as told to Blue Starsky

Ladies and Gentlemen, the story you are about to read is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

For the next several pages, in cooperation with the Bay City Police Department, you will travel step by step on the side of the law through an actual case transcribed from official police files. From beginning to end. From crime to punishment. This is the authentic story of two members of your police force in action. The documented drama of an actual crime investigated and solved by the men who unrelentingly stand watch the security of your home, your family and your life.

You're a detective sergeant assigned to burglary detail. Thieves have been terrorizing the city. You get a call telling you that The Den, a local eating and drinking establishment, has been robbed. Same M.O. as the others. There's no lead to the offenders. You don't know who they are or where to find them. Your job: Get 'em!

This is the city, Bay City, California. Churches, massage parlors, schools, jails, the suburbs, downtown. The old and the new. Millions of cars, millions more people. Most of them work for a living. Some of them steal. Some people rob for pleasure. Some people rob because it's there. You never know. When they steal, my job gets tougher. I'm a cop. I carry a badge.

It was Thursday, June 27th. It was sultry in Bay City. We were working the day watch out of Burglary. The boss is Captain Doberman. Detectives in Bay City work in pairs. My partner's Fred Night. I'm light and he's dark. He's a sergeant, so am I. My name's Day, Ed Day. It was 10:23am when we got to 1348 Sixth Street. The Den. A radio car had answered the call and was already there making their report.

In a matter of hours the thief could spread his haul of booze and merchandise from one end of the city to the other. We didn't know who they were. We didn't know where they were. But we had to get them.

We met with Grizz, proprietor of The Den, to get more information about the crime. Grizz is a longtime friend and sometime informant.

"You reported a burglary this morning," Fred said.

"I wonder if you could start right from the beginning and tell us what happened." I asked.

"Sure. May I take your hats?" Grizz set them on the hat rack and motioned for us to sit down. He took a cloth from his pocket and nervously rubbed the face of his wristwatch. I couldn't help notice Fred admire the watch as he toyed with the trio of I-Ching coins he carries between his fingers. Grizz went on to tell us how he'd closed up last night, locking the doors as usual. "This morning I got here and found my place had been robbed."

Fred smiled. "Grizz, a person is robbed. A place is burgled." Fred has always seized any opportunity to educate members of the public about the law.

"Can you supply us with the serial numbers of the items that are missing?" I asked.

"Serial numbers?" Grizz seemed peeved. "Man, they took my entire Bigfoot coffee mug collection. You think hand-crafted items like those come with serial numbers?"

We apologized, reminding him that many of our questions were just routine. Neither of us wanted to make this any harder for Grizz than it already was.

"Do you have any suspicions at all about who might've done this?" I asked.

He sat down on a bar stool. "Terrible Tessie was here last night," he said quietly. "I had had to cut her off, refused to serve her any more drinks, clearly she was beyond her limit already. She hadn't been able to do simple algebra, nor could she name the first six presidents."

We nodded and Grizz continued.

"Alice Adams and Jenny Brown, a couple o' my regulars, pulled me aside and warned me not to get on Tessie's bad side."

"And which side would that be?" Fred asked, turning to a new page in his notebook.

"I ever tell you guys how much you need me in your lives?" Grizz shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. We could see there was something he wasn't saying. Something he wasn't telling us. I tried to figure a way that we might get him to divulge his secret.

"Grizz," Fred said. "We can see that there's something you're not saying. Something you're not telling us."

"It's Garth," Grizz said with a sigh.

"Garth?" I asked.

"Got a bar in the area, over on Twelfth across from the Galaxy Bowlerama. Sometimes goes by the name of 'Gil.' Last time I saw him he said he didn't like the way his customers were coming to my establishment. Said he was sick of it and I'd better watch out."

"Garth?" I asked.

"Garth Black," Fred said.

"No, Garth White. Stoney Black's his partner." Grizz scratched the side of his face and looked off in the distance for a minute. "Actually, Stoney's scarier than Garth."

"How long ago did White make this comment to you?" I asked.

"It was just last month. At the Gulf Gas Station. We happened to . . . At least I thought we just happened to run into each other."

"Just a second," I said as I noticed that Fred was having a hard time keeping up as he took notes.

"Garth threatened Grizz at the Gulf Gas Station," he said as he finished writing and then looked back up at us. "Hey. Fred pointed at me. "Wasn't Garth White in the pen not too long ago?"

