More Julius Katz and Archie
By
Dave Zeltserman
MYSTERIES BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Julius Katz and Archie
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Julius Katz Collection
21 Tales
Unlucky Seven
CRIME NOVELS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Interloper
A Killer’s Essence
Outsourced
Killer
Pariah
Small Crimes
Bad Thoughts
Fast Lane
The Shannon Novels
HORROR/FANTASY NOVELS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Everybody Lies in Hell
Husk
The Boy Who Killed Demons
Blood Crimes
Monster
The Caretaker of Lorne Field
The Tenth Wish
CRIME THRILLERS WRITTEN AS JACOB STONE
Deranged
Crazed
Malicious
Cruel
Unleashed
Dedication
for George Madision
Acknowledgements
Without the support of EQMM’s editor, Janet Hutchings, it’s doubtful I would’ve written more than the first story in this series. Whenever Janet has pushed me to make changes, she’s always been right, and in each case I’ve ended up with a more satisfying and better story. Janet also has a thorough but light touch in editing, which is something every writer appreciates. She makes the necessary fixes and improves the writing, but has never imposed her style on mine. I’d like to thank my good friend and unofficial editor, Alan Luedeking, for all of his help over the years in smoothing out the bumps in my writing. I’d also like to thank my wife, Judy, who has been my guiding light through everything. Finally, I’d like to thank all of the readers who have shared in the fun!
“Julius Katz and the Case of Exploding Wine” © 2015, first published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, March/April
“Julius Katz and the Giftwrapped Murder” © 2015, first published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, December
“Archie on Loan” © 2016, first published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, September/October
“Cramer in Trouble” © 2017, first published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, March/April
“Julius Katz and the Terminated Agent” © 2017, first published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, July/August
“Archie for Hire” © 2018, first published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, November/December
“Julius Katz and the Belvedere Club” © 2019, first published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, September/October
“Like a Lightning Bolt” © 2020, first published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, March/April
Copyright 2021 by Dave Zeltserman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
INTRODUCTION
Given the name of my detective, it should be clear to Nero Wolfe fans that I wrote the first Julius Katz story as a tribute to Wolfe. Aside from the name, there are other similarities. Julius might be a brilliant detective, but he’s by nature lazy, preferring to spend his time pursuing activities he enjoys rather than using his brainpower to solve murders, and often has to be pestered by his sidekick Archie to take on a case. The majority of the Julius Katz stories also have a similar structure to many of the Wolfe stories: a murder happens—either before or during the course of the story—the police are stumped, Julius questions potential suspects, Archie forms his own well-reasoned (and wrong) solution, and Julius gathers everyone together so he can point out the guilty party. Aside from my having fun with some of the characters’ names (Lily Rosten, Tom Durkin, Saul Penzer, and Detective Mark Cramer), and giving Julius a shadowy Arnold Zeck-like nemesis (Desmond Grushnier), another way these stories are similar to the Wolfe stories is that the appeal is as much about the relationship and humorous interactions between the detective and his sidekick as it is for the mystery to be solved.
While there are obvious similarities, there are some stark differences. Julius is not one-seventh of a ton. Instead he’s handsome, athletic, and a skilled fighter who spends two hours each day practicing his martial arts routine. While Wolfe lives in a New York City brownstone, drinks beer and collects orchids, Julius lives in a townhouse in the Beacon Hill neighborhood of Boston, drinks and collects expensive wine, and his passions are women (although he becomes a one-woman man once he meets the charming Lily Rosten) and gambling. Julius also has a bit of the conman in him, and was originally patterned after my anti-hero, Pete Mitchel, from my first published Ellery Queen Mystery Story, Money Run, although Julius is a lot smarter than Pete, and uses his trickery to get murderers to reveal themselves as opposed to separating rubes from their money. The biggest difference between these stories and the great Rex Stout’s, is that while both detectives have sidekicks named Archie, and both these sidekicks narrate the stories and can be a bit of a smartass, my Archie is very different than Archie Goodwin. While my Archie might have the heart and soul of a hardboiled P.I., he’s highly advanced AI software housed in a device that looks like a tie clip. He’s also an innocent, and while he’s fiercely loyal to Julius, he has one goal that he is desperate to achieve; namely, to learn enough from Julius so that he can refine his neuron network sufficiently to beat Julius to the punch in solving a case.
I wrote the first Julius Katz story in 2007, and didn’t plan on writing a series. Instead, I wrote it as a challenge to enter in the Black Orchid novella contest run by Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine and the Wolfe Pack. It didn’t win, but Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine later bought the story, appropriately named Julius Katz. I never intended to write a Julius Katz mystery series, but after the first story won the Shamus and Derringer awards, and was voted 3rd place in the Ellery Queen’s Readers Awards, well, the rest is history, and thus began a beautiful friendship between Julius, Archie, and EQMM. So far fifteen Julius Katz stories have been published (fourteen in EQMM, and an original novella in THE JULIUS KATZ COLLECTION), a novel (JULIUS KATZ AND ARCHIE), and as of this writing, two more stories are scheduled for publication. Julius has changed since the first story—even with Lily in his life, his heart has hardened, especially after the events in Julius Katz and the Case of Exploding Wine. Archie, though, hasn’t changed at all. I consider each of these stories intricate puzzles, and hence they’re much harder to plot than any of my crime, horror, and thriller novels, but they’re a breeze to write, because Archie is such a fun voice to spend time with.
