The Write Time & Place!



“This James Bond spoof is hilarious. Valerie J. Patterson has a winner! I’d love to see this made into a movie with Ben Stiller in the starring role. The characters are over the top. This is sure to be a laugh out loud funny hit. The cliches remind me of an old Humphrey Bogart movie.” Reader’s Favorite, 5 stars


Gee-Whiz Meets S.H.A.F.T. is outstandingly hilarious! Patterson has outdone herself. Her first two novels were excellent, but Spade and his dangerous den of dames are wonderfully crafted–a solid hit! If ever there was a character screaming out for his own series, it’s Milo Gee a/k/a Spade. Action-packed, laugh out loud funny, and full of great, nearly-tangible characters–Patterson’s got a winner on her hands.” Janis Hargro, reader review




007 move over — Milton ‘Milo’ Gee is on the job!

Milo Gee, the only surviving partner of the Gee-Whiz Detective Agency, is determined to solve the murder of his partner, Chaz Whiz. When he’s approached by two gorgeous dames–er, women–who want to enlist his talents to save the life of a Canadian Mountie, he’s not overly interested.

But a man has eyes and dames have gams and Milo’s were fixed on these dames’ long, shapely legs…when he wasn’t gazing deep into their bedroom eyes. His resistance begins to crumble once they use their powers of persuasion…some of which might actually be considered violent.

Turns out, these gals are members of the United Universe—a secret agency dedicated to maintaining world peace—and the Mountie is one of their top agents, a.k.a. The Ghost. Once Milo passes his physical, he’s christened with his new UU operative codename–Spade–and they set out to reel in the Mountie. But this operation is not going to be so simple as just finding The Ghost—The S.H.A.F.T, an organization bent on world domination, is out to get him, too.

Armed with cool weapons James Bond would love to have, Spade is determined to get his man…but he never expects to end up with a dame–er, woman!


Of all the gin-joints in all the cities in the world, she had to walk into mine…

Wait, this isn’t a movie, and Humphrey Bogart I ain’t.

My name is Milton Gee, but my friends call me Milo—never mind what my enemies call me. I operate the Gee-Whiz Detective Agency. Alone. My partner, Chaz Whiz, took a bullet in a New York City alley gunfight a few months back. I have no idea what he was doing in an alley in New York City, especially since our agency is in sunny Southern California.

Call me lazy—or a sloppy sentimentalist—but I never changed the name.

I’m on the late side of forty—though nowhere near it. You figure it out. Even I’m not really sure. Solidly built and shy of six-feet tall, I’m not bad to look at. I have a salt-and-pepper mix of unruly hair. Women just love to run their fingers through it. When they ain’t adorned by shades of blue, black, and purple, my blue eyes are rather nice to gaze into. However, fists don’t appreciate that attribute.

Most PI’s I know head to Vegas or Atlantic City when the heat of a case is breathing down their necks. Me? I go to Disneyland. Hey, it’s close to home.

But that’s where the trouble began.

Her name was Pompeii. She had the kind of looks that could ruin a guy for life for the average-looking woman. I can still see her standing beside Snow White and putting her to shame. She was there to meet another dame of similarly classic beauty by the name of Kat. Kat had the kind of legs men fell for—long and shapely. The kind of legs that were no stranger to kicking a man’s heart to the curb like yesterday’s newspaper. I would later learn—and I say this with no hint of disrespect—they were also the kind of legs accustom to kicking some…well, let’s just leave it there.

I got one drink of those dames and I knew my ticket was punched. They were trouble from the get-go. As I had not been properly introduced, I followed behind them at a clean pace, using techniques even the FBI ain’t heard of. A dance here or there with Cinderella or Snow White causes a great diversion. And serves to prevent people from knowin’ for certain whether or not you’re really following them. I tailed them to a quaint little table in the ethnic food area and watched while they ordered three shakes of the Irish whiskey. I knew they was waitin’ on someone to join them. Little did I know I was the someone they were waitin’ on.

Kat cast her bewitchin’ eyes my way, unfolded those luxurious legs, and sauntered my direction. Mesmerized by the sway of those hips, clearly I was a goner.

“You Gee or Whiz?” she inquired, her accent unmistakably, er, foreign. Not Russian. Not Italian. Perhaps British, but not quite. Just then I couldn’t place my finger on her country of origin.

I played it cool, tapping out a candy cigarette from my Winston box. Hey, I gotta watch the health. I took a clean bite of the cigarette, replying in my most convincing detective’s voice, “Gee. Whiz is six feet under.”

She nodded. “We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Gee.”


I followed behind her, my eyes glued to those legs. When I hit the table—literally—I took up the remaining seat.

“I’m Pompeii,” her partner said, slayin’ me with the sexiest set of eyes this side of the East Coast. They were the shade of blue dames loved in jewelry men like me couldn’t afford to buy. She waved a delicate hand toward the drink they had poured for me.

I cleared my throat and downed the Irish. My eyes watered. “What can I do for you dames?” I asked, still playing it close to the cuff.

Pompeii gave me the once over, inspectin’ me like a car she was about to buy. I was waitin’ for her to kick me like a good set of tires. Instead, she frowned distastefully. She was about to get down to the brass tacks of the issue.

“Your partner, Whiz, left us in a heap of trouble,” she informed me briskly.

