Sherlock Holmes and the Wicked Wizard of Oz

By Wakii Reeder

Hey Meathead,

Yah, I'm talkin' to you. I'm from Omaha.  I had a warehouse that I used to smuggle drugs and guns.  The warehouse was full and I was planning on making a final big sell before I could retire and live a simple life.  It was all set in a few days when one of my workers ratted me out.  The cops surrounded my place and I was cornered.  I thought about putting up a fight but there was only one of me and more cops than I cared to count.  I was about turn myself in when a warning alert blasted from the radio that a tornado was coming.  The plan was then to wait out the storm and see if there was an opening to escape.  I had my warehouse well-fortified and when I looked through the peephole I saw it was flying off the ground.  Hours passed until I landed here in Oz.  I stepped out of my warehouse carrying my peacemaker, when a cop car landed a few yards from me.  The cop dangled from his vehicle before seeing me.  Looking at me he said, 'Oh, Humbug!' before reaching…  Wait a moment…  You want to know more, then buy this stupid book written by two wack jobs who should be wearing long jackets.  There's witches, scarecrows, a cowardly lion, an..  oh yeah…  two British fellas who seem to know way too much.  Now scram!  I ain't sayin' nothin' else. [This story is written by Wakii Reeder and Fickal MacSciance]

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spiced Coffee Publishing
• Release date: Aug 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386908623

Wakii Reeder

Wakii Reeder likes to read the classics.  After the read, he like to turn them inside out and outside in, sack them up high and make them tumble on down.  After some tears, sweat, and blood (mostly from paper cuts), he tries to produce literature that will make his readers cherish it for the rest of their lives or want him to donate his organs or both. Classic authors who have influenced Wakii include (but not limited to): L. Frank Baum, Carlo Collodi, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Washington Irving, Herman Melville, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Mark Twain.

Book preview

...as the leader of the wolves came on the Tin Woodman swung his arm and chopped the wolf’s head from its body, so that it immediately died.

-L. Frank Baum (The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, 1900)

To the writers who inspired me to write this book.

First & Baker Street: Kansas

Holmes reached into his inside pocket of his jacket and took out his long pipe.  With slightly yellowed fingers, he packed and lit his pipe.  After taking a few long and cancerous puffs, he looked at Watson.

How was your appreciation for the American football game?

Well Holmes, the crowd was enthusiastic.  I can see how our British rugby has influenced America.  Did you play in your old-school days?

No, Watson.  I watched most games, but my sport of choice was boxing.

Ah, yes.  I recall you told me.

Did you know this rivalry dates to before these yanks fought their own civil war?

Not at all.

Elementary, Watson.  Missouri and Kansas had battles over slavery.  After the civil war ended, the two states started taking out their bloody hostility on the football field instead.

The driver was absorbed in his reading of Popeye the Sailor Man in the newspaper’s comics strips, when he smelled Sherlock Holmes.  He briskly stopped reading and opened the car door.

Mr. Pioneer is eager to meet the two of you, the driver stated out of the corner of his mouth while driving 93 miles (149.7 km) per hour.  He kept shifting his view from the road to the rearview mirror to look at his passengers.

I too, am just as keen to meet him, Watson stated while wiping some Kansas grey dust from his bowler hat.

Neither men were concerned about the car speed, so the drive lasted a short while.  The driver turned into the largest house in town, surrounded by much smaller houses.  With incredible speed, the driver swiftly got out from his seat to open the car door.  Both men noticed the driver wearing a red pin with a shiny grey lightning bolt running through it.  As soon as Holmes and Watson stepped from the car, the driver with just as much haste, jumped back in the car (Dukes of Hazard style) and burnt rubber out of the driveway.  As the men neared the house entrance, a butler wearing a half mustache to the left side of the face and a monocle glass on the right, opened the door.  He was wearing an all grey suit.

This way gentlemen, the butler groaned as if it was the least exiting thing in the universe that he could be doing at the time.  Unlike the diver, the butler had no value for hustle.  Like a slug, his legs seemed to drag along the fine carpet.  Each lift of his knee seemed to take longer than the previous lift.  His eyes drooped up at the two