I’ve been re-reading (in some cases, reading for the first time) the Nero Wolfe books, by Rex Stout, which are classic golden-age murder mysteries. Usually I read for 15-20 minutes before going to bed. Last night I fell asleep while reading, and I had crazy-ass Nero Wolfe dreams.
I dreamed that Nero and Archie were on a case, and somehow Archie ran afoul of the baddie, whose name very improbably was “Vic”. Archie ends up almost-dead in the hospital, which understandably ENRAGES Wolfe.
Vic, who figures out what he’s done, sends Wolfe a letter saying he’s very sorry, he know what he did was a dire mistake, and he’s leaving town. Wolfe is not placated, and says so.
Archie finally wakes up and finds that his hospital room is full of orchids, but no Wolfe; Saul Panzer tells him that Wolfe has gone to seek his revenge.
At which point my dream did an epic smash-cut to Nero Wolfe, hot on Vic’s trail, out on the open road, blowing through the empty midwestern plains on a motorcycle.
I am so sad I woke up before I got to hear his monologue on the horrors of riding a motorcycle.
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