Private Dick, Chapter 30

More Oren Trough!

 

 

*Warning; weirdness ahead!

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

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

     After being b***h slapped by Ballast, it was hard to get back to work.  I tried to concentrate on my newest case, but it was 'bullshit case time'!  I was feeling like I'd been hammered by a $10,000 flesh-club.  I felt like an emaciated dick; who could have put on about $10,000 pounds of green.  I told myself just to let it go, but screw that; it was tough!  The 'bullshit case' involved a circus clown who's floppy shoes had mysteriously disappeared, and he suspected a rival clown with a rival circus had stolen them.  My first thought upon hearing Mollusk the Clown's tale of woe was, Mollusk the Clown?  My next thought was, yeah, Beardo the Clown was going into business for himself; 'Floppy Shoes are Us!"   Give me a break!  The only two dudes that remotely gave a crap about this 'case' were Mollusk and Beardo the Clowns.  A sure bet?  I didn't think so with a capital no.  But, as always, things were a little tight financially, so I'd have to force myself to give a s**t.

 

 

     Mollusk the Clown, a.k.a. Guy Poontooner, had told me everything I'd need to know to crack this case.  I had everything I'd need, except giving a crap.  Beardo the Clown worked for The Pronto Vacuum's Circus, which seemed like it was aptly named.  It was a corporate sponsored circus, who's sole purpose was (at least to me,) sucking money out of your pocket as fast as possible.  So I made the mistake of arriving at the beginning of their show; if I'd have had any brains, that's what I wouldn't have been done.  But, I was never accused by anyone of being anywhere close to that---wait, I think I just ranked on myself, but it's out there now.   Anyway, I waited until their pathetic dog and pony show was over, and walked backstage with the purposeful gait of someone with a clue--err--where I was headed.  In reality, I had no clue where I was going; so I glanced around, and around, until at last a guy with a mug like electronic fence said to me,

 

     "Can I help you?"

 

     I don't like being bullied, so I replied, rather harshly, "Why don't you mind your own business?  I'm trying to find Beardo the Clown, okay?"

 

     "I'm Beardo the Clown."

 

     "You expect me to believe that?  You're wearing regular clothes."  How stupid did this guy think I was, anyway?

 

     He looked incredulous, and answered, "You do know that Beardo the Clown is just a character  I play, don't you?"

 

     Red-hot anger flooded through me, and I snapped, "Of course I do!"

 

     He glanced sharply at me like I was the dumbest dick he'd ever had to deal with, but replied only, "I'm Deke Sanders, better known around here as D-Sand."

 

     "And why exactly is that?"

 

     Once again, he looked at me like my forehead sloped dangerously, and responded, "Ah, that's an abbreviation of my full name."   

 

     This guy was rubbing me the wrong way, and I don't mean physically.  "If you say so; anyway, I wanted to ask you about some stolen floppy clown shoes."

 

     "Let me guess, Mollusk the Clown is saying I'm responsible?"

 

     "Not only responsible, he's saying outright that you did it."

 

     "Huh?"

 

     Oh sure, he was trying to throw me off by pretending he didn't understand.  "I said, he's claiming you did it.  There's a simple way to clear this up; just let me see your clown shoes."

 

     "Man, are you for real, dude?"

 

     "Hey, don't try changing the subject; I'm standing right in front of you, so cut the crap, that won't work with me; shoes?"

 

     He sighed like he had something to hide and walked over to his locker, which was conveniently near by; too conveniently.  I have no idea why I said that; I guess I wanted to make it sound more dramatic, cause the truth was he simply opened the door, grabbed a huge pair of floppy clown shoes, and brought them over to me.  Immediately, I read the tag inside; "Beardo's Clown Shoes."  Well, that settled it; Beardo was innocent.  These were his shoes.   With my intuition plummeting like a weighted stump, I sheepishly apologized to Beardo, or whatever his real name was, and practically ran to the door, and away from The Humiliation Circus, at least it was for me.  Looks like Pontooner had played me like the stupid idiot he thought I was.

