Tag Archives: Muddy Waters

Humor, Noir

Meet Nick The Peep

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Frank went to bed that night but never fell into a deep sleep. It wasn’t the chemical fumes of his bunker that kept him up. He was pretty sure that should have the opposite effect.

The constant worry of his past catching up with him was wearing him down to the point that he had to do something about it. He was going to have to return to Ricks place and have a parlay. He had pulled the one name from his memory that would have a high probability of wanting to see him…. You can end that with a variety of endings, “see him hang”, “see him fitted for concrete shoes”, “see him sleep with the fishes”. At first glance the last two seem the same but there is one big difference. With the shoes there is no swimming and the swimming is really a misnomer as to what dead bodies are capable of unencumbered by the weight of construction materials.

The guy he thought of was Nick The Peep. No-one knew his last name but he was pretty sure it wasn’t “The Peep”. There didn’t appear to anyone who knew how he got that moniker. If there were they may not be in a condition that would allow them to speak. There were rumors of course but all of them involved a certain level of sleaziness. Since the author is addicted to breathing without a straw, he will decline to discuss any of the rumors.

The last time Frank went to Ricks Place, lackeys of Nick the Peep paid him a visit not too long after. The bartender must have a connection. Frank figured that’s where he would go again to set up a meeting. Hopefully the outcome would leave him still being of this earth. He rolled around that last bit a little more. Maybe he should bring some artillery, a small bean shooter. He rolled it around some more and decided that a hardboiled detective would carry a cannon and he did not possess a .45, a .38 or come to think of it anything that delivered lead. There was also a high probability that anything deterred by a gun he carried would be his own life.

Frank turned off the lights of his Saab as he coasted into the lot behind Rick’s Place. He didn’t like being seen driving a Saab. It was a beater and not the kind of car a detective of any variety should be driving but until he could afford something more appropriate it would have to do. The coasting aspect of his driving had more to do with gas conservation than stealth. The Saab and his wallet were both running on fumes.

A Muddy Waters tune was playing on the jukebox when he walked into Nicks. Frank would discover later that Muddy Waters tunes were the only ones on the jukebox. This was fine. Muddy was ok with him.

As soon as the bartender spotted him, he made a phone call. The phone on the wall may be the only coin operated phone in the state thought Frank.

Frank sat at the bar and ordered the only drink he could afford, a bad beer. In a city that served as the home to the American Homebrewers Association, finding such a beer must have taken some work.

Thankfully it wasn’t long before Nick The Peep showed up and saved Frank from having more than a few sips of the swill.

Nick was small in stature, or so everyone had been trained to identify him as such. It had been a while since Frank got a really good look at Nick face. Most of the time his eyes were temporarily blinded by fists. From what he could recall, he was just as ugly as ever. A face made for radio and crafted throughout the years by countless street fights as he worked his way up through the organization.

Nick didn’t not look happy but then again Frank never saw Nick with anything resembling a happy look on his face. He thought Nick could improve his looks by just smiling once in a while.

“How ya doin Frank?”

“I’m above ground so I got that going for me.”

“Yes, about that. Would you like that condition to continue?”

“Is this a trick question? I would be a big fan of that.”

“Well, all you have to do is a little favor for me”

“I’m all ears.”

“Well I hear you are a detective these days. I got word somebody I am looking for is in Vegas and I need them located.”

“Grateful to live at least a few more days Frank replied. “I’m only too glad to help.

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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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