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Humor, Noir

Boulder Noir: The Shadow Knows

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Walking back to his car Frank heard someone utter. “Psst Buddy” out of the shadows. Wow, his first case and his first “Psst” from the shadows all in the same week. Things were really shaping up.

Frank walked towards the shadow to investigate but he became a bit disoriented. It was 6 pm and the Sun was shining directly on the bare front of a building. There should not have been any shadow to hide anything. A faint shimmer passed in front of his eyes further perplexing him.

Just then he realized some time had passed since the “Psst” and he’d been standing directly in front of the shadow for quite a while and it seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

“I’m sorry I’m confused,” said Frank.

“There’s no shame in admitting reality,” replied the shadow.

Either this guy is obtuse by his very nature or he’s being a smart ass, thought Frank.

“Um, did you want to tell me something. The “Psst” you uttered indicated you did.”

“I overheard your conversation with the barman”

“Strange, I didn’t see you in there.”

“I was there none the less.”

“Ok, for the sake of moving this along let’s just say you were there.”

“Well I heard you were looking for someone that looks like this gentlemen.” said the shadow producing a picture of Steven Simpson.

Strange, thought Frank. No visible arms or hands.

“Yes I am looking for Steven Simpson. “

“This gentleman may not be Steven Simpson. Steven Simpson has a doppelgänger.

Are you familiar with the term?”

“Yes. It’s some German word for a person who looks like someone else.”

“In a nutshell yes.”

“So I need to just find the other guy.”

“Well, one of the other guys.”

“Excuse me?

“Well there exists the probability that there may be more than one look alike in this town.”

How long have you lived in Boulder Mr. Bronski?”

“Oh just a couple months.”

“Well that’s not entirely true is it?”

Frank was a bit taken aback. He had actually lived in Boulder for 2 years a long time ago but left under auspicious circumstances. He had not made many friends back then and the type of people that he did know were most likely dead or incarcerated. So for a complete stranger, or shadow in this instance, to know that he was not brand new in town made him nervous. But really the shadows knowledge shouldn’t make him any more nervous than a talking shadow in the first place.

“Um no it is not true.”

“And you didn’t notice anything strange about the town?

“Besides the “trustafarians,” Naropa Gatherings and students burning couches? No not particularly.

“So you didn’t notice the unusual amount of Doppelgängers in town?”

“I might of had a few unexplained experiences with people I thought I knew but in those days there were, um, extenuating circumstances of the hallucinogenic variety”

“Those circumstances could have applied to many people but they did not cause doppelgängers.”

“So if Boulder has more than an average share of doppelgängers what is the cause?”

“Pull up a piece of the sidewalk and I’ll tell you.’…

Humor, Noir

Boulder Noir: Bub

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It was a bright sunny day but you wouldn’t have known it from the inside of Rick’s Place. There wasn’t a window in the whole bar.

The fans were there, barely visible in the dim lighting. The sounds of blues chords could be heard in the background and went well with the decor. Frank didn’t recognize the musician but he approved.

The look on the bartender matched the atmosphere. Dark and foreboding.

To Frank it seemed like this mug knew him and had no pleasant memories associated with him. Dancing lightly was going to be the task for the day.

“What’ll it be Bub”

Bub? I’ve never been a Bub before. I’ve been a Dude, a Mac and one time a Mac and Cheese1. but never a Bub thought Frank.

“I’ll take a Scotch and Soda. Whatever your rail brand is.”

“We’ve only got one brand. We call it our bar brand.”

“Ok, sounds tasty I’ll take one”

“Do you want to know what our bar brand of soda is ?”
“Uh, no. Surprise me.”

Frank knew the bartender was showing off his witty repartee but Frank was not impressed. Over the years he had encountered many bartenders with wit and this guy couldn’t hold their bar rags but Frank wouldn’t let his opinion of the guy show. He had to play nice to get the information he wanted.

The Scotch and Soda was set in front of Frank with little fanfare.

Taking a sip Frank was surprised the bar brand was decent for a blended Scotch. The soda was nondescript but soda should not take the limelight anyway.

