The Greed Case, Continued

Bernie took the blond woman’s purse, started looking through. 

“You have no right to do that,” she said.

“You pulled a gun on us,” Bernie said. “That was it for your rights.”

He fished out a driver’s license. I know driver’s licenses, had seen them plenty in our work, and maybe chewed on more than one. Driver’s licenses are made of something that feels great when you chew on them. Maybe I should mention that we run a detective agency, me and Bernie. My name’s Chet. We specialize in missing person cases. Was this one? I’m not the one to ask. Things were pretty complicated. We had a client, Kelo Printz, Hollywood producer, but he’d gone missing. We’d been to Death Valley and found a can of film in a cave, but there was no film in it, instead a folded-up painting by a dude named Martin Ramirez. Was he the perp? I’m pretty sure there’s a ballplayer named Manny Ramirez. Bernie pitched for Army, have I mentioned that? He can throw a tennis ball so far. Suddenly I was in the mood for fetch. I barked.

“Easy, boy,” Bernie said. He examined the license, then looked at the blond woman. “This photo doesn’t do you justice, Ms. Printz. Are you Kelo’s wife or his sister?”

I barked again. Why not just a quick game of fetch? I was in the mood!

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 21st, 2009 at 7:01 am and is filed under Chet The Dog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

3 Responses to “The Greed Case, Continued”

  1. Diane Brodson
    4:18 am on April 21st, 2009

    A quick game of fetch! To members of your tribe, there is no time like the present – for everything!

    But – wasn't there a skull?

  2. C. Harris
    4:07 pm on April 21st, 2009

    Wasn't expecting that plot twist!

    I can make my new dog very happy by picking up a ball and throwing it especially if it is a squeaky ball. She will fetch until she is practically postrate–and she will squeak the ball until I take it away.

  3. Rebecca Rice
    3:37 am on April 22nd, 2009

    The fetching until prostrate thing sounds like Blaze, a great German Shepherd I knew, back in my dog-o-rama days. She once fetched a stick from the lake until her paw pads were all cut up and bleeding, and then they had to forcibly leash her to make her stop. And even then, all she wanted to do was "the job."

    Chet, has Bernie played that "throw the ball through the window" game with you anymore? That sounded like a great game.

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