Private Dick, Chapter 33

Oren Trough NEVER gives up, even though he probably should!

     A few days after Giant Neck had threatened to make dick chowder out of me, I was doing my usual when the phone rang. 

 

     "Damn, off you go Miss Usual," I shook my head, pole vaulted her clear, and picked up the receiver,

 

     "Clarkson Investigations, we aim to please," I said.

 

     "Don't you believe it!" Miss Usual shouted.

 

     I gave her a dirty look that said, "Fill out a complaint and get in line, baby!" 

 

     "The mystery voice on the other end of the line chirped, "Hello?"

 

     "Yes, I'm sorry, my secretary was confused about taking dictation."  She frowned and gave me the Usual look and rolled off the bed and reached for her clothes.  I tried to signal for her to stay with my eyes but apparently she somehow missed it because she continued getting dressed.  I had decided to hire a secretary; maybe that had been wishful thinking but two words were enough to talk me into it; Roxanne Easy.  That's her name, I s**t you not.  Meanwhile, the mystery voice continued droning,

 

     "Yes, I need someone to..."

 

     "Whoa, let me stop you right there; this bat doesn't swing both way!"

 

     There was a long moment of dead air then the mystery voice said, "Huh?"

 

     I then figured I had cut him off too soon so I answered, "Nothing; now what did you need?"

 

     "My name is Wiley Baxter and I want my wife followed discreetly."

 

     "Well, I usually follow someone wearing a neon orange sweater and announcing through a megaphone that I'm following them but I guess for you I can make an exception."  I was hot; who was this a*****e to tell me how to tail someone?  "no, that's how I always follow someone."

 

    "Good; glad to hear it; so anyway I have reason to believe my wife is stepping out on me."

 

     I assumed he meant cheating, not clog dancing; "Give me the particulars and I'll see what's up with her."  The sound of the slamming front door told me Miss Usual had gone.  She wasn't much of a secretary but lordy, what a body!

 

 

******

 

 

     Great, another follow the cheater case! I thought as I sat in my car outside Mrs. Cheater's house waiting for her to leave or some scummy pervert in a raincoat to show up here.  Mr. Baxter was gone to work and Mrs. Baxter was alone in the house.  So far this stakeout had been uneventful, unless you counted the nosy neighbor knocking on my window and demanding to know what I was doing there.  I kicked into high gear on the lying train, telling her I was a grass and soil inspector with the city inspecting her yard to make sure the grass wasn't lopsided.  It sounded completely ridiculous but Mrs. Nosy must have bought it because she trooped back towards her house like someone who had purchased my bullshit.  I absolutely hated these bullshit cases but hey, a guy has to eat and a guy needed recreational drugs to escape the pressures of this job.  My drug of choice was alcohol, and the more the better, so here I was.

 

 

     I was struggling to keep my eyes open and losing (I don't know how long I'd been asleep but I was jolted awake when my forehead recoiled off of the steering wheel), when a car pulled up in front of the Baxter home and I'd say about six feet of idiot got out and bounded up the steps to the front door, rang the bell, and stood there like a moron who's waiting for the door to open.  I couldn't tell much about him as he wore a fedora rakishly pulled down over his eyes, but judging by the suit he wore that must have been a bad joke, the guy must have been like me, a dick for hire.  Just then the front door opened and I could immediately tell that the carpet matched the drapes on Mrs. Baxter, for she was wearing nothing but a smile.  She appeared to squeal and Mr. Gigolo and she disappeared behind the closing door.  I grabbed my camera and exited my car, sprinting across the road, which was lightly travelled at this hour, and made into the cover of some shrubbery outside what I had already determined to be the Baxter's bedroom window. 