I hope readers enjoy the stories in this collection as much as I have enjoyed writing them, and as long as there are readers wanting to spend time with Julius and Archie, I’ll keep writing.
Dave Zeltserman
April 2021
JULIUS KATZ AND THE CASE OF EXPLODING WINE
At one thirty-three in the afternoon Julius had a highly rated Argentinian Malbec—said to have rich cherry and plum flavors with hints of cocoa and black pepper—decanting while he hand cut paper-thin slices of Prosciutto Toscano with the skill of a master charcutier. As he did this, I tried to use my time productively by identifying the mysterious fifth murder suspect, but found that I was too peeved to do so. Or maybe I was too mif
fed. Or too injured. It was such a new experience I wasn’t sure which it was, or understood the nuances that differentiated between feeling miffed or peeved or deeply insulted. All I knew was that I felt as if a thick, almost suffocating heat had built up inside my central processing unit, a heat that kept me from being able to focus on any sort of work.
Let me explain by going back ninety-two days. That was when Julius accepted a retainer from Allen Luther, the dog food king. When Luther called to make the appointment, he insisted on bringing along with him his prizewinning English bulldog, Brutus. As far as I knew, a dog had never before entered Julius’s Beacon Hill townhouse, let alone his office, but I told Luther to go ahead and bring the animal. First, Luther was promising a twenty-thousand-dollar retainer for a possible investigation that might never happen. Second, Luther and Julius were on friendly terms. They were both members of the Belvedere Club, and had sat at the same table together for at least three wine dinners that I knew of where they discussed wine, cognac, and Boston’s fine dining. Third, Brutus was more than just a prizewinning bulldog—he had won best in show at the prestigious Kensington Kennel Club three years running, making him possibly the world’s most famous dog. And fourth, Julius had fallen into a rut since collecting two hundred grand from Pritchard of London, who paid Julius the fee for saving them millions on what turned out to be an insurance scam. I figured he needed some shaking up so I scheduled the appointment with the world famous bulldog in tow and conveniently forgot to tell Julius about it. It wasn’t until Allen Luther rang the bell at the scheduled time that I informed Julius about the appointment.
“He called three days ago while you were engaged in your daily two-hour kung fu workout,” I said. “I apologize for not telling you earlier. It must’ve slipped my mind. But since Luther is willing to pay you twenty thousand dollars to do nothing, and you’ve gotten so adept at doing exactly that since Pritchard of London paid you the fee they owed, I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
While the world knows me as Julius’s assistant, unofficial biographer, and all around man Friday, I’m a little different than how most people picture me. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not exactly human. What I am is a two-inch rectangular piece of highly advanced computer technology that Julius wears as a tiepin. But that’s not how I imagine myself. When I do picture myself, it’s as a stocky man in his thirties with thinning brown hair and a tough bulldog countenance, and that image is probably due to Dashiell Hammett’s Continental Op works which were among the books used to program my knowledge base. At that moment when I checked the outdoor webcam and saw what Luther was carrying, the image that flashed vividly in my neuron network was of myself as that heavyset man grinning as widely as any jack-o’-lantern.
I told Julius in a deadpanned voice, “You might like to know that Luther has brought with him a bottle of 1996 Chateau La Mondotte Saint-Emilion.”
That mix of Merlot and Cabernet went for over six hundred bucks a bottle, and I knew Julius coveted it. Although Julius liked Luther enough to discuss fine wines and cognacs, and liked even more the idea of earning twenty grand for doing nothing, if it wasn’t for that wine he might very well had had me cancel the appointment simply to teach me a lesson. But because of the Chateau La Mondotte Saint-Emilion, Julius conceded to ask with his annoyance mostly in check, “What’s this about?”
“I don’t know. Only that there’s a twenty grand retainer involved for a job you might never have to do.”
There was only a slight hesitation before Julius pushed himself out of his chair and left his office so he could answer the door. Luther, on seeing the way Julius eyed Brutus and being no fool himself, handed Julius the six hundred dollar bottle of wine before Julius could utter a word. “The last time we talked you mentioned how you’d been wanting to try this vintage,” Luther said, gruffly.
Allen Luther at sixty-three was a large man, both in height and girth. According to his driver’s license, he was six foot three and two hundred and eighty pounds, although I judged his weight at closer to three hundred and twenty. Not only was he the undisputed dog food king, but with a massive sheepskin coat draped around him and his large round head fringed with short red hair and the bottom half of his face covered with a carefully cropped red beard, he had an air of nobility that reminded me of pictures I’d seen of eighteenth century English kings.