Frank waved over the bartender.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Of course I mind. I didn’t like it in school and let the teachers know I didn’t like it but I am trapped here It’s not as if I can avoid you for the next 6 hours. So ask what you gotta ask.”

“The last time I was in here I sat next to a guy who gave me some good advice. I never got his name and I’d like to thank him properly.

He was a big guy, maybe six two. Looked like he might have been a boxer.

I got a line on some Jewelry and maybe he might like something for his wife.”

“I might know a guy like that except he’s not married,”

“Oh my mistake I just assumed he was. Well

here’s my number if you could give me a call when he shows up here I would appreciate it.”

“What’s in it for me bub?”

“Well here’s some cabbage and there will be another one if you call.”

The bartender looked down. “Oh ten bucks. Save your money Rockefeller it looks like you need it more than I do. I’ll call you if he shows up.”

Sensing this was a good time to conclude his business, Frank finished his drink and left. If he had turned around he would have seen the bartender making a call.

Walking back to his car Frank heard someone actually utter “Psst Buddy”. Looking around he saw a figure in the shadows.

Wow, his first case and his first “Psst” from the shadows all in the same week.

Things were really shaping up. Frank walked toward the shadow to investigate.

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Next “Voices from the Shadow”

Noir, Humor

Boulder Noir: Muddy Waters

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Frank had been racking his brain trying to remember where he had seen Mr. Simpson before. He liked to use Scotch to rack his brain. Not surprisingly it turned his mind into muddy waters and rarely worked but Frank loved Scotch.

As he was pouring another “just a wee dram” of his favorite Single Malt Scotch a thought struck him, not too hard because his thoughts were considerate to him when he was drinking. The last time he ordered a Single Malt Scotch in a bar was at Ricks Place and the cost changed his mind. Ricks Place didn’t serve Glenbargain. The important part of the memory was that he was sitting a few stools over from a guy who looked like a retired boxer. A boxer who from the looks of him didn’t retire early enough. That guy was definitely a drinker and he certainly looked like Mr. Steve Simpson. So either Mrs Simpson was very dim as to her husbands habits or Mr Simpson was very good at hiding them.

It was time for Frank to pay a visit to Rick’s Place. Not his favorite watering hole. In fact Frank did not have a favorite watering hole. He thought it was bad to have one because it would make him predictable and easy to find and he was less than excited for certain people to find him.

Some people may hear the name Rick’s Place and think Casa Blanca. Those people would be wrong and sorely disappointed. The full name of the place in the movie was “Ricks Cafe Americain”. Since this is America the Americain part makes no sense and no one would call it a cafe. The only thing that Ricks Place had in common with the bar of movie fame is the ceiling fans but instead of slowly circulating a breeze coming in off the evening desert, it was the stench of a beer soaked floor that the fans blew around.

Frank jumped into his 90’s Saab. Hardly an auto fit for a detective who seemingly stuck in the forties, but he was working on finding a 1938 Plymouth Coupe.

He had a list of strict requirements. To be honest it wasn’t a list as it currently contained one item. That being a 38 Plymouth Coupe he could afford to get in driving shape. For now the Saab would have to do.

Upon arrival Frank parked in back of Ricks Place lest people see him exit a Saab. He had a reputation he was trying to create and the Saab didn’t scream hard boiled detective.

Entering Ricks place Frank heard the guitar sounds of a song he didn’t recognize. The song was by Muddy Waters but Frank didn’t recognize any song that came out after 1949. He was strange that way.

What was also strange was the look the bartender gave him when he entered.

Muddy waters indeed. It was becoming downright dirty.

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Noir, Humor

The Gig (Boulder Noir 2)

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Newbie private detective, office squatter and wrinkled clothed Frank Bronski has his first gig as a client wanders into “his” office.

“Don’t you think It’s a bit chilly in here Mr. Bronski?”

“I apologize. I’ve, um, complained to the landlord but no action from them yet.

So what’s the gig?”

“Gig,” asked Desiree Simpson.

“I’m sorry. What would you like to hire me for?”