“Whiz?” I questioned in disbelief. “He’s been gone–”

“We know exactly how long he’s been gone, Mr. Gee,” Kat advised. “It has taken us this long to track you down.”

Smellin’ unsavory business in the air, I turned the shot glass topside down on the table then stood. I adjusted my customary set of mouse ears and gave them the once-over before saying, “It’s been real nice meetin’ you dames, but I ain’t interested.”

Pompeii’s hand snaked into her purse like lightnin’ through a tree. She withdrew a dainty little feminine number, its muzzle trained at my belly. I sat back down and she smiled triumphantly.

“Looks like you’re the brains of the agency,” she replied, her sarcasm lost on me.

I nodded for lack of a better response. Forget being easy on the eyes, these dames were deadly.

“How did you know Whiz?” I asked, pretending the gun hadn’t fazed me.

Kat gave me a smile that, on a normal day, would have sent me into cardiac arrest. However, right then and there it merely gave me the creeps. “He did a little surveillance work for us,” she replied, her deep alto a smooth-as-silk purr.

I nodded thoughtfully. “What—or who—was he watching?”

“A Mountie from Canada named Austin Jennings,” Pompeii answered, sliding the little pistol back into her purse.

I was shocked—not with the gun—with her reply. “A Mountie?”

They nodded in unison and my mind wandered to my collection of bobble head dolls at the office.

I grinned. “What’d he do? Abuse his steed?”

Pompeii frowned.

Kat shook her head. “He’s a special agent from the States. Someone hung a frame around his neck.”

Again, I nodded. I was good at it. “Frame-up, eh? What’d they say he done?”

Pompeii downed her Irish real lady-like, slammin’ the shot glass down on the white resin table. That’s when it hit me. Where’d the whiskey come from? We were in Disneyland, for cryin’ out loud.

As if readin’ my mind, Pompeii drew a slow, easy smile. “The bartender is with us.”

I turned to look.

“Don’t turn around,” she ordered. “There’s nothing to see.”

I shrank back like a reprimanded puppy, and was rewarded with another saucy little smile. It faded quickly.

“Your partner followed the Mountie out of Canada and across the New York border. That’s where the trail gets cold.”

“And the water murky,” added Kat.

“And where Whiz bought the farm,” I said, feelin’ that old ache creep up.

Whiz and I had been partners since our days as life insurance brokers. Both divorced and with twenty years in, we took early retirement and opened up the agency a year later. Our license followed a few months after. Life had been good and business had been profitable.

That was fifteen years ago.

Six months ago, Whiz took a train to the Heavenly Depot. At least that’s what I believe—that he went up, not down. His death sorta put an end to the agency. Sure, I went in every morning, took a case now and then, but my heart wasn’t in it. Whiz and I were a team. Like peanut butter and bananas. One without the other was just not right.

Besides, I had enough dough in the bank that I could be particular about the cases I accepted, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to bite on what these dames were servin’ up. I needed more information. I just wasn’t sure they were gonna give it to me.

“You want me to find the Mountie?” I asked. “Why?”

Pompeii looked around cautiously. “He’s been out in the cold too long. He and his wife and child.”

I was familiar with their lingo. I’d watched plenty of TV. When someone’s been out in the cold too long it didn’t mean they would be greeted with hot chocolate and mini-marshmallows. Usually, it meant deprogramming. I wanted nothing to do with that.

“I can’t help you. I ain’t in the mind-laundering business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta date with the merry-go-round.” And I walked away.

That’s what surprised me. They let me walk away. I’da thought they’da been more persuasive. I was about to learn that they were.

I enjoyed the rest of the day about as much as a wanted man can. Every line I waited in, they waited in, too. Every eatery I ate at, they sat and stared. Every game I played, they played, too. It was eerie.

I ducked into a john, givin’ the dames the slip…only to look up and find the bartender beside me, sizing things up. I came out ahead, no question.

Not one to dally under those circumstances, I zipped it and cruised on out, picking up my tail the minute I stepped out the door. When I got on the Tea Cups, they managed to sit in the same cup. Ordinarily, I don’t mind being sandwiched between two hot dames, but these two were weirdin’ me out.

“You two dames need to find a new hobby.”

The only reaction I got from Kat was a raised left eyebrow. Pompeii merely hit me with a smile that chilled me to the bone.

“We need your help, Mr. Gee,” she said. The ride began and the cup started spinning.

I raised my voice over the whir of the ride. “Find someone else.”

“Your partner said you were one of the best,” she shouted back.

“Talked to him, have you? From the beyond or what?”

“Don’t be facetious, Mr. Gee,” Kat snapped above shrieks of the riders.

“You dames don’t know when to quit. I’m not interested.”

They exchanged glances that seemed to silently convey that I would, eventually, become interested in what little dangerous task they had in store for me. Nothing more was said, but I did not enjoy the ride, at all.

We disembarked from our teacup. I managed to lose them in the throng of folks that exited the ride. I was thirsty and headed for a vendor’s cart. Their bartender served me a grape drink in a package shaped like a bunch of grapes.

“We’re not giving up,” he said as I paid him for the drink.

“Whatever,” I tossed back and made for another section of the park.

Those two dynamite dames dogged me for three hours. Finally, I called it quits, took my Mickey ears and headed for the parking lot.

That’s when the lights went out.

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