Tag Archives: Scotch

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”

Humor, Noir

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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Humor

Dumpster Diving for Pharmaceuticals

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Eighty-two dollars. Ten little yellow pills. Sorry Mick, not even mothers little helpers.

Eight Dollars and twenty cents a shot for Tamiflu and they don’t even come with a warning to call the Dr. after four hours.

Granted I was much happier with their ability to fight the flu. To catch you up, this is the part where I tell you that I have spent the last week like many unlucky Americans. No, the dumpster part comes later. I left work early on Monday with a sickness I have not had in years, the flu.

I have no idea why the flu has not visited me in the last 10 years. I have never been big on the flu shot. It’s always a crapshoot. My conclusion is that in the past it had lost the fight for possession of my body to sinus infections which decided to call my body their humble abode. Yes, I think the sinus infections muscled out any other nasty microbe that tried to move into its territory.

The infections were so bad ass that it took surgery to evict them.

I am happy to say I have been sinus infection free for over a year. But apparently, they left 
a big welcome matt open for any tenant regardless of race, creed or ability to make the landlord miserable. Hello Flu.

Since I have a weakened immune system, my doctor didn’t want to mess around and prescribed Tamiflu. “Weakened immune system,” you say? Is it time to put on patent leather shoes and move to Florida? No, I don’t have on sandals and Bermuda shorts and I am not that old yet but having diabetes weakens your immune system considerably.

Unfortunately, by the time I received the Dr’s message my provider’s pharmacy had closed. No worries, there was a critical care facility a mere 45 minutes away. What could happen while speeding with a 103 temperature? No, it’s not time for the dumpster yet.

It was 103 before I last talked to the Dr. I am sure it held at 103 like a good little fever. How often do you have a good excuse for speeding? My last such case was 2 am on a morning in 1991 and my appendix was threatening to introduce itself to me. The police didn’t pull me over then either.

When the pharmacist at urgent care rang up $82 for Tamiflu, even he had to double check that was the price after health insurance coverage. I was glad I did not have to add the price of a speeding ticket to that.

By Friday, the pills were working and my flu was on the ropes.
When I discovered I could not find the last three pills that evening, I panicked.  I just knew that I would have a relapse because I lost the last 24 dollars worth of Tamiflu.

Retracing my steps and looking everywhere in between, I had come to the frightening conclusion that those 3 little pills could probably be found snug as a bug in one of the two trash bags I had relegated to the dumpster that evening.

So, at ten o’clock on a Friday evening, I found myself hanging halfway in a dumpster. Probably no surprise to many that thought my life was headed in that direction.

Several thoughts went through my mind at the time.

The most insistent thought was “I should have thrown a belt on the mom jeans I was wearing.” It was cold outside and I was worried about even more exposure.

A car did stop nearby but they were just getting their mail. By the hurried sounds of their feet and screeching car tires, I assumed they had spotted me and were less than curious to see what was going on.

Oh well, the neighbors were not keeping our trash safe for democracy. I can live with that.

Proving myself to be right, as I found the pills in one of the trash bags, was a far less satisfying feeling than knowing that I would not suffer a relapse because of losing 24 bucks worth of Tamiflu.

Besides, there were a myriad of other reasons for having a relapse. Where did I put that good bottle of Scotch?”

Uncategorized

I Still Miss Him (Charles Bronson)

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It was 18 years ago today that my Dad passed away. He was on my mind all day and this evening. Perhaps that is why I could not sleep and now find my self pounding away at my keyboard (it sounds better than clicking away on my laptop doesn’t it).  In memory of him I am republishing a post from my old site that  I wrote for fathers day last year. I hope you enjoy it.

Charles Bronson

I was really alone for the first time in my life.  I was living in Maryland while doing a student coop for the Bureau of Census. Eighteen hundred miles from my family and a girlfriend  and renting a room from a total stranger. I found myself channel surfing one evening and stumbled upon an old Charles Bronson movie from his early days. When he appeared on screen I was taken aback by how much he resembled my father when he was young. It must have been a Charles Bronson marathon because later on I caught a more recent  movie of his and damn if he did not mirror my father in later life also. I missed him than as much as I do now.  Thinking about him now I realize that much like Charles Bronson’s characters my dad was an old school man.  The archetype of the strong silent hero. He was not a man of words but of action. Of course his actions were a little more sedate then vigilante justice , well except for the time he popped out of the family station wagon with his shotgun to confront some neighborhood vandals , but just as important none the less.

I can probably count on both  hands the number of times I remember that he told me he loved me. The number of times he showed me however would take a super computer to calculate. The only regret  I have involves something I told him when he was helping me move to DC after college. I thought I was grown up enough not to be called Danny anymore and I kindly asked him to call me Dan or Daniel.  I wish I would have kept my mouth shut. I would let him call me anything he wants to just to have him back.  I have gradually tried  let the guilt go as time has gone by, besides that doesn’t seem the kind of thing that Charles Bronson would have let bother him and my dad  continued to show me how to live , how to love and how to battle through life.

I  am still a little repentant these days and actually like it when people call me Danny. I would like to continue writing this  but well there seems to be something in my eye. Instead I will raise a glass of Scotch. To Casey and Charles Bronson.