Private Dick!; Chapter Four

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

main character's lack of smarts! 

Chapter Four:

     The city of Chum was enveloped in fog off the ocean as I staggered into my office. I’d hoovered about 8 or 9 beers last night, and my wrist was sore from using the bottle opener so much. Not really, but I definitely overdid; as I was still trying to ward off the depression demons that were hovering just above my head like a couch covering about to shroud my head in eternal shadows. That doesn’t make much sense, I know, but it’s all the Binge Beers talking. I turned on the overhead light, and it was like a road flare, inches away from my face, I recoiled from the light like a hung-over vampire craving the darkness.

 

     I was sitting at my desk; no, slumped over at my desk would be more accurate, (oh, the old carpenter was definitely pounding nails into my brain, trying to build a fancy pain castle!), when a gorgeous blond waltzed in to my office; or, maybe it was a wimpy, long-haired guy, at this point, no matter who it was, I just wished they’d be a little quieter, although they’d yet to speak.

     “Hello,” the whatever-the-hell-it-was said.

     It sounded to me like a megaphone about 2 feet from my ear; the hounds of Hades were definitely barking, much too loudly. “Hello,” I answered in almost a whisper, hoping that it would get the hint.

     “I need a detective,” it said.

     Well, there was no doubt; it was a woman, or was it an effeminate man? No, through bloodshot eyes, I could tell it was definitely a woman. She wore a skin tight dress with pictures of flowers on it; or, was it a cross dressing dude? No, unless he’d stuffed a couple of large cantaloupes down his front, it was a woman, and my initial observation was correct; she was a knock-out! “And how can I help you today?” With a question that brilliant, she’d know that I was several rungs up on the intelligence ladder!

     “I think I’m being discriminated against at work, simply because I make nude movies in my free time.”

     “I like movies,” I answered before my internal swerver kicked in. If it was working, I would have avoided saying it, but it was too late now. She burst into tears, and I quickly said, “Real movies, not nude ones.”

     Her loud wailing didn’t do my pounding head any favors. I had to shut her up, fast. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded; I meant with acting and stuff.”

     She wailed louder still, and I had to fight the urge to put my hands over my ears and shouting, “Would you stop crying, and wailing like an alarm clock having a nervous breakdown?” Instead, I wisely changed the subject. “Why don’t you tell me about it--err-the situation, not the movies.”

     She sniffed, and wiped away the tears with her tissued hand. “Well,” she managed, “when the bank that I work for,”

     It had to be a bank! I had no idea why I thought this, so I answered, “Go on.” Wow!

    “found out I was making naked movies, they fired me, saying those kind of movies reflected poorly on the bank.”

     Male deposits (of money) went up, I’ll bet, and women took their money to a bank that shied away from using t**s to advertise!  “Well, I’ll look into it, and get back to you.”

 

     I decided to go to her bank, and act like I wanted to deposit several thousand dollars into an account. Then, when the bank manager took me aside to talk to me, I’d wave Jane's, as I’d learned her name was, t**s in his face!

     I stood in line behind a man who could’ve used some breath mints, until I was called to an open window. I thanked the man who had pointed out the window, and had just started to enjoy the city view, when a teller said,

     “Sir, can I help you here?”

     Reluctantly, I pulled my gaze from the awesome view, and trudged to the counter. “Yes, I’d like to deposit several thousand dollars in a savings account.”

     “Certainly sir; let me get the bank manager over here, to welcome you!”

     To welcome my non-existent cash, you mean. “That would be great!”

     After a couple of minutes, I saw a man come out of an office, and approach the counter. “I’m the manager here, Axel Travon, and Debra tells me you’d like to open an account?”

     “Yes, that’s right; I’ve got a cashier’s check in my pocket for several thousand dollars.”

     “Oh, and how much is it for?”

     How stupid was this guy? “Several thousand.”

     “I understand sir; I mean how many thousands?”

     Oh, oh, time to do some fast thinking! “Ah, 1 million, 487 thousand dollars, and 84 cents.”

     “Very good sir; Debra will take good care of you.”

     Oh, oh, my plan wasn’t working; time to do some more fast thinking! “Ah, can I use the bathroom in you office?”

     “We have a bathroom right across the lobby.”

     “I know, but you never know who might use that one. For all I know, a dude with leprosy used it a while ago; I’d just feel better using yours; you look like nothing’s about to fall off.”

     He gave me a queer look (not queer queer, odd), and replied, “Sir, that’s not a public bathroom.”

     Time to bluff! “Fine, if you don’t want my several thousand dollars, I’ll take it down the street to a bank who’ll let me use the manager’s bathroom!”

     Briefly, I saw an irritated look flicker across his face, but then he replied, “Very well, come this way.”

 

    As I followed him to his office, I reflected that maybe it may have been smarter to just set up a meeting with the guy, but it was too late now; I’d already started down this road to disaster, and I had to play it out.

     Travon opened his office door, and motioned across the room. “The bathroom’s right there.”

     I started to walk towards it, then whirled around and confronted him. “You took one look at Jane Fremont’s t**s, and decided to fire her!”

     “Excuse me?”

      “You found out Jane was making nude movies after work, and fired her. That’s good cause for a unlawful termination lawsuit, one that I’m sure your bank won’t like!”

     “Look, I don’t know what Miss Fremont told you, but whatever she was doing on her own time had nothing to do with her termination; the woman was incompetent.”

     Oh; I had been played like a 3 dollar banjo by a woman who sucked, at least as far as this job was concerned. “I’m sorry; I was told falsly.”

 

     Back at my office, the spittle-covered face of Jane Fremont was cowering in fear, as I let her have it with both barrels of my anger. “I don’t like being lied to; I just went over to the bank, your ex-bank, and accused the manager of firing you unlawfully, only to be told you were fired because you’re a loser!”

     She burst into tears again, but this time it wouldn’t work. “Please, I didn’t know what else to do; I needed that job!”

     As I looked at her tear-ravaged face, I felt my anger start to dissipate. “Well, I can understand your desperation, I guess, but you shouldn’t have lied to me.”

     “I’m sorry, Mr. Havelock; I’d like to make it up to you. Can I make you a nice steak dinner?”

     I looked at her; she was gorgeous, not 36DD-gorgeus, but gorgeous none the less. “Oh, why not?