“Well I’m sure this is almost cliche for a man in your position but I think my husband, Steve is having an affair.”

“It is somewhat cliche but not to me. I won’t treat it as such.”

That’s actually the truth he thought. It’s not a cliche if it’s my first case. What’s a cliche in this instance are my thoughts,“why would a man cheat on this lovely dame”. I am definitely sure that’s been asked a million times in a million cities about a million dames and just in this year alone.

“Why do you believe your husband is having an affair?

“Oh the usual signs you hear about. Many late nights at the office. I can understand some late nights. We are fairly new in town so it’s a new job for him but every night is a little much. To add to that, friends have said they have seen him out an about when he said he was working late. On one occasion a friend said she saw him with another woman. She couldn’t explain why but thought there was something between them.”

“Well that seems worth investigating,”he said.

Because I don’t believe in jumping to conclusions but he seems guilty from the get go, he thought.

“So you think he may be having an affair?”

“During this part of the dance I try not to think and prefer to act on instinct and let my footwork lead. Early conclusions can cloud the truth.”

“You sound like a man of experience.”

Frank didn’t know if he should feel flattered or disappointed in her lack of judgement.

“I’m afraid of the outcome but I’d rather know than feeling perpetually uncertain.”

“Thats brave of you”

“Oh I don’t think it’s being brave if the alternative is to drive myself crazy.”

“Do you have a recent picture of your husband?”

She pulled a photo out of her handbag.

Frank expected a ruggedly handsome guy. Looking at the picture he decided he was half right.

The rugged part fit but rugged in the way a failed boxer looks after a career of blocking many punches with his face. He thought “Fooling around? He should be hanging on to her like grim death.

Somehow though he seemed familiar. Had he seen him around town?

Frank asked her some routine questions about where they lived, where he worked, places (ie bars) he hung out after work, who his friends were etc.

He diligently took notes until his hand stopped in it’s tracks.

“Oh, he doesn’t drink.”

“Recovering alcoholic?”

“No he just doesn’t drink.”

Hmm, something was definitely fishy about this guy but what did he care, it was his first Gig.

“Well I think that’s enough dope, uh information, to get started. I’ll be in touch.

“Thank you Mr. Bronski. I hope it will be good news.”

With that she spun on one heal and exited leaving the slight scent of lilac in her wake.

He never liked lilac until now. It usually reminded him of a nonagenarian dipped in it leaving church. But it gently draped Desiree Simpson and she barely wore it at all.

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Humor, Noir

Boulder Noir

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The cold grey sky of downtown Boulder became dotted with flakes of falling snow.

The writer is beginning this story breaking the “rule” of not starting out with a description of the weather. He doesn’t give a rats “bahooty” about rules. Now he’s just making up words ( bahooty is not in the dictionary). He’s a rebel. Hell, he may even drink the old gallon of milk in his refrigerator. He’s pretty sure it’s at least a week past its sell by date. So yeah, don’t mess with him.

If one where to gaze up at the top floor of #1313 Pearl Street,  one could see the figure of our hero1,Frank Bronski, surveying the area. There is much to know about Frank and that knowledge will be revealed as the story unfolds. One question our dear reader may have is why a man in his mid thirties in the 21st century would act and speak as though he is a character in a Sam Spade novel. That is a question for which there is no obvious answer. Sometimes the all knowing narrator doesn’t know as much as he pretends.

Boulder is a town of free spirits so when Frank was out and about wearing a trench coat and a fedora no one gave him a second glance. On second thought , maybe some folks check to make sure he’s wearing pants. I’ve monopolized the story enough. Take it away Frank.

“I dragged my peepers up and down the street and glaumed no sign of trouble. Is “glaumed” the correct slang? See, saw, glaumed? I think so. In this case trouble is anyone that looked like a landlord type. I’m not exactly a paying tenant. What I am exactly is a squatter. This gumshoe gig is new for me and I needed to have a respectable office location. Unfortunately respectable is pricey in downtown Boulder. All I could afford was an embarrassing stall at an out of the way strip mall. Out of the way in Boulder is nowhere near town.

