Private Dick!; Chapter Seventeen

 

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

main character's lack of smarts! 

Chapter 17:

 

     I was sitting in the stands of a Seattle Wharf-Rats hockey game.  I hoisted a Mega-Beer, and took a healthy swallow.  The Wharf-Rats were only minor league, but they had become my favorite team.  Sure, there was The Seattle Freezers, an AHG (American Hockey Group) team, which was on the top rung as far as hockey went, but I preferred The Wharf-Rats.  Some of the players had started wearing helmets, but the very few that did were ridiculed by the other players and quickly returned to bare headed hockey.  And, you should’ve heard some of the swear words; they were sometimes interesting to try and figure out, coming as they were from men with no teeth.  This game was between The Wharf-Rats and the Spokane Consos (Conservatives), and in addition to the usual taunts from the Consos fans, one guy had a big banner that said ‘Wharf-Rats, only the word ‘Wharf’ was crossed out, and the word ‘Barf’ was inserted.  I took another drink of my Mega-Beer, and settled back in my seat to watch the action.

 

 

     It was the only the first intermission, and I’d already downed 3 Mega-Beers.  I was already in my cups, and decided to take a stroll to sober up a little.  As I staggered my way out to the aisle, I was shot some murderous glances by the fans who had to move a little to make room.  Either you move, or get your feet stomped on, you sons of b*****s!   I wasn’t in the mood.  I finally made it to the aisle, and staggered off to I knew not where; nor did I care, as I just had to keep moving until some of the alcohol burned off.  Man, was I drunk! 

 

 

     I staggered down a hallway under the rink, where the locker rooms are located; I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten here; but my little walk seemed to be working; I no longer was feeling so drunk; in fact, another Mega-Beer seemed in order.  After all, there were still two periods of prime beer-drinking to go! 

 

 

     As I was passing the Consos locker room, several gunshots rang out from behind the closed door.  Immediately my dick radar went off.  I ripped open the door, and there sat Iron-Face Paladin, with a blank look on his face; okay, a blanker look than normal, because he was dead.  A crimson pool, that unless I missed my guess, was blood, ran in bright-red streams away from his body, and my immediate thought was, he’s been shot!  The question was, which one of these gap-toothed warriors did it?

 

 

     “Alright, nobody try to leave!” which was unnecessary to say, because all the players had skates on, and off the ice, they were about as mobile as something not very quick.  No one could outrun me.  “Did anyone see the crime” 

 

     A player with about three teeth left stepped forward, “No,” he slobbered, “everyone was gathered around coach...”

 

     “What were you all gathered around the coach for?” I cleverly interrupted.

 

     “Why, to get his impression of The Jackie Gleason Show last night, of course!  No, for his instructions for the 2nd period.” 

 

  It was at that moment that a man wearing a fedora hat, and a suit that screamed “Coach” came running in from his office, shouting, “The police are on their way!”

 

 

 

     After a couple of minutes, the door to the locker room was flung open, and a cop with a big red nose of a drunken clown yelled, “Nobody move!”  I instantly sensed this guy was a moron.  I knew right then, I was on my own solving this, as Detective Bozo would be no help.

 

     “My name is Inspector Bulbous Noclue; now, did anyone see the murder?”

 

     Gee, now why didn’t I think to ask that?  “Nobody saw anything; they were all gathered around Reskin.”

 

     “And who’s this clown?” directed Bozo to the others gathered around.

 

     I immediately was angry.  “Before you call someone a clown, you’d better make sure your floppy shoe isn’t untied!”

 

     My remark went right over his head, like everything else, apparently.  He looked down at his shoes, and then returned his gaze to me.  “My shoe isn’t untied; and I’ll ask you the same thing I asked them, who are you?”

 

     It took all of my intestinal fortitude to not laugh at this Stupidity in a Suit before me, and I replied, “Val Clarkson, private eye.”

 

     “Oh great a private eye; that’s all I need, another dick making my job twice as hard!”

 

     I  cleverly decided that opening for a comeback was big enough to drive something big through, but that I should just leave it alone, and replied only, “Screw you!”

 

     “Alright, you smart-a** dick, just stay out of my way, or I’ll put the hurt on you!”

 

 

     Detective Bozo, had been, surprise, surprise, unable to get any clues or leads.  He’d questioned everybody, got nothing, and went back to Moronville. He left, after scowling his big red nose in my direction, and I went to work.  The way I saw things, one of these toothless wonders around here was the murderer, and I wouldn’t rest (except for the occasional bathroom break, after all, the Mega-Beers I’d drank were now seeking their vengeance!) until I solved it!

 

 

     I hate to admit failure, but I wasn’t learning dick.  I hated to think that Noclue had been correct, when he said before leaving,

 

     “I’m calling the case unsolvable.  There are zero clues, and it’s all-you-can-eat night at Cardboard Jim’s Pizza Emporium!” 

 

     I hated to admit Noclue had been right, about anything, but this murder would just have to remain unsolved.

 

 

     A couple months later, I was in Spokane for another case, and I went to a Consos game.  I had a seat near the Consos bench, and overheard a couple of players talking about what the film crew testing Kinescope technology out by following the Conso’s around and filming everything, was going to do with the footage of the game with the Wharf-Rats that had never been finished, due to the murder of Iron-Face Paladin.  That gave me an idea; what if the film accidently saw something?

 

 

    I found out the name of the filming company, and gave them a call.  I asked them if they still had the footage shot of the Wharf-Rats-Consos game for a kinescope, and they said they did, so here I was at Seattle Kinescope Corporation, about to look through every foot of film they had shot. 

 

 

     There was nothing unusual to be seen, until a man appeared in the background of a shot, looking around him nervously, and then ducking down the stairs towards the locker rooms.  Once again, I felt the sensation of a raging dick radar attack.  Who was the guy?  I just felt it in my bones; this guy was somehow involved.

 

     “Oh yeah, that’s Bobby LaRue; he was cut just before the season, Coach Reskin said, upon viewing the Kinescope.

 

     Now, my dick radar was highly aroused.  “Did LaRue know Iron-Face Paladin?”

 

     “Sure, Paladin beat out Larue for one of the forward spots.

 

 

     When confronted with the evidence I had gathered, Larue at first  proclaimed no knowledge of the events surrounding Iron-Face Paladin, but after having his brow beat for a couple of hours, finally admitted he had done the deed.  Chalk up another one in this dick’s portfolio of solved cases!