"He was," Grizz answered. "That's when he went into partnership with Black. He watched the bar for White while White was in the pokey."

"Better run down Black and White," I said.

"That reminds me," Fred said. "Gotta pick up some pictures I had processed."

Hmmmm, I thought. Could they be the photos he took of me as I cooked and served him a pot roast dinner wearing nothing but my new snakeskin thong? Naaaah. He wasn't really taking pictures then, just pretending to.

It was then that Grizz told us his final and most startling suspicion. "You're not gonna like this last one."

"Hey," Fred said. "What makes you think we like any of 'em? Just tell us."

"Big Mags. She accused me of watering down my bourbon and overspicing my wonton soup. Came in here last week. When she refused to pay for her drinks she said it was because the pinball machine had stolen forty-five cents from her."

Big Mags a.k.a. Little Mags a.k.a. Maggie McMillan, elderly woman who wouldn't hurt a fly. "Think she's capable of . . . " I started to ask.

"Look," Grizz said, tugging at the velvet cuffs on his jacket. "I'm not sayin' Mags didn't have help. I'm just sayin' it's possible. I look at her and I see trouble. Wouldn't trust her with dirty laundry."

"Do you think," I swallowed hard and narrowed my eyes, "narcotics could be involved?"

Fred shook his head a little as he wrote down her name. Grizz could suggest no other possibilities.

I called the names of The Den's employees into R & I for a check. We'd had our suspicions about Foxy Baker, a waitress who'd been working last night. Could she have witnessed something? There was even the possibility that she was involved. There were rumors that she was only waitressing for Grizz to get inside information for White and Black. They ran the employees as well as the name Terrible Tessie through their computers. Tessie had no previous criminal record. Nothing came up for any of the employees, either. We'd run makes on the other suspects when we got back to the office.

We looked around; Grizz showed us the empty shelves. We asked the usual questions. Was all the stolen merchandise taken from one room? When was the last time you saw the items that were taken? Who has keys to the restaurant? How many doors are there in this building? Windows?

"Sounds like our M.O. Bulletin," Fred said.

"No signs of a jimmy," I observed. By now, my partner and I can say things like this without getting raging erections that make us want to rub up against one another in public places. That's a good thing because we're cops and good cops only do that when they're off duty and don't run the risk of being called into Captain Doberman's office for an explanation. Better in private, where you can go beyond just rubbing.

There are a lot of rules that never make it into the police academy rule book, and the sooner a young recruit learns this, the better. For instance, nowhere in the rule book does it say that in the department showers, one partner can't take his partner's hard cock and squeeze it between his wet thighs while his own erection bounces in between them. It isn't written down, but still you'd better not try it. Another activity best done at home.

Grizz wiped some dust from a shelf that just twenty-four hours ago had held several bottles of whisky. I reminded him not to touch anything until the lab boys had finished going over the place.

Fred shook his head in disgust, mumbling something about "foul play." I knew how just how he felt. Crime and malfeasance get to me, too.

The crew from the crime lab and latent prints appeared and began going over the place. After we gave them some preliminary information, we returned to continue our conversation with Grizz.

"So what you're trying to say is that positively you can't say who's responsible," Fred said. "While you can speculate, the best you can say is that the burglary was committed by a person or persons unknown."

Grizz grimaced.

I verbally prodded him. "How 'bout it?"

"Uh, yeah. Unknown. I don't know who they are," Grizz said.

A canvas of the area turned up nothing, no useable information. We interviewed some nearby storekeepers, some people on the street, but they could add nothing to what we already knew. We found Maggie MacMillan hanging around outside the Venus Massage Parlor and seized the opportunity to question her. Her alibi seemed airtight.

It was 1:32 PM when we left Grizz's place, got into Fred's red and white Ford Fairlane, and went to the apartment of Foxy Baker, the woman who'd been working as a part-time waitress at The Den. The landlady told us she'd moved and left no forwarding address. Then, we decided to head over to The Velvet Jungle, a club where Foxy Baker used to dance in a cage.

When we walked to the car, I shot a glance at my partner. As is the norm by this time of day, Fred has four of the buttons on his shirt unbuttoned. He will unbutton at least one more before the end of our shift and when we arrive home, he or I will ceremoniously unbutton the final button, fully exposing the hairy chest. It's a chest that's worth waiting for; this detective can assure you of that.

