Private Dick!; Chapter Sixteen

 

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

main character's lack of smarts! 

Chapter Sixteen:

 

     I’m on a new case, hired by Dolt Henderson to follow his wife, because he thought she was stepping out on him.  I asked him how he got such a nickname as Dolt.   He gave me a murderous look, and that was his real name.  I briefly wondered what had been wrong with his parents, then asked him why he thought there was another man. 

 

     “Oh, little things, like phone calls coded to sound like something else.  I’m not stupid, you know.

 

     Well, your name certainly does you justice!

 

     Dolt then said, “Oh, and she says I’m a nut-less pansy who she has to hook a crane to my di--”

 

     WAY too much information!  “What if I find out there is another man?”

 

    “At least I’ll know, and can make plans to go on alone.”

 

    Pal, if I were you, I’d start packing my suitcase for a one-way trip to Patheticville!   “Well, in that case, I’ll check it out.”

 

 

     The man was certainly well-named.  He’d been hit upside the head with a heavy log-like wood deal, but has yet to fall!  Oh well, if the loser guy wants to pay me, I’ll watch paint dry.

 

 

     I followed Barbara Henderson from her place of employment, to a motel on the east side of Seattle.  She disappeared into room 236 of the Rush Hour Hotel.  The place was well named, because it’s the kind of place people rent rooms by the hour, if you understand my meaning.  It looked like good old Dolt was in for an elevator ride which plummeted way down, as she must be meeting her new lover here for some kind of tryst.  Of course, maybe she had taken a part-time job as a maid, but I tended not to believe that. 

 

 

     After about 10 minutes, a deformed-looking man in grubby clothes climbed the stairs to room 236, knocked, and disappeared inside.  You’re leaving Dolt, for that? I thought.  I would have expected something that vaguely resembled a human!  This guy was beyond grotesque.   Stains of unknown origin, and that’s a good thing as far as I’m concerned, made a curvy, wobbly map on his upper half, and streaks of dirt ran relay’s up and down his lower.  Wooo, what a sexual animal; please! 

 

    

     After 5 minutes, the dust bowl gigolo slimed his way down the stairs, and disappeared around the front, presumably going out to the sanitation truck which served as both his vehicle, and his home.  After a couple more minutes, Barbara Henderson herself came out, wearing a glassy-eyed look like a ventriloquist’s dummy.  I noticed she was all decked out in enough face paint to rival some classic paintings I’d seen. 

 

 

    I followed her in my car to another hotel.  What, again?  This lady was as cheap as a day-old doughnut!  This time, she met a guy who was so good looking, he made average seem ordinary.  I decided to sneak up and get some pictures as they were leaving.

 

     A caterpillar inched its way up my leg, until I ruined all its hard work by flicking it off my leg, and sending it dropping back to earth.  I had been hiding in a bush for what seemed like several hours, but was probably closer to 20 minutes, waiting to snap off several photos to show to the unfortunate Dolt Henderson, as proof that his beloved Barbara had indeed moved on.  It probably wasn’t the result good old Dolt was looking for, but sometimes, the medicine tastes like s**t!  I just wanted proof so I could say I’d done my job, get paid, and clear out.  After all, I was a dick, not a guy who people went to because they were messed up.  I had enough problems of my own, such as having to use a fake name, to play doctor with anybody. 

 

     At last, the happy couple opened the door, hugged, and then they both started down the steps which ran right beside my bush.  I started to jump out and snap the damning photographs, but my foot somehow became entangled in the branches, and I tripped, falling out just in front of them.

 

     “Evening,” I sputtered from the ground, where I’d landed on my back, with the happy couple’s faces registering shock and confusion, which was probably what my face was showing, right about now.

 

     “I’m a botanist, chronicling the discovery of this rare, extremely rare, Flowering Manchurian Canadian Bush.” 

 

     The happy couple exchanged glances, and Barbara Henderson said, “Cut the crap; you’re the dick I’ve noticed following me.”

 

     You could have knocked me over with a steam shovel, or something not quite as big as that.  “I’ll admit it; I’m not a botanist; I’m a private eye, watching you, and I must say, how many guys you going to nail in one day?”

 

     “Nail, what am I, a carpenter?” she replied, sounding somewhere south of guilty. 

 

     “But, that’s two different men, at two different motels, cheap motels, by the way.”

 

    “I’m not having an affair with them, I’m selling them my homemade jewelry.  These men are trying to surprise their wives, and are staying at other rooms in these motels.  They call me because I deliver, and, because I’m just starting out, I’m cheap.”

 

     I had no problem believing that; it was the jewelry part that I wasn’t buying.  “Bull dongs!”

                     

     “Bull dongs?”

 

     “Yeah, as in poppycock!”

 

     “Poppycock?”

 

     “Yeah, as in there’s a better chance of me sprouting wings and levitating to somewhere off the ground.”

 

     “I’m telling you the truth,” and she whipped up a case; I thought she was going for a weapon, maybe a meat cleaver or a gun, and yelled,

 

     “Keep your hands where I can see them!”

 

     She gave me a look, like something negative, and replied, “I was just going to show you my jewelry.”

 

     “Very well, but slowly!”

 

     “What are you going to do, blind me?”

 

     I remembered that I was holding a camera, not a gun.  That was tucked away in my shoulder holster.  It looked like if it was a meat cleaver, she could chop me up into little bloody pieces, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.  “Fine then; show me what you’ve got.”

 

     She shook her head, and finished opening the box.  She reached in and began to remove something.  Well, Oren, looks like this is the end of the stick! I thought to myself, but what emerged from the box wasn’t a meat cleaver or gun, it was a nifty-looked necklace, gold, with a heart-shaped small medallion dangling from the end of the chain. 

 

 

     I told Dolt Henderson that his fears were unfounded, and you should have seen the relief wash over his face like a tide pool.  It was nice to give some good news to someone for a change. 

 

 

     Three weeks had gone by, with no check from Dolt.  I tried to call him, but the number had been disconnected, so I went to the address he had given me; the house there was vacant.  Looked like the only person getting stiffed around this case was me!