 

 

******

 

    

     I gazed through a crack in the curtains and saw just what I'd expected to find.  This was the wrong room.  Damn!  I knew  it was a little too convenient!  I looked down the side of the house and saw another window with another bit of shrubbery in front of the window so I rolled across the grass over to the window; damn, somebody had a dog!  Thinking about it now, if I had it to do over again, and knowing what I did now, I'd have skipped the rolling in the grass part, but oh well!   Anyway, I stuck my head up through the tangle of branches until I could see into the window.  There they were!  These pictures were going to shock Mr. Baxter and the thought of maybe keeping a copy for myself crossed my mind when suddenly I was startled by a voice telling me he was police and to exit the shrubbery with my hands up.  Damn, the thought of being arrested was bad enough but I hadn't taken any pictures yet and now for sure there would be no peep show pics for later.  What a waste!  Anyway, Officer Unfortunate Interruption waited with a scowl and a blue hat while I carefully made my way out of the shrubbery.  I must have looked much like a bush myself as I had leaves, grass, and dog s**t stuck to my clothing.  

 

     "Just what do you think you're doing?"

 

     "Ah, I can explain---"

 

     'Save it for the judge, you're under arrest for being a peeping Tom, and take a shower once in a while!"

 

    

******

 

 

     So now here I sit in jail having to listen to other prisoners swear and yell.  I had given up on trying to sleep with all this racket but at least I'd learned several new descriptive phases for the human anatomy.  My appointment to appear before Judge Rosenwine wasn't for several more hours and I'd get to enjoy the aroma of Fido for several more hours!

 

 

******

 

 

     Jorgen Greaterhall smiled to himself; he had done it; stolen the famous Waxman Painting, "Gargoyles and Doughnuts' and now it sat face up on the couch screaming 'incredible wealth!"  He was relaxing after quite a tension-filled evening, although the actual theft had taken place a couple of days before, with a well-deserved beer, or five.  He was having a little trouble getting a hold of the dude who was going to take the painting off his hands and give him the agreed upon money.  He had left a message for Chuck to contact him but hadn't heard back from him and he was a little bit stressed.  He wanted the money, now!  He closed his eyes and pictured himself on the golden sands of a Caribbean island being waited on my golden tanned women wearing dental floss bikini's.  The thought made him smile; in all the years he'd been a thief he'd never come close to making this much money.  He looked again at the famous painting; he knew it wasn't very smart to have it out in plain sight but he'd never gazed on a fortune before and he was just too excited.  Just why it was famous and considered a masterpiece was beyond him.  To him it looked like an animal had hawked up a paint hairball.  Oh well, he didn't care what it looked like as long as someone was willing to pay him several thousand portraits of George Washington.  There was no accounting for taste.  Some dude may as well paint a soup can and have it be considered a 'classic'!

 

 

     He grabbed his latest beer and walked over to the kitchen table.  Spread out on it were the blueprints for the art museum he had broken into and stolen the painting.  He had meticulously planned the heist for months, including finding out where the blueprints were at, breaking into the architectural company and stealing the blueprints.  He just had to hope that no one at the architectural firm noticed they were missing although the art museum had been built a couple of years ago, so the odds seemed to be pretty good that they wouldn't be noticed.  Then he had set about developing his plan for weeks; until breaking in to the museum had been relatively easy. Now all he had to do was take it to the fence he had been trying to get a hold of, who had guarantied him he already had a buyer, and sit back and wait to be rich; ah yes, life, she was good!  As he was thinking this, his doorbell rang.  It was about time; if he'd had been thinking straight he realized after the event, he'd have been much more cautious, but at the time all he could think about was getting paid and besides, he was expecting Chuck, the fence.  He strode across the carpeting, pulled open the door and started to say,

 

     "It's about time Chuck, I---"  Then he realized it wasn't Chuck.

 

******

 

 

     I'd been working my latest case for a couple of days now and all the clues had led me here.  "No I'm not Chuck," I answered his misguided greeting.  I watched a strange mixture of shock, confusion, fear, and disgust wash over his face like an emotional hose.  "My name is Val Clarkson and I'm a dick."  

 

     "Oh, to what is this pertaining?"