Because of it’s high real estate prices, downtown Boulder never seems to be lacking in available space. I was taking advantage and making one such space unavailable.

No one seemed to be aware that squatting was being committed so I threw up a temporary sign outside the door. The sign was temporary but I had spent some time and a steady hand  spelling out “Bronski Private Detective Agency” in hopes that it would look somewhat professional. I thought the word “Agency” made all the difference in the world.

By the old clock on the wall it was five minutes before an appointment with my first client, a babe by the name of Desiree Simpson. I hope the clock wasn’t slow, it came with the office. As if on cue the clock decided it had enough and promptly fell off the wall.

I settled into an office chair behind an old ratty desk, again accessories that came with the office. I then heard the high heel driven footsteps of who I hoped was my client. The door slowly opened as a  redhead with sunglasses poked her head in. Satisfied she wasn’t going to get jumped, the rest of her body, including a pair of long legs followed.”

“Desiree Simpson,” he asked.

“Yes and you’re Mr. Bronski?”

“Yep the sign is not lying. What’s with the cheaters?”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, sometimes my lingo runs away with me. The sunglasses. Why the sunglasses? It’s not sunny”

“No it’s my poor attempt to avoid being recognized.”

“Oh?”

“I am fairly well known in quite a few circles in this town, enough that I don’t want anyone seeing me walking into a detective agency.”

Frank didn’t tell her that being seen walking into an abandoned building may be worse.

“That’s an Interesting sign you have there”. 

“Yea I like it because I can turn it around at the end of the day and it spells “Closed”.  

Swell, she thought and wondered if this guy was the right guy for the job.

Up next “The Gig”

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Humor, Political

Old Guy Ranting about Old Guys Ranting :Anti-woke Evangelism.

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It’s time for another edition of Old Guy Ranting about Old Guys Ranting.

As you may have surmised from some of my previous posts, the anti-woke evangelists have really stuck in my craw. I figure if I am calling this series “Old Guy Ranting” I need to use old guy terms. I am proud to say that I had to look up “craw” in the New Oxford American Dictionary. Ok it’s an app but I do have a dictionary in my home library (read “pile of books I reference when writing at home.”) It means stomach rather than the gums or jaws that I thought it referenced. Yes, you can teach an old guy old guy tricks or words in this instance. But I digress….

You may recall from my previous ranting posts (the old guy ones) the definition of woke is basically realizing you haven’t been following the golden rule in some aspect of your life.1. You have become “woke” to that fact of your behavior and you resolve to change your ways and quite acting like an asshat in some cases and a criminal in other cases. The real awaking was when we realized that by not saying “No, you can’t do that” we were just as guilty as those participating in said behavior.

When the awakening played out on a national level the blanket term woke was applied to those who recognized the behavior and called attention to it’s moral decrepitude and in many cases it’s illegality. Illegal in that it violated the rights of others. Most would argue that being woke is a good thing but there are some out there who have railed against the idea of being woke. I guess they are proud of being asleep or in many cases unconscious.

Why would prominent people, in many cases politicians and/or TV commentators, take such a public stance. Simple. They want to further divide the country. Divide and conquer don’t you know. It doesn’t matter what side you fall on, most of us fall for it hook line and sinker.

My suggestion is that when the woke word is used we take a deep breath and think back to our upbringing and what our parents , grandparents or non incarcerated elders taught us about how to treat others. In some cases think of the scholars who taught us what our civil rights are.

For those sociopaths out there, don’t worry yourself, the entire concept of the golden rule is foreign to you. In fact I’m not sure worry is a familiar emotion to you.

You may be saying “gee the idea of woke no longer seems part of the nations zeitgeist.” It’s true that at any one moment it may not be on most peoples minds or lips but it’s a short moment until an anti-woke evangelist steps up to the pulpit once again. One of the evangelists has even written a book on how to fight the “woke”. The title of the book refers to being woke as Marxism. No doubt to trigger the “oh god no” response.