We found Baker sitting at the bar of the Velvet Jungle drinking what looked like a strawberry daiquiri through a tall straw.

"Police officers, ma'am. We're the investigating officers assigned to the string of restaurant burglaries in the area. This is Sergeant Night, I'm Sergeant Day. Want to ask you a few questions. I wonder if you could start right from the beginning and tell us what you know about the burglary of The Den last night.

She said nothing, just looked at us with all of the insensitivity and unintelligence of a person who doesn't wait for the light to turn green before driving out into an intersection.

"Look, we know and you know and you know we know your package is tabbed. You're wanted in Gainesville. We can make this easy or hard. Now, how 'bout it?"

"How 'bout what?" she finally spoke. "I know who told you where I'd be. It was Creepy Charley, wasn't it?"

"Who told us isn't important. Word is you've been doing more than waitressing at The Den. You've been keeping a diary of what goes on. Rumor has it that you might be feeding this information back to White and Black."

She simply folded her arms causing the tassels on her pasties to sag.

"That book could be very helpful right about now, Baker." Fred was peeved. "You gonna work with us or against us?"

"You'll see that the D.A. knows I helped you?"

"It'll go in the report, that's the best we can do," I said.

"Grizz really needs my help right now. Can't ya do any better than that? S'pose I said I never heard of any diary? No proof that I know anything."

Fred gave her one of his most righteous stares.

"It's in my case." She said as she walked over to a small suitcase at the far end of the bar, but Fred headed her off.

"Where? Here? We'll get it," I told her.

"Ya think I was gonna pull out a gun or somethin'?"

Fred let out a deep breath, but said nothing.

I was incensed. "You know," I said to her. "You're the kind of a person who's really responsible for the escalating crime rate, not only in this city, but all over the country. Responsible for many of the crimes that go unsolved. You don't want to get involved because it's an inconvenience, or there's nothing in it for you. My partner here and I, and police officers everywhere, are investing our time and energy and sometimes putting our lives on the line to protect people just like you. Now you have a debt to society, too. We need citizens with integrity, and the ability to come forward and help us do a good job."

She dabbed at her eyes with a cocktail napkin.

I wasn't finished. "And one other thing: I hope you sleep well tonight. Your so-called friend, Grizz, whose business was robbed last night won't sleep well tonight. Now you think about that." I turned to Fred, "Come on, let's go."

Foxy stopped us from leaving then let us get that diary out of her bag. "Take it. Just take it." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing mascara down her face. "I don't want anything more to do with Black or White."

We felt a little triumphant as we walked out, flipping through the pages of the diary.

"You mentioned Grizz, 'whose business was robbed today.' You ought to know, Ed," Fred said as we were about to get into the car, "businesses are burgled. People are robbed."

It was 3:56 PM when my partner and I entered Room 45, Burglary. We sat down and went over the book Foxy Baker had given us.

The diary, which we'd booked as evidence, proved to be about as much help as a used tissue is against a man who's got a 357 Magnum aimed at your Adam's apple. Most of Foxy's scribblings had been about overheard conversations, possible romantic entanglements, who liked what in their drinks, how often she'd lost false fingernails and the like.

We'd checked and rechecked every possible angle. The thieves didn't have a consistent enough M.O. for us to get a handle on them, much less set up a stake-out. We were getting nowhere. Fred gathered the files on all three locations that were burglarized, and he and I compared the establishments to look for a common thread. The Gung Ho Chinese Restaurant, Chez Helene's, and now The Den. Unlike what you see on television, a lot of the working detective's time is spent doing paperwork, conducting interviews and trawling for leads. Realizing this, we'd recently pushed our desks nearer to one another so that we could participate in some deliberate under-table foot-play as we worked. This made the time a lot more enjoyable.

"When'd Deer get out?" I asked.

A parade of suspects was being led down the hall. Fred and I knew them only too well and we were disheartened to see them here again. It was the usual bunch, Jane Doe. John Deer. Some guy known only as Rudy. We'd suspected he was a heavy drinker because of his red nose. He always wore a raincoat.

"So we'd better assemble a list of possibles," Fred said, as he picked up a pen. "Alice Adams and Buzzy Boone look good for this one. This kinda thing fits Boone's M.O."

"Jenny Brown, Jerry Greene, Big Red McGee," I said. "Greene's parole officer said he hasn't been checking in like he should."

