Mr. Bunsy had a secret. A secret all his

  • Mr. Bunsy had a secret. A secret all his own. A secret he dared not share. Not with Mrs Bunsy, or dropsy not even with Timmy Turtle. In fact, especially not Timmy Turtle because
  • the entire pet shop knew Timmy would sing like a canary if the owner Bob put the screws to him. Mr. Bunsy would have to enjoy his secret escape tunnel all by himself. One night as
  • I was in Bankok. The world was my oyster that night. The bars seemed like temples. However the pearls weren't free. I found a god in every golden cloister
  • and every lamp post was a Bodhi tree. But after I woke from the spell, I realized I was in a flophouse in a seedy district of Pattaya. Mara had seduced me. My vows already broken
  • , I propped each eye open with a double cappucino and waited for noon to arrive. The swelter of the flophouse coffee bar was doing nothing to accelerate temporal velocity.
  • My nerves started to jangle. I stood on top on the coffee bar, grabbed the clock hands and turned them to 12. There was a sudden shift and the shadows swung wildly. It was noon.
  • My bet had paid off. With the sun overhead, there were no shadows for my pursuers to hide. I strode out to confront them. "It seems that the tables have turned! Or clocks, rather."
  • Detective James Manatee pulled out his signature engraved .44 Cougar Magnum. Day light savings time puns were hard to come by, but villains in need of justice weren't.
  • "Think you're here to set my clock, Manatee?" he sneered. "Think again." His checkered past included working backstage for Criss Angel. He dived into a nearby dumpster and
  • began translating the Korean newspaper into Cyrillic. Manatee would never decipher the secret code now, he thought. Slipping undetected out of the dumpster, he


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