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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”

Image by pikisuperstar on Freepik

Humor

From The Case Files of Grok, The Original Detective: Something Wicked This Way Lurches.

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The glowing shards of rock started out as a large asteroid between Mars and Jupiter.*  The journey had whittled down the parent rock  but it was still of significance size when it broke up in earths atmosphere spawning hundreds of meteorites.  The destination of some had given birth to the Grok we met in the first chapter of this saga. The final destination of the rest had been unknown, until now.

Grok stared placidly out over the field of flowers that filled his view. Despite all of the beauty surrounding him he felt that something was amiss.  Oh sure , he had managed to either drive out or suppress the criminal element at his end of Cave Town. He was also slowly educating the local males in forms of seduction more sophisticated than the “club and drag”. This was no easy task. He was finding it impossible to come up with a smooth monosyllabic pick up line so in the meantime he turned his efforts into creating better cocktails and this was reaping rewards. He had recently concocted some fruity alcoholic punch that could be kept down long enough to create a buzz.

His current feelings of trepidation had nothing to do with business. The success he had on his end of town did not mean he would be running out of cases soon. His reputation had started to reach outside his community and he would have work for a long time to come. What bothered him was a feeling of impending doom that did not seem tethered to anything current in his life. Grok shook his head in an attempt to ignore the feeling for now and go on about his day.

*****

The trajectory that marked the path of the wayward meteorites had painted a streak beginning at the east end of Cave Town and continued across the bordering swamp to land upon Cave Town’s nearest neighbor Unibrow Village. Unibrow Village was much like Cave Town other than the latter’s discovery that two brows are better than one.

Throg had tracked down the beast that would be his lunch, dinner and tomorrows breakfast to the edge of the swamp. Once the beast had mated, Throg would merely wait for it to sleep and then he would pounce. Throg was expected to share his bounty with the rest of the neighborhood but he was not a guy that shared, nurtured or cared about anyone else. That was the second to last thing that he remembered. The last was seeing some large glowing rocks coming towards him.

Throg woke up a few sunsets later at the edge of the swamp. He appeared not to have moved at all. No one in his village would have had the courage let alone the compassion to move him to shelter. He was not surprised nor did he care. What did surprise him was all of the new thoughts running through his brain. None of them were of the good variety and he liked it. It was as if the stagnant swamp water had seeped into his brain overnight bringing with it tiny microscopic life. His brain was now full of evil little cells teaching him new ways to get more for himself. They were screaming “organize”. Throg was beginning to get excited about newfound possibilities. Too bad none of those possibilities included the idea of  turning one eyebrow into two. It would do a lot for his self-image and perhaps he wouldn’t be so mean.

****

Grok lay awake in his cave unable to fall back to sleep. His day was long and somewhat fulfilling. He had ventured over to the west portion of Cave Town to mingle and make new contacts since he had helped most of the women on his side of town with their wayward men. In many of the cases the couple stayed together. In the cases where they had not, the women left town for a fresh start somewhere else.

Grok had hoped that at least one of the dames would have been impressed enough to spend some time with the hero detective. He was not sure where he got that crazy idea. He also wasn’t sure where he got the term “dames” or the term “detective”. It wasn’t as if there were any unrealistic stories out there full of dames falling all over the detective, yet.  He had an idea though that stories like that could be popular. Maybe when he was ready to give up his career he could pick up cave painting some detective stories. He was starting to like that word “detective” and it fit. It was better than “finder”.

His attempts  to flirt with some of the women he met on the west side were foiled by  his lack of smooth monosyllabic “come on” lines. That’s what he told himself anyway. Apparently the west side women still liked the bad boy silent type. Grok was confident that once they were introduced to the full awesomeness that was his charm and intellect they would warm up to him like a cup of joe on a hot fire. If only he knew what a cup of joe was.  Here, in his cave at two in the morning, Grok was hoping that the warm up process would not be too long. It was a bit cold. Suddenly a shiver ran down his spine and thoughts of loneliness were replaced by the feeling of impending doom. Grok did not fret too much about it though, he understood  fear. When it came to women , he had no clue.   He would deal with whatever doom lay ahead tomorrow. He began to relax and was soon welcoming the arrival of a deep sleep.

*Not that this information is of any benefit to the dwellers of Cave Town. They think stars are fireflies without wings. It does however give some nice background information for the reader.

Humor

The Further Adventures of Grok, The Worlds First Detective

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Miss the First Installment ?http://thesoundoflaughter.wordpress.com/2013/03/30/i-grok-the-store-of-the-worlds-first-detective/

Grok had awoken with a twinkle in his eye and snap in his lurch. His ability to walk upright  still needed some work but it did the job.  He felt excited , he felt like this was the first day of, hmm, the rest of his days?

His life had changed dramatically  since the “rock shower” in the clearing a few weeks ago. He had given up foraging due to boredom. There were no new plants to discover around here as he could recognize all of the edible ones from the plants that would send you scurrying for the bushes.

He had found a new way to get the necessities he needed for life. He had become what he liked to call a “finder”. Well that was the term he was going with for now because it described his skill set and what he could offer people. He could find things. He could find information and he could find people.  In return he received food, clothing, firewood and an occasional cave painting to brighten up his place.

