Private Dick!; Chapter Fourteen

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight themain character's lack of smarts!  

Chapter Fourteen:

     I had just got out of the shower, and as I came out into the living room with nothing but a towel covering me, Mrs. Hempner, my neighbor, gave me an angry look, and I knew I had pushed her past the breaking point. Because my office for work was also serving as my living area; and didn’t have a shower, I’d made arrangements with my neighbor, Gladys Hepner, who did have a shower, to use hers, and now, I could sense her resentment. It was time for me to rent a house with a shower.

 

     Fully dressed once again, I scoured the newspaper for rental houses. I found one in my price range, that wasn’t far from my office.

     I had made arrangements to look at the house, and was meeting landlord Marvin Pontoon there.   

     “Hello, Mr. Pontoon, thanks for showing me the house.”

     He was a smallish man, who appeared to have a perpetual scowl permanently etched in place.

     “So, what do you think?”

     Wow, straight to business, no, ‘How do you do?’ “Well, would you mind if I looked at the inside first?”

     He gave a deep sigh, like I was asking the impossible from him, and answered, “Oh, very well.”

     He unlocked the front door, and that when I noticed a foul odor emanating from the house next door. It smelled like rotten eggs; a cat box; or like ammonia, all the windows were boarded up, and there was a “Beware of Dog” sign in the yard.

     “Say what’s that awful smell?” I asked Pontoon.

     “So, you’re not interested?”

     “Now, I didn’t say that,” although that’s exactly what I was thinking.

     “No, I can tell when someone jerking my chain; and you’re definitely jerking!”

     “You know, I might have rented this place, but besides the horrible smell, I’d have a fricking mean f**k for a landlord; good day, sir!”

 

     Later that same night, after leaving old scowl face behind, I was determined to find the cause of the terrible smell. I sneaked back to the offending house. I saw the flickering of a television from behind the closed curtains of the surrounding houses. I could smell the tantalizing aroma of cooking meat, as someone was preparing diner. My stomach growled and reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since lunch. I briefly wonder what it was I was smelling, before wrenching my thoughts back to the task at hand. I snuck up to a curtained window, and peered in. Luckily, there was a gap, allowing me to see in. What I saw was perplexing, to say the least. Cans and bottles of every shape and color littered the ground. A large tank was set up in the middle the room. Some dude was pouring something out of what looked to be a can of paint thinner into the pressure kettle. The smell outside where I was was terrible, and mixed with the smell of cooking meat; I could only imagine what it was like inside. Could this be some kind of a chemical, rancid stew for aliens? I’m kidding (at least I think I am!), but something not too good was cooking for dinner!

 

     I was watching, trying to make some sort of sense out of what I was seeing, and I wasn’t paying close enough attention, when I felt a sharp pain in the middle of my back, and I turned slowly around to see Alien Chef Boyardee holding a gun on me. I cleverly said,

     “What’s this?”

     “This is a gun.”

     “I can see that; what I meant was why is it pointing at me?”

     “Because, you’re snooping around where you shouldn’t, and have seen too much.”

     “Maybe you could help me out here; what are you making? Whatever it is, you must hate whomever is coming for dinner, because it smells like chemical s**t!”

     “Man, it’s not food; its methamphetamines.”

     “Metal ampatheater?”

     “No, man, methamphetamines.”

     “Humor me, and pretend I have no idea what that is.” I had absolutely no idea what it was.

     “It’s a new idea for a drug. Believe me, if you haven’t heard of it yet, in 20 or 30 years, you will, now inside!” and to he prodded me towards the door with the muzzle of his gun . I had only taken a couple of steps, when there was a blinding flash, and the concussion of a huge explosion sent me summer-saulting involuntarily backwards across the yard.

 

     When I regained consciousness, I groggily tried to remember what had happened. There was the figure of a man sprawled out a few feet from me, and there were fire trucks all around. Strange, I couldn’t hear them, even though it looked as though there were several things happening all around me. Someone in a fireman’s helmet was bending over me, and it looked like he was asking me something; I could see his lips move, but heard nothing. After a while of this, I could make out some words.

     “Hey,..do you...are?”

     Was he asking me if I knew where I was? I sure hoped so, because my reply would make better sense that way. I had a vague remembrance of a big explosion, and someone else being with me. “Something blew up, and I think there was another guy with me; is he alright?”

     “Yeah, he’s the homeowner, and he’s still out, but when he comes to, the police would like to talk to him; he was making meth in there. What’s your name, and how did you wind up being blown a**-over-tea kettle?”

     What was my name? “Ore...” Wait a minute; I was using a different name. Now, what was it? “Ah, I mean, ah...Val,” then I remembered, “Val Clarkson, and I’m a private dick, investigating a strange odor.”

     “Well sir, you could very well have ended up a dead dick. Along with the meth, he was also making explosives in there, and that’s what blew up.”

 

     My hearing had returned, and I sat down heavily in my office chair. I realized how fortunate I’d been to still be a breathing dick. Try as I might, I just couldn’t see this meth ever catching on, it just seemed like a lot of trouble to go to just to get high; not to mention dangerous. Imagine, huffing paint thinner; talk about desperate! Now, I still needed to find a rental house. I supposed I had better search the want ads again!