Private Dick!, Chapter Two

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

main character's lack of smarts! 

Chapter Two:

     I was growing restless, and as bored as an old 2x4. I had been laying around on a Mexican beach until one day, believe it or not, I realized I was sick of doing nothing but drinking beer, getting a tan, and watching girls in bikini’s. I can’t believe I’m saying this, especially about the girls in bikini’s part, and the beer part, and, okay, the being a bum and soaking up the rays part; you know, now that I think about it, I had it pretty darn good; but no, I am determined to get back to work. I needed to move back to the states, but how? There was an arrest warrant with my name on it, literally, stateside. I knew a guy, Slide-Face Weaver, who could make me a new man; well, he’d make me fake ID to be more accurate. I decided to give him a call, and set the wheels in motion.

     “Hello?”

     “Hello, Slide-Face?”

     “There’s no one by that name here; you must have the wrong number.”

     “No, Slide, it’s me, Oren Trough.”

     “Who?”

     “Oren Trough.”

     “Could you spell that please?”

     “Come on, Slide, how many Oren Trough’s do you know?”

     “Well, and I’m not this Slide-Face, you understand, but the only Oren Trough he mentioned to me, spells his name S*-*-t-H-e-a-d; how are you, Oren?”

     I was having a little trouble remembering exactly why I considered him a friend. “Well, Slide, I’ve been better.”

     “Oh, what’s the trouble?”

     “Trouble is my trouble!”

     “Huh?”

     “That’s what the scoundrel who sent me this letter titled it, Trouble.”

     “O-kay!” Scoundrel, huh? This is 1953; time to join the modern age!”

     Slide-Face suddenly didn’t seem to be a good nickname for him; F**k-Face seemed much more appropriate! “What I was about to say, before you reamed me good, was I was blackmailed, and had to flee the country because I refused to play ball (not technically what had happened, but close enough!) and the guy squealed to the fuzz, and now I’m taking a forced siesta in Mexico, and I want to get back into the PI game.”

     I showed the border guard the fake I.D. that Slide-Face had mailed to me in Mexico, and as Moe Friday I reentered the country. That’s the good old U.S. of A to those readers who may have had too many mi-tie’s! I needed to figure out where I wanted to hang out my shingle. I’ve often wondered; why do the call it a shingle? If you put it where a shingle’s supposed to go, on the roof, your business would quickly go t**s-up!

     I settled on Jimmyville, Alabama as the city I’d start my new private eye business. Not too many people have ever heard of it, or know it even exists, which was fine by me!

     I didn’t have any money, and I was living in an old truck, that I’d gotten for nothing, on the hauling of it away, and I’d gotten it running, sticking a crude poster in the window, which read,

     “Moe Friday Investigations: do you need a divorce, but can’t get anything on your spouse? I specialize in all manor of investigations, not just that, so if you need something investigated, pound on the window!”

     Sure, it was less than ideal to have a rolling office, but for right now, it would have to do.

     One day, after about a week of eating canned soup, heated over the radiator with the office running, and one week of plummeting expectations on my part; just when I’d started to despair about ever getting a client, I was startled awake by a knock on the window. I scrambled to both open the door, and to wake up. I stared out the window, and saw a bum, or what looked to be a bum; I had to shake off those negative feelings, as I was now one too! But I couldn’t help but be disappointed; I’d hoped it was a customer, but it was a bum.

     “Yes,” I managed to get out; my mouth felt like a bowl of hot cereal, without brown sugar.

     “Yeah, are you Moe Friday?”

     “Yeah, I’m Moe Friday, and I can’t spare any money right now; I mean, look around.”

     “Well, I’m sorry you’re broke, but are you or are you not a private detective?”

     “Yeah, I’m a private eye, but I can’t afford yard work; never mind I don’t have one!”

     “Do I look like I need work?”

     Pal, you look like you need work, new clothes, and everything, and a lot of it! "Ah, no, no; I am just saying I don’t need any help.”

     “Well, I was going to hire you, as I’m a little light on the money right now; I saw your window advertisement, and you look, err--available.”

     This guy was going to hire me? I stifled a laugh, and like a robot recording I answered, “I’m available for divorces, missing persons, and anything you can think of that you need investigated.”

     “How about a missing fortune?” he spewed in my face. Say it, don’t spray it! Ha, another hilarious saying, that I just came up with off the top of my head. As I discretely squee-geed off my face, I answered, “Who’s fortune?”

     “Mine,” he replied, looking not like the truth.

     “Surely, you can’t be serious.” Somewhere, there was a joke there, but I wasn’t in the mood to laugh, and, I couldn’t think of a good one.

     “I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley.”

     Oh boy; next; try again; thanks for playing! “You’re serious, you? No offense, but you don’t exactly look wealthy,” or somewhat poor, or poor; you just look sub-poor! I thought.

     “Why do you think I need a dick?”

     I decided that was too easy, and just let it go. “Let’s assume you’re not pulling my leg like a chicken, and you do have a fortune,” and a squadron of b-17 pigmies just flew over! “And just who supposedly stole your fortune?”

     “My wife, now my ex-wife, Candace.”

     

     To make a long story, I took the case. I didn’t have any option but to trust this guy, but “Hello? Do I look stupid?” Anyway, I mounted the steps to this Candace’s place and rang the bell. After a few seconds, I heard the ‘clip-clop’ of approaching fancy high heels, and then the door was opened, and I fell immediately in love; for before me, stood a lovely broad with hips that went all the way up.

     “Yes?”

     “Ah, ah, ah...”

     “I was just on my out; is there something I can help you with?”

     “Ah, ah, ah...”; you know when it suddenly feels like you have a mouth full of something that sticks in your throat, and it’s so dry, and you would kill for some water, but there isn’t any water handy, so you walk around saying, “Ah” over and over? That’s the feeling I had then.

     “If you’ll excuse me?”

     “Ah, ah, ah---where’s your ex-husband’s money?” She pulled up short, and, licking her lips like something very lucky, said,

     “Excuse me?”

     Ah ha! I didn’t know why I thought that, so I answered, “I said, where’s your ex- husband’s money?”

     I expected her to deny it, but she responded, “Somewhere safe”

     My first thought was in her cleavage, as she was wearing a low-cut slinky evening gown that didn’t leave much to the imagination; however, I gave it a hell of a try; my next thought was, was, something I couldn’t remember; that cleavage! “Ah, ah, ah...”

     “He didn’t treat me very nice, so I feel I’m entitled.”

     She said entitled, but that’s what I heard was, “en-TIT-led”. “You mean he beat you?”

     “No, no; he put a limit on my credit card!”

     “Why, that inhuman animal!”

     “I know! You try living with an unreasonable man like that!”

     “I’m into women, but it being 1953, I suppose that’s more accepted.”

     “What?”

     “Forget it; the question is (are those babies really as yummy as they look?) what are we going to do about it?”

     “Well, I suppose you could force me to return the money, or, I could keep it, and we both could disappear!”

     “Ah, ah, ah, how stupid do I look? That way, you’d wind up with the money and I’d never see you again!”

     Pretty damn stupid! “No, I mean disappear together.”

     “Really?” Ah, ah, ah!

     “Really!”

     “With me?” Ah, ah, ah!

     “No, with the milkman!”

     “I knew it sounded too good to be true!”

     “I was kidding; yes, of course with you!”

     

     And so, that’s how I ended up driving my office out of town, with a 36DD passenger next to me, headed for who knows where? I momentarily felt guilty about my client not getting what he paid for, but then I remembered he hadn’t paid me yet, glanced again at her cleavage, and the guilt suddenly disappeared!