Grok got dressed quickly. Let’s face it what does it take to throw on a loincloth? He knew some guys took forever in the morning primping and all. It’s a good thing they couldn’t see how they looked.

Hearing a tapping at his cave entrance Grok grunted out some sounds that resembled the phrase “come in doll-face “.  In walked his neighbor’s mate. The thought “ In glided a tall willowy redhead and I could tell she brought trouble where ever she went” popped into his mind but that would be totally inaccurate. A more appropriate statement would be, “In limped a women, barely waking upright,  with a mass of dirt-water colored hair. I could tell she brought hygiene  issues wherever she went.” But that would be mean and confusing since it described all of the residents of this local cave-town.

Grok inquired as to what her problem was and she replied in a lot of grunts , squeaks and a sound he was not sure what the origin was. He hoped it wasn’t a bodily function. From what he could make out she either thought her mate was having an affair and wanted proof or she got a hold of some bad plants. He was desperately counting on the former. His cave was spotless and did not want to clean up a mess.  She did offer cleaning services in return so he figured either way it would work out.

Grok shadowed the man for several days and then hit upon the idea of documenting his findings using cave drawings.  This resulted in what may be histories first case of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.  It also resulted in a fine archeological display for the London Museum  hundreds of years later.

Grok had discovered that his neighbor was clearly having an affair. He also discovered the man definitely needed work on his seduction skills. While a club to the head may be effective, Grok did not think it very romantic or nice for that matter. Grok was amazed however that after a period of recovery the woman warmed to her “pursuer”.   Apparently she likes the bad boys.

The last day on the job Grok reported his findings to his client by showing her his cave drawings, not realizing that years from now men will be showing women their etchings in an attempt at a more sophisticated form of seduction.

In addition to the house cleaning she made him a hat to sweeten the deal.  She thanked him for his services and uttered some grunts that he interpreted as “ why don’t you drop by and see me some time”.  He politely declined. The last thing he needs is an irate neighbor lobbing rocks at him, besides it would not be professional.

Grok felt good. Tying up the job in a neat little package was satisfying. He had no idea if the couple was going to make it but at least the woman now could bargain from a position of strength.  He threw on his hat and went for a walk. Passing the nearby water hole he caught sight of his reflection. The hat looked good. It made him feel like a finder. He was going to have to work on that term. He needed something with a little more snap to it.

Humor

I Grok, The Story of the Worlds First Detective

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“I Grok Therefore I am “, He thought when he first woke up this morning. He was not sure what any of that meant. He did not have thoughts before this morning. Well to be clear he had not had any lucid thoughts until this morning. He was still not quite sure what lucid meant.  There was really only one thing he could be sure about and that was that  all of this strangeness started yesterday.

It was a day like all of the others. Get up in the morning. Slowly peek outside the cave and see if it was safe out there. No big hairy flying things, check. No big hairy four legged walking things, check. No sign of anything hairy and moving, check. Most of the dangerous things around here were hairy and moving except the dweller in the cave next door, but he was always having a bad hair day , even when he did manage to move his behind off his rock and do something useful.

Convinced all was well in the neighborhood of caves he stepped outside to begin his morning of foraging for breakfast. Foraging was not the duty of most of the males in his village but he was no longer allowed to go hunting with them. His idea of “hunting” was too boring for the other men. He preferred to “think” about it for a while. At least that is the “word” he now attached to it, thinking. After thinking he would determine the easiest place and time to kill the beast. This usually involved waiting until the beast had mated and had fallen immediately asleep. Male beasts were no different than any other male creature.  For the rest of the village males, this did not offer enough excitement. Oh sure some of them had an unusual fascination for the preliminaries to the kill but it still did not offer enough prehistoric brutality to make it worthwhile.

He found foraging fascinating. Fascinating, that is the word he now attached to the feeling. He could look at plants and think about them all day long. At first, finding the plants you could eat was a crap shoot and usually that is what happened after eating what you found.  After several instances of hiding behind a rock the rest of the day and erupting at both ends of the spectrum, yes it’s a euphemism, you put a few clues together and learned what you could eat and what you could not.

He had been in the large clearing , a field maybe, yea that’s it, on the edge of the cave neighborhood when a loud noise above him caught his attention. Turning his attention skyward he caught site of a large boulder flying over him. Closely following the boulder was a flock, yea  a flock , of other smaller boulders. Maybe rocks, but kind of shiny.  That was the last thing he remembered before he woke up in his cave. That was two sunsets ago.

Upon waking up, Grok had two thoughts. “radioactive” and “cliche”. He was not sure what either of them meant but whatever happened had changed him. He felt different , he felt smarter, he felt the need  for an outside rock and ran out behind his cave. “Hmm, still feeling the after affects of yesterdays foraging”, he thought. “ What is with these thoughts “, he ….thought. Until yesterday all he ever had in his head were grunts and other incoherent syllables , with the majority the grunts being mostly “doh” and “nuts”. What was that all about? After a few moments he gave up trying to figure it out and went back inside his cave to start his day.

Once he a had spruced up a bit ,splashing water on his face and plastering down his hair, he exited his cave. Looking upon the neighborhood he saw it in a brand new light. Something different lay before him. Something that contained possibilities.