Posts Tagged ‘Colonel Bob’

Dry Gulch

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October 9th, 2010 Posted 9:56 am

Haven’t been to the Dry Gulch Steak House and Saloon in way too long. They’ve got a giant wooden cowboy out front – very tempting to lift your leg against him, but I’ve never given into that temptation, except maybe once, which might be in To Fetch A Thief – and a cool patio out back, where the nation within the nation is very welcome. Right now, for example, the bartender is saying, “Customer just sent back a plate of steak tips – medium, and he asked for medium rare. Think Chet would be interested?”

“Nah,” says Bernie.

And then there’s lots of laughing, not sure why.

“Love when he does that,” says the bartender.

Does what? Standing up on my back legs, maybe, front paws on the bar? Oops.

Soon after that I’m at the edge of the patio with a nice plate of steak tips. Medium? Medium rare? I like them both, also rare and well done. And raw, come to think of it. Bernie says I’m not a fussy eater. I glance over at him between bites. He’s checking his watch.

“Wonder what’s keeping Colonel Bob?” he says.

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Faint Memories

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October 7th, 2010 Posted 10:00 am

Colonel Bob’s on speaker. Hey! That reminds me of something. Not just all the fun we had – those pilots sure know how to have fun: is that in Thereby Hangs A Tail? But something else, something about …

“Just wondering how we’re doing, Bernie?” he says.

Bernie rubs his chin. He hasn’t shaved in a day or two, so his hand makes a rasping sound. I like that sound but prefer when Bernie shaves. Never liked beards, and besides we have to look professional in this business. We’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie. I do my best to look professional. Janie’s my groomer, the best groomer in the whole Valley. She has a great business with a great business plan: Janie’s Pet Grooming Service – We Pick Up and Deliver.

“I’m talking about Astrid,” Colonel Bob says.

“Yeah,” says Bernie. “Maybe we should meet.”

“Dry Gulch?” says Colonel Bob. “In an hour?”

“Okay.” Bernie hangs up and turns to me. “Where’s that damn flow chart?”

Flow chart? A faint memory rises in my mind, kind of like that fish I once saw in the canal. We have a canal here in the Valley – have I mentioned that already? And then, just like that fish, the faint memory sinks back down, out of sight. I don’t let it bother me.

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Poolside (2)

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June 18th, 2010 Posted 8:58 am

Ray looked up. When humans are confused they get this expression on their faces, and Ray had it now. Here in the nation within the nation, as Bernie calls it, we’re not quite so easy to read when it comes to confusion. Only my opinion. But our faces, yours and mine, are different. You’ve noticed that, right? Noticing is important in our work – we’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie. Bernie says you can look us up in certain books. Their pictures are down below.

But forget all that. Right now we were on the job – a paying job, and the client was Colonel Bob, father of Ray, the young guy sitting so confused by the pool. What were those things around him? Red-splotched towels? A reddish color, I was pretty sure, although I can’t be trusted when it comes to colors, Bernie says. But the smell: he trusts me on that. And the smell of blood: well, that’s an easy one.

“Ray?” Bernie said. “You’re not dropping the gun.”

Ray glanced down at the gun in his hand, like he was surprised to see it there.

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A Fistful Of Tin Futures

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May 15th, 2010 Posted 9:02 am

Colonel Bob gave me a pat. He wasn’t a real great patter – like Autumn or Tulip, for example, who worked in the More part of Livia Moon’s place in Pottsdale, Livia’s Friendly Coffee and More – that’s all in To Fetch A Thief, or was it the Chatterley Case? – but even if he wasn’t the best patter I really liked Colonel Bob, a big guy with a big red face and short gray hair cut flat on top. He was wearing cammies and desert boots, and I could smell desert smells on those boots, but not our desert, which was strange and very interesting to me. Bernie and Colonel Bob were talking, about what I wasn’t sure.

“What kind of information?” Colonel Bob was saying.

“Astrid’s whereabouts,” said Bernie. “It’s not spelled out, but I won’t make a deal for anything else.”

“How much money?” said Colonel Bob.

“Five grand, but I’ll try to talk him down,” Bernie said. “I hate paying for information.”

“Just do it,” Colonel Bob said.

I sniffed his boots.

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The Books



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