Hello, readers. Here is one of my promised short stories. Enjoy!
Well, children, gather ‘round. [splash] HEY, ROLAND! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT! If you want to hear a story tonight, then you’d better not try any more buckets of water. Tonight’s story is about a detective: Snyder Brokke. And no, Roland, he was not broke.
Let me introduce myself: I’m Snyder. Snyder Brokke. I’m a PI with eno’ cases under my belt to make me worth your time and cash. But enough with the advertising, you wanted to hear about one o’ my cases. It started on a Monday. I remember that ‘cause it was the day I bought lunch out. I always eat out on Mondays. It was just before noon, ‘cause I was about to go get lunch, when a scared looking guy walked in. He was cut up and bleedin’, and I said “I’m a PI, not a doc. He’s three offices over thataway.” I pointed to the right. He said, “I don’ need a doctah, ahh need ah investeegator. Ahh!” “Whatsda case?” “I need you to find out –ahh- who did thss” He had passed out. I knew that whoever had killed him would try t’kill me, too. After all, the dude[*] had come to me, and he looked like some guy was trying real hard to get something. And I meant to find out what. First things first though: I felt for a pulse, and found it. It tried to run, but it could only crawl. While I tried to call an ambulance, it started to leave. I had just almost resuscitated the dude when a man with a revolver tried to write an end to the story real fast. I have a little friend I keep close to my heart. Down and to the left, to be precise.[†] He’s quite the eloquent speaker. I decided to write my own ending to the story with him as my co-author. He spoke fast and loud five times. The revolver carryin’ guy was persuaded to lie down with five .45 caliber holes in his side. Holstering my gun, I stepped over both bodies and went to lunch.
[*] Dude used to mean a dandy or a rich person. I’m using this definition.
[†] I got this idea from Tracer Bullet, other wise known as Calvin by Bill Waterson.
