Private Dick, Chapter 25

Oren Trough's adventures continue!

  

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

main character's lack of smarts!  Also, what do I look like, an editor?

 

     I had finally had hit the mother; load that is; as in the case to end all cases!  Well, I hoped it really wouldn't end all cases, but surely you knew that.  Oh s**t, there's that lame-a*s Shirley joke again, rearing it's ugly head again like those graduation pictures you receive from your nephew, that you smile at and say, "Thank you, it's a beautiful photograph!" while inside you're thinking I'm related to THAT? 

 

 

     Shirley I am serious when I tell you about this case.  I was doing absolutely nothing, and quite well I might add, when the bell above my door rang like a door-gong, announcing the arrival of my snow tires.  See, I had just been wondering how I was going to afford snow tires for my car; well, you'll understand better when I tell you more about it.  This client was an older gentleman who introduced himself as Colander Lancer (it strained my ability to not burst out laughing, I can tell you!  Woo, how's that work as a joke for you?)  Instead of laughing, I put on my serious dick face and said, "Can I help you?"  Pretty good conversation starter, I must say! 

 

     "Yes, I'd like you to track down a missing yard gnome."

 

     I almost spewed the cheeseburger I'd had for breakfast (long story; remind me to NOT tell you about it!)  "You want me to what?"

 

     "Locate my yard gnome."

 

     "I was hoping that I'd heard wrongly; a yard gnome?"

 

     "Yes, you heard correctly, my yard gnome."

 

     "Ah, I shouldn't have to point this out Mr. Colander, but---"

 

     "It's Mr. Lancer."

 

     Miff City!  "Right, Mr. Lancer, my point is, you can buy a yard gnome down at the hardware store.  That was the easiest case I've ever solved; just buy another one."  As I was answering him, I was thinking what a stupid name; Colander!

     He gave me a surely you can't be serious?  look.  I won't t even dignify my thought

with the obvious Shirley joke.

 

     "No; I just want everyone to think it's just a yard gnome.  In reality, I've hidden my priceless jewels inside, and now it's missing!"

 

     Holy gnome-the gnome that's really a bank vault!  I figured someone stole it, as I doubted very much that it up and walked away by itself; ha, kidding!

 

     "Alright, I'll see who's up to gnome good!"  Man, do I ever crack myself up!

 

 

******

 

 

     After getting the relevant particulars from Colander, (I still have trouble not laughing when I think that name!) I started my investigation.  I started it by talking to Lancer's personal gardener, Pep Jones.  I didn't figure on learning much, but I had to start somewhere, and somewhere was named Pep.

 

     I figured to put him at ease by first making small talk, "Pep, that's sort of an unusual name; what kind of name is that?"

 

     "The kind of name that's mine!" he answered, and right away I could tell he was put out and hostile towards me.  If I had been in a court of law, I first would have asked the judge where the restroom was, and then I would have asked if I had permission to treat this witness as hostile.  He was being more than hostile, I'd say he was being a hostile dick! 

 

     "Well, Pep," I said his name like it was language-ipic--epic--oh, what's that medicine that makes you spew everywhere?  It'll come to me--anyway, I continued, "Where were you last Satur---"  I never got to finish because I was gagging and bent at the waist, trying to catch my breath, because his size 11's had knocked the wind out of me when he had kicked me in the gut.  Pep turned and disappeared quickly, like lemon cake at my Uncle Bennie's combination 57th birthday/high school graduation party.  That thought suddenly reminded me he had borrowed my garden rake; anyway, as I lay there flopping around like a human trout trying desperate to catch my breath, I vowed to hunt this Pep Jones down; as he obviously had information about who had taken the yard gnome.

 

 

     Through a contact on the police force, I had gotten an address for one Pep Jones, although with a name that common, the odds were mighty slim that he was the one I was looking for.  And, say unbelievably, this was the right guy, why would hang around his home, just waiting for this dick to swoop in a hit him with a barrage of difficult-to-answer questions.  No, the way he was acting towards me, either I'd pissed him off about something, or, more likely, he didn't want to talk to me.  I walked up the sidewalk like a man on a mission and rang the door bell.  After a few moments that passed like a few moments, no one had answered the door.  Just as I'd suspected, he wasn't home.  Damn, now I'd have no choice but to sit and wait for him, and if he was smart, and if he was the right man (lord, how I hated playing the If game, on top of the Waiting game, he'd be in the Arctic by now, because that would be the only place he'd be safe from me (well, maybe Greenland and parts of Los Angeles).  I don't hate sitting when I'm home, but on a case?  No thank you sister!