I am hoping the only people buying the book are too far gone , a sympathetic relative of the author and/or just a crime away from prosecution. Its really hard for me to believe that any of his relatives are sympathetic. Its also really hard for me to imagine it could be a book more than one page. The one page would look like this. “Only worry about yourself and you will never be accused of being woke.” Done, fini.2 I’ll step down from my soap box… for now.


Humor

The Team From Nowhere: Beyond The Galaxy

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Coach Stotlmeyer was sitting on the home team bench staring out into forever. The wind flowed with leaves and the onset of fall signaling the end of baseball season. Baseball was not exactly on Coach Stotlmeyer’s mind. What was on his mind were galaxies outside of the Milky Way and which one was home to his team and now Coach Brown. Coach had left a note, surprisingly legible to most humans, explaining that he’d pretty much done all that he wanted to on this planet. Since his wife’s passing a few years back he felt empty and thought this could be what fills him up. Frankly it would probably fill most people up if they had the chance and the courage to take the leap. Most people wouldn’t but Coach Brown was not most people. He hoped Coach found what he was looking for.

He on the other hand was like most people and there was no way he’d move his entire family to a different planet let alone a different galaxy in the middle of a school year. He would miss the team but he wouldn’t have to sacrifice his health to communicate with them.

Did you miss the beginning?

Start here.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Humor, Baseball

Officially Still Here

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The team was still on earth when the next game rolled around.

Coach Stotlmeyer had convinced the team that their previous coaching

session should be forgotten as those new rules were not official “yet”.

The magic word with these guys was “official”. Something was either

official or it was not official. Fortunately the dance pose that

represented official was an easy hands on the hips with a sullen face.

Not official was the same but with a shake of the head. Since coach

Stotlmeyer used the terms often when discussing the rules it was nice

that he didn’t have to turn his body into a pretzel.


The team went back to winning in perfect fashion and the coaches went

back he to worrying about their secret being revealed. The fans had

seen them at their worst,or so they thought, and they were quite happy

not to see it again.

To be honest, Coach Brown worried more about the future, specifically

the day the team decided to head home. Even though he could barely

pull off any interpretive dance moves without hurting himself, he’d

gotten to like them.

Did you miss previous installments?

First Installment.

Installment 2

Installment 3

Installment 4

Installment 5

Humor, Baseball

“If you find yourself surrounded by beings of intelligence it means the aliens are already here.”

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Coach Brown was in his office going over the roster for the next game when Coach Stottlemeyer limped in.

“I see that your ankle is better,” stated Coach Brown.

“Yes but I injured the other one during last weeks team meeting. This is the one I injured yesterday when the team popped into my place for a sit down.”

“A sit down?”

“Well not so much a sit down but an informal dance recital.”

“A recital? Who performed?”

“We all did actually.”

“What did they want to um, talk to you about?”

“They are finding the concept of errors in baseball hard to understand. Apparently their intelligence doesn’t allow them to make mistakes.”

“Now that’s a concept that I can’t understand. Didn’t they make errors all last game?”

“No, what they did last week is what I instructed them to do. Exactly what I instructed them to do. They thought I was introducing additional rules.. They really can’t understand anything in between. There are no gray areas in life for these guys. They have no concept of wrong, philosophical or otherwise. “

“Interesting I guess that’s what comes with superior intelligence.”

“That was only the first half of the meeting.”

“Oh, there’s more?”

“They feel that they have learned enough about baseball to return home and “spread the gospel” shall we say about the game. “

“What does “spread the gospel” entail?

“Well they would like to start a league of their own on their planet and then perhaps take it to other galaxies.”

“Other galaxies? You know I was happy, really happy when I knew that we were the only intelligent life form in the universe. Knowing what I know now, I just lay in bed at night staring up at the ceiling while my mind ponders other life forms hoping that we are not intelligent enough for them to be interested in.”

“Yea, I get that.”

“What are the odds that they will go home soon.”

“Well it depends on what soon is. They are definitely not here for the long haul.”

“That’s good I guess. That means they are probably not interested enough to spend the effort to conquer us. Do you think we should all try harder to be more stupid?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”