WOW, IS IT MONDAY AGAIN?

Hello everyone, everywhere,

Hey, the weather’s cooperating, so is my health, and if you can believe it, so is Michelle.

I’m still not a hundred percent but I’m getting there. I’ve been walking around, waiting for this bloody concussion to go away, but it just won’t let go. It’s a waiting game, and the doctors tell me it will go, but I’ve got to wait it out. It’s been over a month, and my frustration level has peaked numerous times until I’m back at a peaceful place again because I’m exhausted from being frustrated. I haven’t been much for conversation or being around people, except the band. It’s getting better, and it will continue to get better.

On that note, Soulful Noize has a live show on Wednesday, which I’m excited about. I’ll be ready.

This is a story that I wrote when I started this journey, and in 2013, I put some of it out on this blog. I only put out one paragraph, but now I want to present the story in its entirety: some today and the rest next week. (That is entirety in my world).

That’s it.

And now it’s time to close our eyes and our thoughts, if only for a moment…and rest.

DANNY SPITZ, ALMOST A PRIVATE EYE

PART I

Doreen

The day starts like any other.  Not much going on.  I’m on my second beer and three episodes of some cartoon show, which I was enjoying almost too much. As usual. I’m Danny Spitz, almost a private eye. Almost—‘cause I don’t work at it very hard.

The phone rings and it’s Doreen from the office. “Yes, my dear,” I say into the receiver.

“Spitz, get your butt down to the office by 3 o’clock. We have a client coming in.”

“Doreen baby, you can count on me,” I say.

“Oh yeah Danny, don’t forget your suit and DON’T call me baby.” Another click.

Well first off, I don’t even own a suit. I hate moths! But I needed a suit to meet with this client, so where am I going to get one? (Think…think). I got it! My neighbour, Ernie! Ernie is the only guy I regularly  see in my apartment block who wears a suit. And I kind of know him.

So I knock on Ernie’s door down the hall from me and say, “Ernie, it’s me, Danny Spitz.”

“What can I do for you, Danny?”, he says, with an inflection a bit higher-ranged than was my liking, if you know what I mean.

“Look, Ernie,” I say. “I’m in a bind and need to borrow a suit for,..I don’t know…a few days.”

He says, “I’ve got a blue one, a light green one, and one done in pastels. It’s to die for.”

“I think I’ll stick with the blue one,” I say.

“Great,” he says. “I’m a size 45.”

“Yeah perfect,” I say. I grab the suit and I’m gone. I don’t have time to say I’m a size 42.  (To die for—what does THAT mean?) I decide to take a cab to the office, which in hindsight was a great idea as I remembered: I don’t own a car. (Damn card games).

Three o’clock in the afternoon on a day when the wind is blowing cold—the cold that grabs you like a bully. It just won’t go away. So where was I? Oh yeah, did I say three o’clock? It could be 3:15. Who the hell cares? In walks this beauty of a dame.  “I’m Mrs. Fiona Belkap and I am in need of your services,” she says.

I look at her and say, “You’re talking to me, right?”

She looks at me with a gaze that seems to cut me in two. I mean any good man would have fallen for that—even me. She says, “You are Danny Spitz, Private Eye. It says so on the door.”

I look at her like I just looked down her top and say, “Oh yeah, that’s me.” (Even though I haven’t made a dime in three months, almost). It finally dawns on me. I’m sick of sitting around and watching cartoons—well….almost. And then, like a spark, it hits me. Danny Spitz, THIS is your day! Your special cereal came in. Wait a minute I’m not talking about bloody cereal—even if it does pop around and hiss. Damn, now I’m thinking about my ex-wife, Betty. (HOLD ON! Where was I? Oh yeah, I remember—Mrs. Fiona Belkap).

“So what’s up, doll?” I say with my best boyish grin.

She sneers and says, “Danny Spitz—if that’s your real name–don’t ever call me doll.”

“Okay lady, what’s up?”

She turns her head ever so slightly; a tear falls, caught in time. “Oh, Danny!”

Now I am a very—how do you say—compassionate man. (Yeah, that works). “Oh Doreen,” I call. “Would you bring this lady a tissue? I think she’s upset, but what’s more, her nose is running and that is hard to look at. No offense ma’am.”

Doreen looks up and says, “Oh sure, why don’t I do that? I do everything else around here. And by the way, I’ve been cleaning the file cabinets; it was easy because they’re empty.” And she hands Mrs. Belkap the tissue.

“My husband is missing,” Mrs. Belkap cries. “For three days!! Can you find him?”

I look at her with my most professional face and reply, “I doubt it, but let’s take a look anyways. What can you tell me about him?”

“My husband is about—well he’d say 5’9—but everyone else knows he’s 5’8. He has grey hair, a small moustache, and ears so big you feel like hanging your coat on them. It’s a good thing he has big feet, to hold himself up.”

I look at her and say, “You sure you want to find this guy? He doesn’t sound like someone you’d want to go looking for.”

She looks at me and says, “But I love him and want him back.”

I look out the window and say to myself, “What the hell?”

Mrs. Belker asks, “Did you say something? You’re a bit of a low-talker.”

“A low-talker”, I growl. (That’s damn near a mumbler). “So what does he do?”

Mrs. Belker explains, “He works at the Roundtree Cookie & Pastry Emporium. He is the manager. He has been there seven years and has gained 20 pounds.”

“Does he have any hobbies?” I ask.

“I’m afraid he does. He races his pet gerbil Louie around the living room with a bell.”

I think to myself, this is a good place to start. Maybe I gotta go see Louie myself. (Whoa boy).

“Hey lady,” I call as she preoccupies herself with her makeup. “What’s his name anyway?”

“Oh of course– he goes by Big Merv; and also, what’s your fee?”

Looking forlornly at my shoes, thinking, man I need new shoes—I say hopefully, “Two hundred dollars a day plus expenses. No, you say? I can’t go below $100 a day plus expenses.”

“Fifty dollars, that’s it,” she says.

I lean back in my chair and tell her, “Mrs. Belkap I will have to mull it over.”

Doreen clears her throat and as I glance her way she is shaking her fist and mouthing something. It looks like “Take the bloody case.” I roll my eyes back to Mrs. Belkap, and almost gushing (yeah right) I say, “Mrs. Belkap, Danny Spitz is on the case.” (Now what?)

Five o’clock that night I am still sitting at my desk getting my plan together. Plan? What a joke. (Okay smart guy, where to start?)

“Doreen,” I call. “I need cab fare.”

“We don’t have any. I’ll give you some bus tickets.”

“The bus!” I almost explode. “I hate the bus!”

“Then walk,” Doreen says.

“Screw it”, I say and head for the bus.


To be continued….

(NEVER EVER GIVE UP)

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By jamesghutcheson

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