 

 

     "That's it?  Oh, you stupid dumb dick!  How could you believe that lying rent-a-clown?"

 

     Needless to say, Pontooner wasn't taking the truth well.  "Look, the guy showed me his clown floppies, and there was his name, 'Beardo', sewn into his shoes.  With proof like that, I'm inclined to think you tried to get rid of the competition."

 

     He gave me what I can charitably describe as rather disapproving look, and stormed to the door, yelling, "This is bullshit!  I'll give you nothing!"

 

     I was angry, but not surprised.  He'd tried to pull the sheep over my eyes, and found this dick too tough of a nut to believe his lies. 

 

 

     I stared in disbelief at the scene unfolding right in front of me.  After accusing Mollusk the Clown of lying to me, I'd called up Beardo, and told him it looked like he was right about Pontooner, and that he was in the clear.  He'd been so grateful, he had given me two free tickets to The Pronto Vacuum Circus performance and so, here I was backstage, staring at the feet of Beardo the Clown, talking to some broad who must have liked clown-sex, because she was draped all over him like a $30 tablecloth.  He was wearing different floppy shoes, and that aroused my dick radar. 

 

 

     I was hiding in the janitor's closet which was right next to Beardo's dressing room, waiting for him to emerge,.  Then  I was going to sneak in and take a good look at his shoes.

 

 

     After what seemed like hours, he finally left and I snuck across the hall, and found the door locked.  I'm terrible at picking locks, so I just decided no messing around.  I raised my leg and kicked the door right below the lock.  The door splintered and the freed door crashed into the inside opposite wall.  I knew the racket would alert a deaf dude, so I had to hurry.  Not wasting any time, I went right to his dressing closet and quickly found the floppies.  I picked them up and right away, the Mollusk the Clown tag sown inside caught my eye.  Son of a b***h; the son of a b***h had lied to me!  Just then, I heard yelling from out in the hall, and then the baritone voice of a woman sporting a van dyke beard yelled,

 

     "What the Hell are you doing in here?"

 

     I had to think fast, never one of my strong suits, "Ah..." and I punched her and ran.  As I ran down the hall, I heard,

 

     "Oh, you pecker!" and all guilt about punching a woman vanished, as the bearded woman was obviously a man, who came sprinting down the hall after me.  Like a dick in overdrive (fear is a rocket sled for your feet!) I flew down the hall, through the exit door, and was soon lost in the blackness of the night.

 

 

     I had still been holding Mollusk's floppy shoes, and presented them to him.  Pontooner took the shoes, and paused, like he was waiting for something; maybe an apology.  I started to mumble one, and he held up his hand to stop me, and said,

 

     "No need to apologize.  Sure, you're a throbbing tool for suspecting me of lying, but the bottom line is that you recovered my shoes."

 

     I was glad he feel that way, as once again I needed the money.

 

 

     Three weeks later, and still no check from Pontooner.  I finally got fed up and went to where his circus, The Big-Top Bonanza, had been set up, but there was no sign they'd ever been set up there.   I tried to call the number he'd given me, but it was answered by a voice that sounded like, oh, you know that tone of voice you get right after you've just been to the Caribbean on a vacation, and now you're back at work, and you're job sucks the very life out of you?  Like that,

 

     "Macata Insurance, this is Jennifer speaking, how may I help you?"

 

     "Ah, is this the number for the Big Top Bonanza Circus?"

 

     "The what?" she answered like I was f****d in the head. 

 

     "The Big Top Bonanza Circus."

 

     "Ah, no, this is Macata Insurance."  She waited for a reply, but I was so pissed I couldn't speak.

 

     "Hello?"

 

     I slammed the phone down in a fit of rage.  The circus was gone, hence Pontooner was gone, hence my fricking money was gone.  I'd been screwed again!

 

       

 

 

Reviews

[Marie]

He should give up the detective business and become a clown. He seems good at that.

[Michael Stevens]

Yeah, I'll admit he pretty much sucks, but he doesn't see himself that way!