How High

Well, the power was easy enough to fix. It seems while Clark was on the phone with the Unknown Caller, Michael and I were simultaneously blending frozen cocktails in the blender (as one does), whipping up a batch of frangipan crumble cakes in the KitchenAid (natch) mixer, and cooking up a humongous platter of chilaquiles for everyone. The assorted appliances being used all at the same time caused the circuit to overload and the main switch to trip. 

After cleaning up the mess caused by Michael nicking his finger with a santoku knife blade (he's a real prolific bleeder), which occurred while rummaging in the kitchen drawer for a box of matches, which he needed so that he could go to the shed and look for a flashlight in the dark, in order to look at the breaker box under the stairs and flip the switch back on, by which time the auxiliary generator had kicked in and the lights were back on anyway, we decided to put our heads together over this mysterious matter of The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black. 

As we sat there, munching delicious chilaquiles and sipping Bahama Mamas, as well as nursing bandaged fingers, Clark started the discussion.

"Gents, I have only two questions. Who is The Ominous Tall Man Dressed All In Black? Why is he so interested in killing us? And can I have the recipe for these chilaquiles?"

"That's three questions," said Michael, "but I think we should start by eliminating from our inquiry those tall men dressed in black that we KNOW can't be him."

"How do we do that when it could be absolutely anybody?" I asked.

"Well, it's not anyone that is currently dead, for example." said Michael. "It's not Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Johnny Cash or David Frye, is it?"

"Obviously not" said Clark. "Need I say 'duh'? By the way, this frangipan is an utter delight."

"You really like it, huh?"

"Absolutely, my gosh, it just melts in the mouth. I seriously want to taste this for the rest of my life."

"Anytime you want a batch, I can whip them right up for ya, no worries."

"AHEM!!And it's not any of our friends in the business of show, is it? Not Nick Cave, Dave Gahan or Peter Murphy, creepy as they all are?"

"Or Pee-Wee," Clark snarkily added.

"He's not that tall." I shot back.

"Wait a second! Waaaaait a cotton-pickin' second!" said Michael. "That is it! Tall! What if 'tall' in this instance does not refer to the man's height?!"

"What, then? His coffee preference?" I jokingly enquired.

"Maybe, maybe... it's worth checking out. Clark - get the 'Vette ready! We're going to Starbucks!"

Just as we were heading out the door, the phone rang again...

TO BE CONTINUED.... (dun - dun - duuuunnnnnnn!!)