Private Dick; Chapter Eighteen

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

main character's lack of smarts! 

Chapter Eighteen:

 

     I was sitting in my office, trying to fill my day.  Once again, it had been slow, as in no clients.  I was watching ‘Howdy Doody’, drinking a Lucky Lager Beer, and looking through the Seattle Post-Intelligencer.  There were rumblings of a labor strike, but I sure hoped not.   I was scouring the local section, to see if there was a story about someone who needed, or didn’t know they needed, the help of a private investigator.  You’ve probably heard of ambulance-chasing lawyers; well, I guess I’m an ambulance-chasing dick. 

 

 

     “Local man caught going through a woman’s underwear drawer.  An unidentified woman, of the Magnolia neighborhood, was awakened at 2.30 am Saturday morning to find a strange man going through her underwear drawer, and dialed the police, who responded and apprehended Clark Daily, 18, of 118 N. Seneca Avenue.  When questioned by police, Daily claimed he saw the woman walk by earlier, and fell in love.  Mr. Daily was transferred to a local hospital for a psychiatric evaluation.” 

 

 

     “Local man drives his car into a Chinese restaurant while trying to open a beer.  The cork used to seal the bottle exploded upwards, striking him in the eye, causing temporary blindness, and the car then veered off the roadway and into Duk’s Chinese Restaurant, located at 4567 Spring Avenue.  Luckily, the restaurant was just being locked up for the evening, and no one was hurt.  Dale Turncoat of 75 E. Republican St. was uninjured in the crash.  Mr. Turncoat was arrested on suspicion of drinking and driving.”

 

 

     “Local man beaten, robbed, left for dead.  Jeffrey Dean, of 911 Sycamore, was accosted while leaving Potter Building and Loan, located at 6543 Denny Way, last Monday, after cashing a check from his mother, for $20,000 dollars.  He had borrowed the money to open his own store catering to circus performers, but was attacked cutting through an alleyway, apparently a shortcut to his home.  Police have no suspects, and urge anyone with information to contact the Seattle Police Department.”

 

 

     Now that sounded promising.  I looked up the number for Jeffery Dean, and gave him a call.

 

     “Hello?” answered a man.

 

     “Yes, is Jeffery Dean at home?”

 

     “This is Jeffery Dean.”

     “Yes, hello, my name is Val Clarkson, and I’m a private investigator.  I read about your situation in the P.I, and would like to offer my services to help find the thief.”

 

     “So, you’re an ambulance-chasing dick!”

 

     “Yes, I’m a dick, but not an ambulance chasing one.”

 

     “Well, I don’t see what you can do; the money’s just gone, along with my dream.”

 

     “Yeah, I read about that; you were going to open a store catering to circus freaks.”  Good luck with that, dude! I thought.

 

     “Please, refer to them as circus performers.”

 

     Oh, excuse me, but I don’t know how The 3-Headed, 3-Foot Tall Midget-Boy is a performer of what, exactly?  “Yes of course, circus performers.  Well I can look into it, and maybe get your money, and your dream, back.”

 

     “Well, I’d like that, except I can only pay you if I get the money back.”

 

 

     I took the case, and hoped like hell I could solve it.  I figured the place to begin was at Potter Building and Loan, to see whether they’d noticed anyone suspicious hanging around, looking for anyone withdrawing large amounts of cash from their account, or cashing a large check, to rob.  I entered the building, and stepped to a teller. 

 

     “Can I help you sir?” said a pleasant-looking woman dressed, oddly enough, like a bank teller. 

 

     “Yes, I’m investigating the robbery of a man who was robbed and beaten in the alley behind your establishment last Monday. I was curious if you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around?”

 

     “I’m sorry, Mondays are one of my off days; let me get someone who was working.  Paul?  You were working last Monday; this man is a private detective who would like to ask you whether you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around?”

 

     The guy named Paul looked at me, jumped over the counter, and took off running, knocking over a woman with a small child in hand, who immediately burst into tears.  After at first being surprised by his actions, I quickly gave chase.  Out the front door, and up Denny Way he ran, with me chasing him, like something close.  After a few blocks, his not being particularly fit began to tell.  I was slowly gaining on him.  I was grateful I just happened to wear sneakers, instead of my usual dress shoes, and eventually was able to overtake and tackle him.  We both crashed into some garbage cans, and sprawled to the pavement.  He struggled for a bit, then seemed to become resigned to his fate. 

 

     “Alright, I’ve got you,” I managed while sucking in heaving breaths.  “why did you run?”

 

     “I don’t know!”

 

     “You don’t know?  Poppycock!”

 

     “Oh, the guilt is eating me up; I’ve got to tell someone.  I told the police I didn’t see or know anything, but I did it, okay?”

 

 

 

     I waited several days to tell Jeffery Dean that I’d solved the case, and recovered his money.  I didn’t want him to know I’d solved it the very first day.  I told him his money was currently in the hands of the Seattle Police, as evidence, but would eventually be returned to him.  He was  so grateful, he gave me his last $10 bucks.  Now I’ve got to make $10 last until he gets his money back.  I wonder how long a person can survive on penny-candy?