"Garth White and Stoney Black," he said, adding to the list. "And just to be safe, better check out Stevie Spenser."

I remembered a talk we'd had with some suspects on the street outside The Den. "Danny Deveen told us he thought it was David Delano. Could've just been saying that to get us off his trail." I pulled a crumpled napkin from my pocket and read some notes that were written on it. "Creepy Charley, Flashy Floyd and Lucky Lester. If they're not in on it, they might be able to tell us someone who is."

Fred nodded. "Terrible Tessie's been cleared. How about Teddy Ruxpin or maybe Teddy Tustin." He scribbled out one of the names. "Forgot. Tustin's dead. 'Member Ginger Evans' Dance Studio?"

"Yeah." I remembered only too well. When we questioned Maggie MacMillan, she appeared to have an alibi. She wasn't totally out of the running though." I looked at the other side of the napkin. More names. "Carol Carson, Karen Karpel?"

"Carson's dead. The vampire, Nadasy," Fred reminded me.

"Anna Akhanatova?" I suggested.

Fred shook his head, "She's apparently led the life of an exemplary citizen since defecting to our country. But we better check on the Clancey brothers and the Coleman brothers." There was our list. Finished.

"So what've we got?" I asked, as Fred handed me the list. "Alice Adams and Buzzy Boone. Stevie Spenser. Jenny Brown, Jerry Greene, Stoney Black, Garth White and Big Red McGee. Danny Deveen, David Dalano and Teddy Ruxpin. Maxi Malone, Maggie MacMillan and Mickie Marra are maybes."

As I walked by Pete Babcock's desk, I heard him on the phone. "Let me see if I got the facts straight here. Cricket coach, Kyle Clancy discovered that your clean copper clappers kept in a closet were copped by Claude Cooper a kleptomaniac from Cleveland. Now is that about it?" As soon as his phone call was over, he left the room. Babcock is among the officers who are always trying to fix me up. How do I tell him that the one I love is Fred, and all the action I want is in my own partner's trousers?

The phone rang. I answered it. "Burglary, Day here." It was Jack Collins, who works with records in R & I. He'd finished running reports on most of our suspects and so far, they were all clean. He'd get back to us later.

Who was committing these crimes, and how had they escaped capture? Somewhere in the vicinity of Bay City was the answer. It had been a long day, and Fred and I decided we would find that answer tomorrow. We left for home.

Soon as we walked in the door, Fred lavishly undid the last of the six buttons on his shirt. I never tire of seeing the whole of that chest exposed. He walked over and unbuttoned me. Where his chest is hairy, mine is smooth and tanned with a matched set of small but persistent nipples that were currently standing at attention.

"It's been a tough day," Fred said before he slipped off his shirt and knelt in front of me. "I still wish we could've apprehended a suspect today." He stuck the tip of his tongue firmly into my umbilicus. "Ah take shminnn."

"What?" I asked.

He removed his tongue. "I bet Big Red's mixed up in something. He's got 'foul play' written all over him. Maybe not these burglaries, but something. A 412 at least."

"I think you're right, Fred. Maybe a 211." I separated my legs and pushed my pelvis forward, rocking back onto my heels. "There's a connection between these burglaries, probably a suspect we know. We just don't see it yet."

"And when we find the connection," Fred said as he grabbed my crotch, "we'll be that much closer to nabbing our band of thieves. We don't have much to go on yet. M.O.'s pretty sketchy." My erection throbbed as he massaged it through my pants. "The three places really don't have that much in common. Part of town." He tightened his grip. "Clientele." He loosened it, "Employees." Tight again. "Nothin'. Just gotta pin down their M.O."

M.O., I thought. When will my partner decide it stands for My Orgasm? The sooner the better.

Fred was nodding as he rubbed my ass. I knew he was thinking about the case. "He'd get five to ten," he said. It was unclear whom he was speaking of.

"Are you going to unzip me or do I have to do it myself?" I finally asked as my patience waned and my desire soared.

He did just that, drawing my boner out from its tight cotton holster. "I'm now going to suck you for not less than one minute nor more than five." Fred managed to maintain his demeanor, to always remember that he was a cop at all times. I respect that about him. Of course that doesn't mean that I don't also enjoy getting Fred whipped up into such a lather that he doesn't know which end is up. Long as I pay adequate attention to both ends, he's happy.