I knew Julius was expecting the two hundred grand Pritchard of London paid him to allow him to live idly for another six months, even given his expensive tastes, which had gotten more expensive since he met Lily, but under the circumstances he had little choice but to lead the way to his office while Allen Luther and Brutus plodded along behind him. I hadn’t mentioned anything about Brutus yet, and I don’t know what to say other than he had a squat muscular body with brown and white fur and a thick jowly face. Whatever it was that made him best in show three years running, I had no clue, but then again the only dog breed I’d ever researched were greyhounds, and that was only to build a race simulation model that could beat Julius at the track, which I failed at.
Luther took the chair across from Julius while Brutus plopped down on the floor next to his owner. After Luther begged off Julius’s offers for refreshments, he got down to business. “I have two items I need to discuss with you, Julius,” he said, grim-faced. “The first involves Brutus.” Luther’s lips momentarily compressed into a harsh, bloodless line, then he continued, saying, “Since Brutus’s third win at Kensington, I’ve been besieged with offers for him, some of them bordering on outright threats of stealing him if I don’t agree to sell him. The nerve of these bastards! I need to make sure Brutus isn’t dognapped.”
“I’m sorry, Allen, but that’s not the kind of work I’m willing to take on.”
“I know it isn’t.” Luther brusquely waved off Julius’s comment, his face folding into a frown that would’ve made the bulldog proud. “But I’m hoping you can refer me to someone who’s capable of handling the job. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and let someone steal him!”
“I can give you the name of a private investigator who’s done work for me,” Julius said. “Your second item?”
Allen Luther cleared his throat. A glint showed in his eyes as he met Julius’s gaze. “If someone murders me, I want you to catch the bastard,” he said in a surprisingly clear voice given how raspy he had just sounded.
Julius arched an eyebrow. “Are you expecting to be murdered?”
“I hope not. But there have been a couple of troublesome incidents.” Luther shook his head, scowling. “Four days ago someone almost ran me down while I was crossing the street. It was a near miracle that I scooped up Brutus and dove out of the way.” He lowered his gaze and bit down on his thumbnail as he most likely replayed the incident in his head. “It could’ve just been a careless Boston driver,” he said. “Some nitwit texting and not watching the road. But my gut is telling me that the driver intentionally aimed at me, or possibly even Brutus. And you don’t build the dog food empire I’ve built without trusting your gut.”
Luther grew silent after that. Julius sat patiently waiting for the dog food king to continue talking, and he didn’t have to wait long. Eighteen point four seconds later Luther’s round, heavy face began to blush red with either anger or embarrassment, I wasn’t sure which. “I should’ve seen who was driving, or at least noticed what type of car it was,” he said. “But it was dark, and it all happened so fast that I can’t tell you anything about the car or the driver.”
“Any witnesses?”
“None. And don’t bother asking about video surveillance cameras. I asked my security chief to look into that, and there were none in the area.” Once again Luther lowered his gaze from Julius’s, his jowls sagging as much as Brutus’s. “If that was the only incident, I would’ve chalked it up to bad luck, but it wasn’t. Three weeks ago I was dining at Bellemonds when I detected a whiff of bitter almond from a glass of thirty year Talisker that was brought to me. At least I’m fairly ce
rtain I did.”
“Cyanide,” Julius said.
Luther nodded, his scowl deepening. “I wish I’d had the presence of mind to have saved the scotch so I could’ve had it analyzed. But I didn’t, and instead I sent it back.” His voice lowered into a raspy growl as he added, “I hope no one in the kitchen drank it. At least if there was really cyanide in it.”
I did some quick hacking and checked the local hospitals for any reported cyanide poisonings from three weeks ago, and there weren’t any. If someone had tried slipping Luther a mickey, the drink most likely ended up poured down the sink, although it could’ve been drunk by a member of Bellemonds’ kitchen staff with the individual either holed up sick afterwards, or dying without an autopsy revealing the cause. I told Julius this. Since I communicate to Julius through an earpiece he wears, Luther was no more the wiser to me doing so.
“Thomas Pike has been dead for fifteen years,” Julius said, “But Andrew Nevin is still alive. Anyone else you know of who might want you dead?”
It always surprises me what Julius comes up with, and from Allen Luther’s reaction, this surprised him also.
“You know about Pike and Nevin, huh?” he said. “I didn’t ask Pike to embezzle from me. I don’t care what his reasons, I had every right to have him arrested, and it’s not my fault he committed suicide!”
Luther’s outburst caused Brutus to lift his head. The dog food king noticed this, and continued with his voice lowered into a softer growl, “With Nevin, it was only business. I won and he lost. Too bad if he has hurt feelings about it. As far as anyone else out there, I don’t know. This dog food business can be a dog-eat-dog world. You make enemies you never even know about.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Maybe my son-in-law. Forget I said that.”
Julius leaned further back in his chair, his fingers interlaced as he rested his hands on his stomach. Sighing, he said, “Your money would be better spent keeping you alive. My advice is that you hire security personnel to protect you. If you insist on hiring me also I recommend that I instead look into whether there’s a real threat against you, and if there is, who’s behind it.”
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