Author

The Bloody Whorehouse Detective Agency

By Michael D. Davis

Copyright © 2020 Michael D. Davis

Cover and all artwork © 2020 by Michael D. Davis

All Rights Reserved

Orphan Paper First Edition, 2020

Orphan Paper, an imprint of Hekate Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-912017-75-1

Hekate Publishing U.S.A.

73 John Drive

Farmingville, NY 11738

anthony_knott@hekatepublishing.com

https://www.hekatepublishing.com

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without consent of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, or business institutions is purely coincidental.

All the stories contained herein were previously published in Yellow Mama Webzine.

DEDICATIONS

First of all, I’d like to thank my Mom, who has read every single one of my stories published and unpublished. Always willing to tell me when its crap, its insane, not insane enough, funny, not funny, (you get the gist). And then tells me to write another.

I’d also like to thank Cindy Rosmus and Kenneth James Crist for without them there would not be a Count Whorton series. They took the first story, the second story, and then said, Hey, how about a series? I am forever grateful to them for giving me the opportunity to create this series for the Yellow Mama webzine.

Thank you to Anthony Knott as well for he is what made this book possible. His great and tireless work is what makes this collection look so good. He’s kindly walked me through every step along the way as he put this book together.

And lastly:

To Wanita, I must say

I would not be here today

Without your love and your know

Or your shrunk twelfth little toe.

FORWARD

We all love a good detective story. But what do we love best?

The plot? The twist, when we realize we were right all along about whodunit? Or is it the detectives themselves?

Sherlock Holmes was perceptive, and a master of disguises. Sam Spade knew how to play both sides against each other. TV detectives Monk and Columbo undeniably knew their shit. In the end, the bad guys always got caught. But what is it we love most about these detectives?

It’s their quirks. They all have them. Sherlock Holmes was a junkie. Sam Spade, a whoremaster. Monk has germaphobia. With his shabby raincoat and scruffy chin, Columbo is the slob to end all slobs.

Till Count Whorton came along. Written and illustrated by Michael D. Davis, The Bloody Whorehouse Detective Agency gives us a short, pudgy, no-necked creature with skin the color of a wet napkin. A hunchbacked drunk with yellow, animal-like teeth. And I mean drunk. Most stories open with the Count passed out, either on stairs, or, in the title story, on a park bench, next to a corpse. Still, bombed or not, Count Whorton is sharp as a tack and beloved to many.

Like Irma, his prostitute girlfriend/partner, with the mammoth breasts, and piercing voice. It’s Irma’s idea to hunt down bad guys and start the detective agency.

And Kenny, Whorton’s giant sidekick. They start off as foes but end up friends. When needed, Kenny throws a fist the size of three bean cans. When asked how to play good cop/bad cop with a suspect, the Count tells Kenny, I say things like we’re on your side and we know you’re the brains. And you say things like this fool don’t know shit and I’ve seen more useful shit on my shoe. All while you beat the crap out of him. And Kenny says, OK.

There’s also Dynamite Dotty, the denim-clad owner of the local gay bar, who hires homicidal drag queens as singers. And Officer Klunkel, and Miss Pinky, etc.

In these comical stories, Count Whorton solves the mystery of a severed middle finger and the murder of a girl in the park, stops a Halloween hostage situation in the convenience store where he works, and pursues a Maltese Falcon-like figurine called Presley Penguin.

No matter how drunk, or hungover, the Count always pulls through for anyone who needs him, whether for a price (In Flipping the Frozen Finger Farewell he takes money from both Posey Peale to find the murderer and Posey’s wealthy dad not to), to clear his own name (Remember that corpse in the park?), or to save Irma and himself. Above all, he loves Irma. Maybe even more than booze…. (I said maybe.)

So curl up with your drink of choice (Count Whorton has many!) and enjoy this collection of pull-no-punches, tongue-in-cheek detective tales.

I guarantee they’ll leave you thirsty for more.

Cindy Rosmus, author and editor of Yellow Mama Webzine

Flipping the Frozen Finger Farewell

When Posey Peale walked into the grimy, dark bar all kinds of eyes from all sorts of skulls looked her over. She walked up to the counter, her beautiful body wading through the pool of degenerates.

I’m looking for Count Whorton, she said.

The bartender, a man with a face like a movie star and a body big enough to give anyone trouble said, Why’s someone like you looking for him?

Because I need his help, Posey Peale said, And am I correct in saying I just found him?

A smile spread across the bartender’s face like mildew in moist weather. You think I’m Count Whorton?

Maybe.

The bartender burst out laughing. He laughed so hard his side started to hurt and tears formed in his eyes. He only stopped to get a few other men in on the joke and they started laughing just as hard.

Hey, what’s the joke here? Said Posey severely.

Sorry Miss, the bartender wiped his eyes. I’ll show you where Whorton is.

He took her outside and showed her a door on the front of the building opposite of the bar entrance on the right. He opened the door where a lump of a man slept on stone stairs leading to a second-floor apartment.

Is he in the apartment up there?

The bartender smiled. That's his place, but he seems to be taking a nap on his porch. He turned and left Posey at the bottom of the steps.

Um… Count, Count Whorton, Posey Peale said standing in the door. Count Whorton? He didn’t wake or even move, just laid there like a dead man.

Posey went up a few steps and started shaking his shoulders while repeating his name until the Count awoke saying, in an accent like no other she’d heard