Private Dick!; Chapter Nineteen

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

main character's lack of smarts! 

Chapter Nineteen:

 

     I had just about gone though the money I’d made from dicking for Jeffery Dean, and was once again looking through the local section of the Post-Intelligencer for likely-sounding clients:

 

      “Seattle man wounded grievously in apparent drive-by batting:  David Wilsong, of 235 S. Broadmore St. was critically injured during what police describe as a ‘drive-by batting’.  On Saturday evening, Wilsong was walking along Empire Way N., when a group of teenage hoodlums decided to play a quick nine innings on the back of Wilsong’s legs.  As the car the teenage hoodlums were riding in went past Wilsong, who was walking on the sidewalk, they rolled down the window, and one of the hoodlums teed off on the back of Wilsong’s legs, causing him to drop, and causing massive knee trauma.  While Wilsong is expected to eventually recover, doctors say he’ll more than likely veer to the left.”

 

     “A West Seattle man thought he had clothing apparently ruined by cat:  Frederic Fallside, of the 100 block of Yestler Way, reported he thought that his cat Demon* had ruined his 200 dollar suit by urinating on it, but has learned it was his angry neighbor.  Mr. Fallside had draped his suit coat across some patio furniture, while he went inside to get a cool drink.  Upon returning to the patio and donning the jacket, he notice a urine smell; At first, he blamed Demon for the foul act, but upon talking to his angry next door neighbor, learned he had done the deed.  Apparently, the pi**age was the result of a long-time shared driveway feud.

 

*Missing cat; if found, please contact Frederic Fallside at...273-834”

 

     I had started to despair of finding anything, when:

 

      “Mrs. Daisy Highcliff of 354 S. Dunlap Ave., was scammed out of $30,000 dollars by a man claiming to represent The Hair-Lip Brigade, an organization that helps hair-lipped people find work in the used-car salesman field.  When contacted by Mrs. Highcliff, The Hair-Lip Brigade denied any knowledge of the man.”

 

      That sounded promising.  I looked up her phone number, and called her number.

 

     “Hello?” she answered.

 

     “Yes, may I speak to Daisy Highcliff please?”

 

     “This is she.”

 

     “Yes, Mrs. Highcliff, my name is Val Clarkson, and I’m a private dick.  I saw in the P.I. that you say you were the victim of an unscrupulous scam by a con artist posing as a representative of The Hair-Lip Brigade.”

 

     “Mr. Clarkson, I’m sorry you’re a dick, but I can’t help you with that.”

 

     “No, Mrs. Highcliff, a private investigator.  I’d like to investigate on your behalf, and see if I might be able to get the money scammed returned to you.”

 

     “Oh, that would be wonderful!”

 

 

       

         I started my investigation at the headquarters of The Hair-Lip Brigade.  I got in to see a Mrs. Flanger, and asked her, “So you’ve never heard of Ned Gorphinhopper?”

 

     “For the last time; don’t you think I’d remember a name like that?  I’m disavowing any knowledge of a man by that name.”

 

     Immediately, my dick radar started pinging madly.  This dame was hiding something.  “I wish I could believe that, but my dick radar is telling me something else.”

 

     “Your dick radar, is there a ship in your pants?”

 

     “Very funny, but no, I feel like you’re not telling me something.”

 

     “Like what?”

 

     “Like the truth.”

 

 

     Turns out, she cracked under my intense scrutiny, which consisted of me asking over and over, until she shouted,

 

     “Okay, if I tell you I know him, will you shut up?”

 

    I was satisfied; I now knew she did know Gorphinhopper.  Had in fact, admitted Ned Gorphinhopper had been employed at The Hair-Lip Brigade until recently being fired.  This guy must have been the dullest knife in the deceit drawer to give his real name while attempting to run a scam.  Looks like I was dealing with two dull knives, as why would she admit what she’d admitted?

 

 

     I learned from other employees that Clara Flanger had once been joined at the hip to Ned Gorphinhopper.  Well, not surgically, but mentally; they used to be a couple.     

 

     I was parked just down the street from Clara Flanger’s house, and the summer heat was brutal.  I couldn’t put up with it much more.  Mrs. Flanger had returned home from The Hair-Lip Brigade for what I assumed was lunch, but she’d been in there over 3 hours, and the heat of the summer’s day was incinerating me hotly.  I had to cool down.  As I would maybe have several more hours of waiting, and the sun was a blast furnace beating me--err--down on me, I decided I’d take off my shirt.  No one would be able to see, as I was parked in the lone parking spot on this side of the road. 

 

 

     A little while later, the heat had become unbearable once again, and I took another look at Clara’s house.  Still no sign of her.  I debated what I should do next.  I decided to lose the pants.  Sure, it wasn’t very smart, but I had to do something, I was on FIRE!  I slipped off  my pants, and now I was sitting there in nothing but my underwear.    

 

 

     After about ten minutes, Clara Flanger opened the front door to her house, ran to her car, and, spaying gravel behind her car, squealed off in the direction of west.  I was caught no-pants.  If I wanted to follow her, I needed to go fastly.  I quickly started the car, and roared down the street in hot pursuit; ah hot pursuit?  I was at last gaining on her.  She was really motoring! 

 

 

     I was thinking on my next move, when I saw flashing blue lights in my rearview mirror.  A cop was racing up behind me.  Oh great! I thought.  Now what should I do?  I thought about trying to outrun him, but the old Junker wouldn’t stand a chance.  I pulled to the curb and stopped, sweating in nothing but my Fruit-of-the-Loom’s, and desperately trying to think of a plausible reason why I was almost naked.  A stern-looking officer, his eyes hidden behind shades, stomped up to the window, did a double-take, motioned for me to roll down my window, and, once I had complied, took off his shades (he had mean-looking eyes), and said,

 

     “Two questions, sir; were you aware you’re going 50mph in a 25mph zone, and why are you driving nude?”

 

     “In answer of your first question, I didn’t realize, and in answer of your 2nd question,”  I couldn’t think of a good excuse.  “it’s hot as the hubcaps of Hades out!”

 

 

     After paying the bail money, I returned to Clara Flanger’s house, vowing to stay fully dressed this time.  Clara Flanger’s car was parked in the driveway, so I cleverly figured she was probably home. 

 

 

     After watching for about 20 minutes, a dark green Studebaker pulled in to the driveway.  And who should step out into the blinding rays of the summer sun?  None other than Ned Gorphinhopper!  I thought, I’ll call the police!   Then I remembered I’d have to leave and find a phone; but if I did that, they might disappear!  Oh well, it was a chance I’d have to take.

 

 

     I returned from calling the cops, and my worst fears were realized; her car was gone.  They had fled, and I had no idea to where.  At that moment, the wail of a siren heralded the arrival of the cops.  a cop car pulled up behind me, and a cop got out, and I got out to meet him. 

 

     “Officer, I’m the person who called this in, but while I was gone to call this in, they apparently took off.”

 

     “Well, thank a whole lot for wasting the police department’s time; we came all the way out here, and interrupted fresh apple pie and coffee for nothing?”

 

 

     I broke the news that I’d solved the case, but lost the suspects to Daisy Highcliff.  She cried out, and slammed the door in my face.  I angrily started to knock again, but stopped.  I hadn’t got her money returned to her, and I guess I could understand her anger; but what was I going to do for money?

 

     Once again, I was reading through the local section of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, hoping to find a client!