say, everyone likes doughnuts, not just cops and PI's.

    After I finished every morsel I figured it was time to do some investigation. I got on the internet and Googled Fred and Fran Jimson. (As a note: the scientists and the entrepreneurs on my planet aren't stupid - well, maybe sometimes, but for the most part, not. So, when we find some useful technology on another planet, we copy it. And thus we have the internet, and some bright boy even started Google. Needless to say he’s now a multibillionaire). Anyway, I found out everything I could about Fred and Fran Jimson—the elite of the wealthy. It seems they had become one of the wealthiest couples on the planet when they started a computer company, which they named ‘Microhard.’ Later, I found out

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