Sometime in the 50’s, my father, the head of the warehouse operation for his company, received a call from a guy offering to sell him information about missing merchandise. The guy requested $200 and he would give him the goods so they could catch the crooks.
OK, at this point you say, “Is this a detective novel? Is there a beautiful blonde? Are there gumshoes involved?” The answer is no, but the story is true and was told to me at the time buy my father.
Not being able to commit the money himself (in the 50’s $200 was a lot more than it is today), he told the guy he’d call him back as soon as he was able to get the cash. Believe it or not, this guy was willing and gave him his actual phone number! He was not an experienced crook!
My father called the police and a detective came over and they schemed. My father called the guy back, by this time, having the number; the police knew who he was.
My father arranged the meet and described himself to the perp His description was that of the detective and the guy went to his doom! OK, maybe not doom, but he was forced to give up the information without compensation, except maybe a suspended sentence.
Some one in the place was throwing merchandise out the window to an accomplice on the street with a covered cart. My father hired an undercover cop to work in the factory warehouse for a week and they found the culprit.
How’s this for a great detective novel plot?
At least I remembered the story!
OK, at this point you say, “Is this a detective novel? Is there a beautiful blonde? Are there gumshoes involved?” The answer is no, but the story is true and was told to me at the time buy my father.
Not being able to commit the money himself (in the 50’s $200 was a lot more than it is today), he told the guy he’d call him back as soon as he was able to get the cash. Believe it or not, this guy was willing and gave him his actual phone number! He was not an experienced crook!
My father called the police and a detective came over and they schemed. My father called the guy back, by this time, having the number; the police knew who he was.
My father arranged the meet and described himself to the perp His description was that of the detective and the guy went to his doom! OK, maybe not doom, but he was forced to give up the information without compensation, except maybe a suspended sentence.
Some one in the place was throwing merchandise out the window to an accomplice on the street with a covered cart. My father hired an undercover cop to work in the factory warehouse for a week and they found the culprit.
How’s this for a great detective novel plot?
At least I remembered the story!
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