The interlude that followed provided quite the exquisite appetizer.

As we were about to sit down to dinner, Fred asked how I was feeling. He knew I'd been dejected about the rise in the local crime rate. I mumbled that I was okay. He carried a large casserole dish from the kitchen and set it on the table. He lifted the lid and smiled.

"It's my favorite!" I said, inhaling the delicious aroma of this delectable chicken dish. "How'd you learn how to make it?"

"I called your mother up."

"You called my mother?" For some reason, I was beset with a sense of deja vu.

"Yeah," Fred said as he filled my glass with our favorite wine. "She calls it Fowl Play."

I took a drink of wine but silently reminded myself not to indulge too much if I wanted to indulge in other things later on. Before the night was through, I knew that my badge number would be imprinted on Fred's bare ass.

"How 'bout it?" I asked when we'd finished doing the dinner dishes.

"You're asking me how 'bout it??" Fred asked threateningly.

Not knowing what to say, I dropped my pants. A good cop always has a Plan B.

"Let me see it, then," Fred said, trying mightily to conceal a smile.

I knew what he meant. My erection was tugging at the cotton of my briefs. Felt like they were about to burst. I worried that the threads wouldn't be able to hold it back. This was one of my best poses. "Here he is," I said with a smile, pointing. "All ready for you."

Fred sighed heavily, assuming his old traffic cop persona. "Take it out of the underwear," he said. I could tell that it was his intent to do great bodily carousing.

Soon as I set it free, my cock sought out and then followed Fred's luscious form like an engorged divining rod. If I had aim like that with my Magnum I'd be one of the department's marksmen. Fred, on the other hand, is a master marksman. He can shoot a bullet through an egg over his shoulder at forty paces. He is also masterful at shooting something else into a certain orifice of mine and hitting his target every time.

Friday, June 28th. It was overcast that morning. 8:32am, we began the day by looking over all the notes and facts we had uncovered the previous day. To the average citizen, this type of policework may sound glamorous, but I assure you it is not.

Suddenly the answer was clear. Only one pair of criminals could have been responsible for burglarizing The Den as well as the previous eating establishments. We told the captain that we wanted to get a warrant to search Stoney Black's home and restaurant.

Captain Doberman stood up behind his desk. "A search warrant?" He scratched his chin and gazed at the ceiling. "Yes, from what you've told me Black is probably our man. In cahoots with White, apparently. You know the corner pocket's been putting pressure on me to get this case wrapped up." He walked around the desk and shook my hand and then my partner's. "Fine work, men." He stood straight and looked over toward the window, striking a powerful pose but other than that, accomplishing nothing.

"So we can get that search warrant, Skipper?" Fred finally asked.

"Of course you can!" he said. "You go over to Judge Juris' office. I'll give him a call and let him know you're on your way."

We left his office, straightened our ties and left the squadroom. It was in the hall that we ran into the person we would've least expected to find there. Stoney Black himself.

"Detectives Day and Night?" he said. "I figured maybe I could save you a trip."

10:59 AM. The three of us joined a stenographer in one of the interrogation rooms. Black told us where we could find the merchandise he'd heisted from the restaurants. Before we finished talking, cars had been sent out and they had indeed found his stash. They hadn't had a chance to fence a single bottle of whisky, and the prized Bigfoot mugs were still safely packed in a box with the rest. We had a quick lunch of Mu Shu pork, then returned to the office to wrap up the case.

Word was gotten to Grizz, as well as the owners of the other establishments, making everyone very relieved that they'd soon get their possessions returned. A team was sent out to track down and bring in White, who'd also been in on the caper. Black told them where White could be found. We left as they were booking Black. The day had gone by quickly.

It was 8:49 PM. After grabbing dinner at a taco restaurant, we arrived home. Every cop who works the street knows that at the end of a day you can find yourself covered with grime and filth. We don't complain about it. I took a long, hot shower. Afterward my throbbing erection was threatening to rip the towel right off from around my waist. When I went into the bedroom, I discovered that my partner was out of uniform. He wasn't wearing a thing. Not even his badge. I unpinned mine from my towel and set it on the dresser.

As any good cop would do before beginning the task that we had planned, I took inventory of his equipment. Everything seemed to be in perfect working order, and I do mean perfect. He walked toward me. My own equipment reminded me of its presence as I suddenly felt a hard damp knob slam up against my stomach. Its darkening color showed through the white towel. I realized I should've gone for the dark blue one that each recruit is issued back when he or she first enters the academy. Fred and I have been in plainclothes for many years, and I guess I can get a little sloppy sometimes.

