Kojak In The Attic

Whaddaya know, Mr and Mrs Patterson want to raise three big ones so they can enjoy a self-catering Hoseasons boating vacation on the Norfolk Broads. It’s not my cup of tea, coochie-coo – the only broads Theo Kojak’s interested in are the ones who make my eggs over easy and keep my side of the bed warm at night, capice?

What’s the first thing I find in Mr and Mrs Patterson’s loft ? A cockamamie Sodastream! I should explain why the sight of this gadget perplexed me so. Back in the old country my Uncle Aristotle once had a thriving little cafe that sold sodas. The advent of the Goddamn Sodastream put paid to that and soon my uncle’s life spiralled out of control and he was plunged into debt and ended up a no-good bum. So with this sad tale I radioed for backup. It didn’t take Stavros and Crocker long to smash it to pieces with a sledgehammer. Who loves your Sodastream now, baby?

The first time I got involved in attics was in Washington DC, way back in the 70s. This doll wanted me to go in and size up the junk she was keeping up in her loft – I think she had her eye on buying something real jazzy for her daughter with the proceeds. Well, I climbed up there and started to look around when all of a sudden this cockamamie demon started cursing me and rattling the joists – and then it started to get real cold. I gotta tell you I was gettin’ kinda tired of all this mumbo-jumbo jive-talk, so I grabbed old Nick by his horns, gave him some chin music and read him his rights. The only other thing I found up there was a cockamamie Top Of The Pops album with a broad in hot pants on the sleeve.

Back in the Patterson’s loft I was beginning to make some real progress. I dug up an old Look-In Annual from 1978 with Stewpot and Barry Sheene on the cover. That’s gotta be worth at least two dollars. ‘Baby – this is easy’, I was thinking to myself, ‘perhaps… too Goddamn easy’.

Then I begin sifting through a tartan duffle bag. ‘Hold it right there sister’, I tell Mrs Patterson, my hand resting on the butt of my Saturday Night Special.  My hunch turned out to be right. The bag contained junk with a street value of over two hundred grand. Never mind a week away coochie-coo – by my reckoning these punks were planning to use the cash for a two-week vacation and a new conservatory they’d just got planning permission for. Sadly for them, the only ‘holiday’ they’ll be taking is a one-way trip to Attica, courtesy of the NYPD.

Take ’em downtown.