 

 

     Several hours had gone by, and I was eyeing the empty Coke bottle I'd forgotten to throw away, with the thought maybe I could use it as an emergency outhouse, when the front door opened, and guess who should emerge?  Well, I'll just tell you; Pep Jones, the Pep Jones, and at first, it looked like he was headed for the sidewalk in front of his house, possibly he intended to go for a brisk walk, then he stopped, snapped his fingers, and headed for his back yard.  I decided to follow him.  As soon as he disappeared around the corner of the house, I left the safety of the bushes across the street, where I'd kept a sleepy eye on his house, and sprinted across the road.  Oh, do you think my bladder hurt?  Let me answer that question for you; hell yes it hurt!  With each painful step, water sloshed from one side to the other, and it felt my bladder was a leaking water balloon.  I was concentrating so much on not watering the pavement that the sudden warning shriek of an automobile scared the living s**t out of me.  A brown jalopy skidded to a stop inches from me.  I reacted without thinking; I slammed my palms down hard on the hood and yelled,

 

     "I'm walking  here!"

 

     A man of the cloth rolled down his window and replied, "Oh, pardon me, I didn't have time to see you; you just ran out from nowhere."

 

     "Well, you might want to slow down!" I replied.

 

     "And you might want to blow me!" he angrily responded, and went screeching on his way. 

 

     I stared at the disappearing machine, and continued on my way, with what felt like a water polo match taking place in my pants.  Man, did I ever have to go!  I somehow managed to make it into his back yard, with my eyes swimming the back stroke, and ran headlong into Pep Jones coming the other way, carrying what else?  To save time, I'll just tell you; the yard gnome!  We collided, and the yard gnome went flying, until gravity did it's thing, and it smashed into the ground; where it exploded, sending rubies, diamonds, and priceless pearls arcing through the twilight, until they came to eventual rest in the grass.  I was groggy, but other than that, I seemed to be okay.  He, on the other hand, was down and certainly out. 

 

 

******

 

 

     After watching him like a hawk with a telescope, Pep at last began to stir.  I looked at him playing face-tag with the pavement, and said, "Well, maybe know you'll be a little more cooperative; tell me who you're protecting!"

 

     He gave me a look like something, I couldn't tell what, and replied, "Ah, I promised him--err--yeah, I promised him anonymity.  I, ah, never knew his name, just an alias, The Preacher.  That's who I was supposed to meet, but literally ran into you instead."

 

     Wait just a gall darned minute here!  Was he telling me what I think he was telling me?  That he didn't know the identity of his accomplice?  Imagine, I was almost wiped off the face of the full-sized map by a preacher, and now he was mentioning another?  What are the odds?

 

 

     It turns out, unbelievably so, that after being unable to catch Jones' accomplice, and turning the case over to the police, they were able to apprehend one Mitchell Shank, a con man with an arrest warrant longer than Grandma Gertrude's support stockings and, after at first denying any involvement, he eventually admitted to masterminding the crime.  He'd learned of Colander's ownership of many thousands of dollars worth of priceless jewels, and approached Lancer's housekeeper, Pep, and made him a deal that he couldn't afford to pass up.  In exchange for Pep stealing the jewels, he's split the profits 90/10%.  Maybe Pep was confused, and thought he was getting the 90%, because in my opinion, he got reamed!  Pep would then meet up with Shank, which I'd apparently interrupted by almost becoming Shank's hood ornament.  After Shank and my altercation, he decided to abort the hand-over, and drove off, leaving Pep literally holding the bag.  I still couldn't believe that Shank wasn't a real preacher.  Other than the "blow me!" comment, he'd been so believable! 

 

 

******

 

     Lancer was overjoyed when I told him he'd be getting his jewels back, after the trials of Jones and Shank, of course, that he'd doubled my fee!  $300 smackers!  And who says the P.I. game is for totally-ignorant fools?

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Marie]

Well, I have to say that the P.I. game is definitely for totally ingorant fools. Although he did get the jewels back. I can't imagine anyone putting priceless jesels in a garden gnome in the first place. Another fool. And I also can't imagine a P.I. getting so little money for a case, although this one is probably worth it.

[Michael Stevens]

You have to use your imagination quite a bit with this guy; thanks Marie!