 

     I cleverly replied, "What's that?"  He was trying to confuse me with fancy words; it was the old language slight of hand.  Well, not today!

 

     "I asked you what you need."

 

     "Oh, I need to ask you a few questions about a stolen art work."

 

    

******

 

     

      Jorgen felt an electric shock go through him.  He'd been so sure it would be Chuck that he'd left the stolen painting out in plain site on the couch.  Now he was stuck. 

 

     "Oh, I'm sorry, ah, my ah, house is a mess; yeah, so I must insist that we talk out here in the yard."

 

     "Oh, I see.  Well, let me start off by asking you where you were on the evening of the 23rd?"

 

     "Let me see, yes, I was home alone."

 

     "Can anyone confirm that?"

 

     "No, I was alone."  Duh! thought Jorgen.

 

     "Oh well, sorry to have bothered you; thanks for your time."

 

     "Sure, no problem at all."  That's it?

 

     And with that the private detective left.

 

 

******

 

 

     My dick radar was pinging like mad; wasn't it funny how he said he was alone while the painting was being stolen?  How stupid did he think I was?

 

 

******

 

 

     That had to be THE stupidest dick Jorgen had ever seen!  Maybe he should become a private detective; if people actually paid this clown for anything he'd probably make a mint. 

 

 

******

 

 

     I had  to get a look inside his place but how was the question.  Eventually I decided on a little trickery; I looked up his phone number and disguising my voice, pretended I was a radio DJ and called him up.  When he answered I went into my spiel.  "Yes Mr. Greaterhall, this is 'Jiving' Jerry Bobbiter calling from the studios of WD40 Radio, Where All the Hits Keep on Spinning; and it's your lucky day!  You've won a valuable prize, ah, worth quite a bit!"

 

     "Really?  Gee, I haven't ever listened to you station; how could I have won?"

 

     Oh, oh!   Time to do some first class B.S.ing.  "Oh, well, ah, we're trying to increase our listening audience and so we just select a random phone number and we've picked you!"

 

     "You don't say!  You'll have to tell me what frequency you broadcast on so I can check your station out."

 

      S**t!  "Ah, 950?"

 

     "950; isn't that already an all-news station?"

 

     Double s**t!  "Ah, excuse me, that's the broadcast band we requested but were indeed told that there was already a station broadcasting at that frequency so we settled on 1350."

 

     "Oh, I see; well, tell me more about what I've won."

 

     "Ah, yes, you've won, ah, several thousand dollars.  All you have to do is come by the station within the next 20 minutes to claim your prize."

 

     "Oh, I'm afraid I can't leave the house right now."

 

     "Damn--err--that's unfortunate for you, Mr. Greaterhall; Well, ah, then you have a good day and remember; start listening to WD40 Radio," damn, now what was supposed to be their slogan?  "We're Pumping Out the Hits!"  Take care Mr. Greaterstad!"

 

    

******

 

 

     Jorgen hung up the phone and shook his head at the sheer stupidity of the dick who had called obviously to get him out of the house.  He happened to know that WD40 was a new industrial product used to prevent and remove rust.  Just why he had remembered that was unclear to him but know it he did.  It was a good thing he had already got rid of the stolen painting; Chuck had at last called and had given Jorgen the money; because it didn't look like this was the kind of dick to give up easily.

 

 

******

 

Reviews

[Marie]

Funnny, but a little confusing. You seem to start off with one story and finish with another. I don't know what happened to the man with the cheating wife or how Private Dick got out of jail.

At the last it sounds like Jorgen was the only one to get any money. Doesn't the Clarckson Investigations Firm ever collect any fees?

[Michael Stevens]

Hi Marie; I'm sorry it was confusing; I switched the point of view back and forth between Oren and Jorgan, and just wait I sort of split this and the next in half, so hopefully it'll make a little more sense!

[Michael Stevens]

I also am horribly lost, as I posted the wrong part, apparently. I post on 3 different writing sites, and I'm ALL messed up; just pretend it makes sense!