"I can see your Johnny Doe peeking out at me," Fred said before he reached out and pulled the towel from my waist. My cover was completely blown. It was no time before his thick, wet tongue was scouting out territory in the dark recesses of my oral cavity. He pressed against me, and any grappling, self defense instinct or training I'd had was forgotten as our bodies ground against one another. All I could do was soak in the sensations and try to give as good as I got. It felt like two billy clubs were fighting for dominance in between our sweaty bodies. Fred is darker and has a lot more body hair than I do, and I try to take advantage of that as often as possible. It offers him a degree of camouflage that I couldn't muster. This is a useful feature for your partner to have.

It was 10:29 PM when we got to our bed. Once I'd rendered him horizontal, I captured my proverbial walking stick and made my way down past the tan line, traveling south along his bushy, swarthy treasure trail. The hair is thick and dark like sable. I was in search of his fleshy bearded drawbridge and the cave beneath it which I looked forward to spelunking. "Watch the master at work," I said as I ran my fingers through his pubic hair before taking him to a place only he and I know exists.

When it was over, I licked my lips, tasting him again. I rolled onto my back and there was my sundial erection standing tall for all to see. I jokingly asked him, "What're you gonna do? Just lie there and stare?" His elbows hooked and spread my knees in an astounding display of speed and agility.

When a man lifts my scrotum for further examination it can mean only one of two things. He's a physician about to check my health, or he's my partner, about to roll and stroke and lick me into a stupor of sexual oblivion. I leaned back on my elbows and spread my legs as is proper procedure. And then I was caught in a veritable manslide, an avalanche of manparts, limbs and lips, fingers and tongue. All of them slick, all of them energetic. Actually, it's about this time that procedures go out the window and I allow myself to simply react to his actions and bay at the moon.

Fred began to give me a masterful tongue bath. It was getting to be too much. I howled out, begging for more, begging him to take it to the next step. He did so gladly, and when his cock first entered me, I shook from the sudden subtle discomfort. "It's all right, I'm a police officer," Fred reminded me as he reached around and grabbed my free-dancing cock. "Gonna have to shake you down," he said. "Wrestle you to the ground," and I was pulled up into the dark, hairy arms as Fred's jackhammer cock took me over drilling for oil.

It was 11:59 PM. The rulebook says that at this point one officer is supposed to ask the other, "Was it good for you?" At least I think that's what the rulebook says. I decided I'd wait and look it up tomorrow as Fred's sweaty form lay on top of me and I wouldn't have moved a muscle and disturbed him for all the Medals of Valor the Department could give.

The story you have just read was true. On July 31st, trial was held in Superior Court Dept. 91, Bay City, state of California. Here are the results of that trial.

The suspect was convicted of first degree burglary. Gartholamew Roy White is now serving his term in the state penitentiary.

His accomplice was Percival Rock a.k.a. Stoney Black. This suspect was examined by five different psychiatrists and found to be mentally incompetent. He is now confined in the State Mental Institution for the Criminally Insane.

Their place of business was put up for sale and purchased by our pal, Grizz, who plans to turn it into The Den, Uptown, a high-class establishment where he will display his full set of Bigfoot mugs. In a glass case, under lock and key, of course.

Thanks to Jack Webb and Johnny Carson for the Clapper bit

Certain characters in this story appeared or were mentioned in the following episodes:

Alice Adams—Specialist
Anna Akhanatova—Body Worth Guarding
Buzzy Boone—Golden Angel
Clancy and Coleman brothers—Pilot
Creepy Charley—Pilot
Danny Deveen—Quadromania
David Delano—Death Notice
Flashy Floyd—Specialist
Garth White—Losing Streak
Jack Collins—Coffin for Starsky
Jenny Brown—Sweet Revenge
Jerry Green—Terror on docks
Lucky Lester—Iron Mike
Maggie McMillan—Deadly Imposter
Maxi Malone—Captain Dobey, You're Dead
Mickie Marra—Class in Crime
Red McGee—Huggy Can't Go Back
Stoney Black—Bloodbath
Teddy Tustin—Tap Dancing
Terrible Tessie—Omaha Tiger