Private Dick!; Chapter One

A intellect-challenged private eye!

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

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

Private Dick!

By Mike Stevens

Chapter One:

     My phone was ringing like a fire alarm, and the fire was in my pants. A blackmail letter in my pocket, which I had received just that morning, telling me he (or maybe it was a woman, with handwriting that wimpy, it very well could be; or maybe it was a guy’s writing, wanting to make me think it was a woman, pretending to be a man! Or, maybe it was a woman, 

hoping I would think it was a man pretending to be a woman, pretending...anyway, I was confused and unsure; any way you sliced it, the letter spelled trouble. It literally was titled ‘Trouble’. It read,

     “Trouble has arrived at your doorstep, in the form of me saying I know what you did, and unless I receive a lot of money from you, I’ll spill the beans about you to the cops.”; 1; I had no clue what they were talking about, and B; how dare someone have the balls (unless it really was a woman) to blackmail me, or try. I vowed to myself to, A; not be blackmailed, and 2; to trace the sender all the way to Hell, if that’s what it took!

     I’m a private eye who has hung out his own shingle, and was struggling to survive. I couldn’t have paid blackmail money even if I wanted to, which is a ridiculous statement; of course I don’t! I started my search by going to the return address on the envelope. Not a very smart move, there, Mr., or Mrs., or Miss Blackmailer person! I stomped up the stairs, and knocked loudly on the door.

     “Just a minute!” came the reply from beyond the door. This only served to make me madder, and I rapped loudly on the door again.

     “Please, give me a chance to get there; this walker makes going much faster impossible.”

     “A likely story; come on, come on!”, and I pounded on the door again.

     Suddenly, the door was ripped open, by a little old lady, who was doing her best outraged grandma routine, “What is your problem?” she yelled. She acted like she had no clue about what I was talking about.

     “What’s my problem? I’ll tell you what my problem is; blackmail; as in you’re trying to do me--err--that’s what you’re trying to do to me!”

     “What? I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about!”

     “Don’t play the Grandma who doesn’t know things with me; your return address was on the envelope. Not too smart, there, Trudy!”

     “My address? Well, I did have some mail stolen recently, including some envelopes with my return address printed on them.”

     “Listen here, Grandma; let me tell you something; I didn’t just fall off the turnip plow yesterday you know, and I’ll be paying you, exactly dick!” and I grabbed her walker and threw it. Immediately, Grandma went down, plummeting to the front porch of her house. I looked at her, rolling around on the ground like a wounded wildebeest, and suddenly I thought I could be mistaken. She wasn’t acting like she had something to hide. I decided maybe I should help her up, but as I took a couple of steps towards her, she recoiled from my touch, screaming,

     “Get the hell away from me, psycho; help, I’m being mugged, help!”

     “Shut up, there Grandma; I was just trying to help you up.”

     Suddenly, a piercing wail was emitted by something she had draped around her neck, and I thought, now would be a good time to bail!

     I arrived back at my office, thinking over the events with Grandma; I couldn’t be sure, but my internal radar was telling me that she really didn’t know anything about it. Then my head, or rather what’s in it, pivoted to question; if not her, who?

 

     I went out to the mailbox later that day, and checked to see what I had. There was a shut-

off notice from the power company that I ripped up and threw in the trash. Leach-b******s! There was another bill from the phone company. I threw it down disgustedly; LEAVE ME ALONE! The last letter was from Trudy Gaspard again, or whoever was pretending to be her. Immediately, my dick radar went off; I took the letter over to my chair, and sat down at my desk. Maybe there’d be a clue here, if I could read between the lines. I tore open the envelope after checking it over for clues; it looked the same as the first one; white, and with Trudy’s 

address already printed on it; no help there. I unfolded the letter;

     “To Oren Trough, from 3-Hands Ned Holloway,...”

     3-Hands Holloway? I should have known; 3-Hands Holloway was a small-time criminal that I’d sent away in The Case of the Demon-Hutch. I had pocketed several thousand dollars I’d found in one of the drawers, without telling the police. Could this have anything to do with why the first letter had said,

     “I know what you did?”

     Maybe. The letter continued, “this is so you’ll know who and why.”

     I thought, I know who, but it’s unclear why!

     “Because you stole my stolen money, and I want it back, or I’m going to the police!”

     Oh, no!

 

     Later that day, my phone rang, sounding like a Claxton on a sea-going barge, and when I answered it, a voice said,

     “This is 3-Hands Holloway; I was calling to see if you got my letter?"

     “Yeah, and we can work something out. I’ll need a little time to get the money (I was trying to figure out from where, because getting the money was like trying to squeeze water from something dry!) I’ll tell you what, why don’t you drive by tonight, and if you see the porch light on, I’ve got the money.”

     “Oh, that sounds like a plan, I’ll do that, otherwise, if I fail to receive that $75,000 dollars, I’m going straight to the cops, and your career as a dick is over, as well as your freedom of movement for about the next 25 years!”

     “$75,000? But it was only $50,000!”

     “Consider the extra $25,000 as interest for the ten years I did because of you!”

     I didn’t like it, but what could I do?

     After hanging up the phone, I started scrambling to come up with the money.  I sold my car to a used car lot here in town, and thought of selling all my office furniture, but i'd still be was quite a bit short. Think, think!! It wasn’t easy for me, as I didn’t have many options. I tried to think, but couldn’t. Oh well, I’d turn on the porch light, signaling 3-Hands that I had his money, and figure something out. I’d just have to wait for dark, and hope something came to me, because I had nothing!

     Dusk was finally falling, and I was walking across the office to turn my porch light on to signal 3-Hands, when the power suddenly went out. What the hell? I futilely flipped the power switch on and off, and tried to figure out the reason for it going out. Wait a minute; the letter from the power company, threatening to discontinue service unless I made a payment. But I’d just received the letter today. Didn’t they give you some time to pay before disconnecting you? I grabbed the envelope, and checked when it was cancelled. 2 weeks ago? How was that possible? I checked my mail every day. Then, a yellow post-it note fluttered to the desk from the back of the envelope.

     “Dear postal customer; this letter was found in supposedly-empty equipment. We 

hope the delay didn’t inconvenience you.”

     No, it’s not an inconvenience, it’s a fricking DISASTER!

 

     The warm sand of Mexico squished between my toes, as I lay on the beach and thought about what I should do now; because 3-Hands, seeing no porch light on at my office, had indeed gone to the police. Of course, I read the account several days later, in a hometown newspaper sent to me by a friend. I had boarded a plane with a ticket purchased from the sale of my car and office furniture, bound for Mexico. I wasn’t going to hang around the USA, and wait for the heat to fall on me, no, I was facing a very different kind of heat!