Humor, Noir

Boulder Noir: A Good Time For Brain Storm #42, Free CBD.

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Frank Bronski was in his borrowed office at his borrowed desk,
thinking. Frank was not what he would call a wise head, what most people today would call smart but he had his moments. He just had a brain storm, which in Franks case was usually the sign of a brain cell dying and giving up its last thoughts. Yes plural, we’ll give Frank the benefit of the doubt.

Frank would credit the Scotch but the brain cell dying is a better bet.

He had come up with an idea to help pare down the multiple Steve Simpson doppelgängers that existed in Boulder. Now the problem was much more than just selecting the guy named “Steve Simpson”, because wouldn’t you know the names of the three guys listed on the internet were, S. Simpson, Sam Sims and Jon S. Doe. The last guy dropped the usual “h” so as not to make it appear too obvious. This guy was a real Einstein.

His idea was a variation of a copper device he’d seen on various police shows. They usually had a list no good punks who had warrants out for them but who disappeared 1

They would trap them by notifying them they had won some gift.
To get them they had to a specific destination to pick them up whereupon they would get arrested. Go directly to jail and do not collect your gift. The cops couldn’t find these guys but strangely enough the crooks picked up their mail.

Go figure.

Frank always thought that was a pretty wise idea. For Boulder he thought he would need a little different idea but since pot was now legal he didn’t think that would attract anyone let alone middle aged men. His alternative was CBD oil2. Today’s panacea for aches, mood swings and pain in the ass bosses. He didn’t know a middle aged man who wouldn’t try anything new to tackle the new aches and pains that were suddenly cropping up.

Thanks to the magic of the internet Frank had the doppelgängers addresses and now he needed to concoct a letter and a questionnaire that would help identify the real Steve Simpson. Fortunately he only had to make three copies of the same letter. He was on a thin budget and any savings helped.

Dear Sir,

We have a wonderful product for you free of charge.

We have developed a new type of CBD oil guaranteed to get rid of all your
aches and pains and help you deal with pains of the non physical variety in your life.

The new product is Final Frontier CBD. We’ve gathered experienced stoner Trekkies from the area and have crafted the purest non THC containing CBD oil on the market. Just show up to 1313 Pearl Street on the third Monday in this month anytime between 8am to 8 pm. Once there your only requirement will be to present this letter and fill out a simple questionnaire before picking up your free CBD oil.

It will be, um, cool to meet you.

Yours truly,

FF CBD LTD

Frank thought the more acronyms the better.

Now he just had to send the letters and wait for the CBD lineup Monday.

What could go wrong.

Note: 42? Apparently a number in the title will get the blog post more clicks. Sometimes I just go with it. I am sure Frank has had more than 42 brain storms.

Humor, Noir

Boulder Noir: The Town is Still a Little Quirky.

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Long after Allen Ginsburg, Timothy Leary and Mork left their mark on Boulder Colorado, it continues to be shall we say a little quirky . It’s not as obvious as it once was but if one were to slow down and pay attention, signs of quirkiness will reveal themselves.

“I sat at the leftover desk in my “abandoned” office pondering my discussion with the entity I call the shadow. I tried not to stare at it. Besides being rude it was very difficult to focus on . For all practical purposes it was an actual shadow but from time to time a face would appear along with a shimmer. I could not even begin to describe it’s appearance. It showed up when talking and it was just too freaky to look at it for longer than a second or two.”

“Enough of what the shadow did or did not look like. What it said was really strange”

“Time flows like a river. Sometimes water forms eddies and pools around transient objects and allow for something wonderful to be exposed or to join the river itself.”

Yeah he’s from Boulder alright. Enough of the guys soliloquy. The bottom line is there has always been some strangeness to Boulder and no one knows exactly why. It could be ghosts of Chief Niwot, remnants from the Beat and the “Tune In and Drop Out” generations or aliens left behind by Mork and Mindy but there are phenomena that can not be explained. Once such phenomenon is that the town seems to be a magnet for an unusual amount of dopplegangers. In detective speak “dead on lookalikes.”

The shadow had no explanation or at least nothing beyond the eddy speech which didn’t clarify anything and maybe he threw that in to make him more mysterious. I consider that a wasted effort because he is a freakin talking shadow. Nothing added it to it would make it more mysterious.

It turns out Steve Simpson, the potential philanderer who’s wife had hired me, has at least one known dead on lookalike and probably more.

My first case had just gone from simple to complex and really quirky. If there are a degrees of quirkiness. I’m going to earn my dough on this one. Now fortunately I’ve kept up on internet technology and I know that Google has a feature that can do image searches across the internet. If found it will give you the source, where it was found, of the image. So if it was found in a local paper or a magazine or even TV or film, It will tell you that.

The good news is that it found the image of Steve Simpson. The bad news is that it found 3 guys that look like him in a 10 square mile radius of Boulder .

I thought “This definitely puts me behind the eight ball. Time to rack my brain,” and I reached for the bottle of GlenBargain.

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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.’…

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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 Cheese3. 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 hero4,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.5. 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.6 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

A Place To Share Some Grins