The Playboy Interview

I am sitting in the office of Harry Slothe, World Famous Private Investigator, on the first floor of the brownstone that is his home as well. The enormous detective sits calmly behind a desk the size of a billiard table that is filled with food, none of which is offered to me. You get the impression that he is entrenched for battle, that somehow, giving an interview is as confrontational as revealing the murderer to a roomful of suspects. If he is the General, then his Lieutenant is Burgess, a prize-winning scarlet macaw that perches diligently on the great man's shoulder.

I gaze about the room: at a braille library that encompasses law, history, fiction and any other category you could name. At a globe that once stood in Thomas Jefferson's office. And at souvenirs of crimes, past and present, solved by the man who has been called "the Saturn V of private investigators."

I wait patiently for Mr. Slothe to stop eating so that I may ask the first question. Finally, after nearly an hour, I realize that I cannot stand on ceremony. I quickly learn that the gigantic sleuth is able to talk and eat simultaneously.

P: You are arguably the most renowned private investigator in the world. How did you earn your reputation?

S: Diligent work, flawless logic, and unreasonable prices.

P: How does one hire Harry Slothe?

S: I'm most receptive to taking new clients whose cases appeal to my sensibilities, or that catch my fancy - whether caught by the client themselves or by the nature of the case.

(Mr. Slothe pauses to feed a handful of cornchips to Burgess.)

P: For instance, the recent Nettleberg affair?

S: Interestingly, Johannes Nettleberg is not the only client I've had who was a severed head. And I suspect that as the proficiency of modern medicine increases, I shall one day have clients who are perhaps no more than a brain or a spinal cord floating in an aquarium.

P: And this is the kind of client who catches your fancy?

S: Not the only kind, certainly. The kind who place large stacks of money on my desk are also enticing.

P: Is there any kind of case you won't take?

S: There are many kinds. Though I preclude not by the type of crime, but by the circumstances. I have turned down celebrated murders, while at the same time accepting cases involving misplaced television remotes. Just recently, for example, I procured evidence of premeditation for a rottweiller who had been neutered against his will.

P: And your client was the rottweiller's owner?

S: No, the rottweiller himself.

P: That's interesting. How were you able to communicate?

S: If you've ever seen a recently neutered rottweiller, you know they have a way of making themselves understood.

P: On the subject of animals, I have to ask about your aviary.

S: One of the few true luxuries I allow myself. Right now, I have over a hundred species - nearly a hundred-and-forty specimens.

(At this point, Burgess began squawking).

S: Of course, Burgess is my favorite. He's won over three dozen prizes, including spelling bees and radio contests.

P: He sounds very smart.

S: In fact, his I.Q. is higher than my butler's.

P: You mean Peaseporter. Wasn't he once a detective himself?

S: He and a partner had their own agency downtown - Zinfandel and Peaseporter. That was a long time ago. Before the . . . accident. Peaseporter got out of the business, and he came to me for help. Of course, we had worked together previously on "The Misadventure of the Undersea Perogie," so I knew him.

P: If Peaseporter is your left arm, then surely your right must be your new assistant, Joe Baloney.

S: A fine young man.

P: Now, you have had twelve assistants prior to Joe. What happened to them?

S: Poisoned, carried out to sea by a tidal wave, crushed by a falling elephant, electrocuted, buried in a building foundation, blown up by an atom bomb, killed by torch-weilding villagers, lost in orbit around Mars, disintigrated, accidentally eaten, and de-evolved into primordial ooze.

P: That's only eleven.

S: I don't like to talk about what happened to number seven.

P: And Mister Baloney is number thirteen. Does that worry you?

S: In the many years I've been in this business, I've learned two things. First, that superstition is a refuge for the ignorant. And second, that there is no shortage of young men ready to put their lives on the line in the pursuit of justice. Dedicated men like Mr. Baloney.

P: How many cases would you say you've been involved in?

S: Well over eight thousand.

P: Amazing! Are there any that stand out as especially difficult or satisfying?

S: Each represented unique challenges. Of course there are the celebrated clients and criminals, the newsworthy cases, and even the failures. For me, nothing is as difficult as the case in which I'm currently involved, whatever it may be.

P: And may I ask what you're working on right now?

S: It's confidential. But I can say that, if I am successful, Bell Telephone will be controlling all our communications for a long, long time.

P: You've frequently crossed paths with the evil Harvey Von Ludwig. Since he's a subscriber and probably reading this right now, is there anything you'd like to say to him?

S: They say that justice is blind. There is nothing you can do that I cannot uncover. No crime you can commit that I cannot solve. No place you can hide, Von Ludwig, where I cannot find you.

P: Where is he now?

S: I have no idea.

P: You've also crossed swords with Inspector Sullivan Kramer of the City Police. Would you say you have a love-hate relationship with official law enforcement?

S: Mr. Kramer is actually quite adept. My own success in no way diminishes his, and I'm certain that - if pressed - he would confess a begrudging appreciation for my assistance and admiration for my abilities.

P: When we spoke to him, he called you "a pompous, self-serving windbag with the scruples of a snake."

S: That must have been just after the Ghergmann kidnapping. I was paid a six-figure fee for doing a job which Mr. Kramer would have had to perform for just over minimum wage.

P: I'm going to switch topics right now. Our readers are always interested in the love lives of famous people. Is there a special man in your life?

S: What are you implying?

P: Or woman?

S: I admit to being hopelessly in love with Impossible Foxx.

P: Impossible Foxx? The fictional character?

S: Says you.

P: She was the heroine in a series of dime novels in the thirties.

S: I can't hear you.

P: Then she was a comic book character.

S: I'm not listening.

P: On TV and films, she's been played by four different actresses!

(At this point, Mr. Slothe put his fingers in his ears and began humming loudly. Then Burgess got an angry look in his eyes, raised his wings as if to pounce and told me to get out. That, I realized, was the end of my interview with the greatest living private investigator. Eccentric? Yes. Opinionated? Definitely. Psychotic? Who can say where genius ends and insanity begins? I can! And this guy is nuts!)