Posts Tagged ‘Foster’

Plundering On

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August 26th, 2010 Posted 9:25 am

“I’ve got a few questions for Ratko Savic,” Bernie said. We were back in that abandoned housing development, Cactus Heights. Bernie went over the questions, kind of hard to follow, something about Astrid knowing Ratko, maybe, or possibly Foster knowing Ratko. And did Albie come up? Tulip? No sense worrying about all that.

Bernie glanced around. “There are so many of these godforsaken places these days. How’s the economy ever going to turn around with all this emptiness?” The economy – was that like our finances? They were a mess. If I haven’t mentioned the Hawaiian pants episode, I’ll do it now. And who could forget the tin futures?

We got out of the car, started walking from house to house. Lots of scraps blew around and weeds grew through the cracked pavements of the driveways. “Ratko’s not doing much of a job when it comes to caretaking,” Bernie said. Then he added something else. I missed whatever it was, on account of a smell I picked up, coming from the next house. Hadn’t I smelled this before, in pretty much this same spot?

“Chet? Where’re you going, big guy?”

Great ID badge yesterday.

And today our thoughts are with Dan and family.

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Cologne And Me

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August 4th, 2010 Posted 8:52 am

Was Tulip’s motel one of those no-tell motels? I didn’t know, wasn’t sure what it even meant, exactly, but no-tell motels come up from time to time, especially when we’re doing divorce work. We hate divorce work at the Little Detective Agency. What we like are missing persons cases, which we had now, on account of Astrid Jason was missing. Also, Albie Rose was in a freezer, so maybe it was more than a missing persons case.

But right now, Tulip was saying, “I had Astrid’s two suitcases right there, at the end of the bed.” We searched the little room. No suitcases.

Lots of women wear perfume. Not sure why. Is it meant to go side by side with their normal smell? Because that’s what it does, at least to me. Some men these days – certainly not Bernie, who has the best human smell there is – are wearing cologne. Cologne’s kind of like perfume but you don’t get this male deer – yes, I’ve had an encounter or two, a story for another time – musky thing in perfume. What I was smelling now was cologne, then, a musky kind, but mixed with mint. I know mint from the mint juleps that Otis DeWayne, our weapons guy, makes from time to time. Do humans really like that musk and mint mixture? But I guess that wasn’t the point.

“Chet? What’s that barking about?”

I recognized the cologne; in fact, had smelled it kind of recently. Who had been wearing it? Oh, yeah: Foster.

“Chet?”

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Poolside (5) (With Shoutout To Dustin Pedroia*)

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June 25th, 2010 Posted 8:43 am

“Ray?” said Bernie. “You’re running out of time.”

The sirens got louder. We stood near Ray, me and Bernie, beside Albie Rose’s pool. I like pools – the one at the Ritz in Pottsdale! Wow! But I don’t think we can go back there – and was considering a swim, but something about those bloody towels stopped me, hard to explain why.

Ray looked around, confused.

“What did you do to Albie?” Bernie said.

Ray shook his head. “I wasn’t going to do anything to him. I just wanted him to answer some questions.”

“But?” Bernie said.

“But I couldn’t find him. That guy who works for him – “

“Foster?”

“Yeah. Foster called and said Albie had information for me. But when I got here no one was around. The house was open. I went in and looked around, and then … I’m not sure what happened then.” He rubbed his head again. “I was out here and you showed up. Who are you, or did you already say?”

Bernie gave him a long look. The sirens got louder.

* a little guy who swings from the heels

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Posted in Chet The Dog

Foster?

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June 2nd, 2010 Posted 9:22 am

On the way to Vegas we didn’t listen to music the way we’d usually do – lately lots of Lucinda Williams, plus some of our favorites like Elmore James and Billie Holliday, and there was always Hawkshaw Hawkins with Lonesome 77203, and don’t leave out Django Reinhardt – but forget all that, because all we listened to was news about the oil spill. Bernie got in a real bad mood – that hardly ever happens – and he kept saying “No proven backup plan? They’re allowed to drill way down deep like that with no proven backup plan? It’s amateur night.”

Amateur night? I remembered an amateur night at the Dry Gulch Steak House and Saloon, when Bernie brought out his ukulele and maybe he’d had a few drinks, but I still thought he did a great job on An Empty Bottle, A Broken Heart, and You’re Still on My Mind, although most of the crowd seemed to be in the mood for something else. But did we even have the ukulele with us now? I didn’t think so.

We drove into Vegas. Albie Rose lived in the biggest house I’d ever seen, more like a palace, surrounded by high walls. We’d been here before, on the Madison Chambliss case. That turned out all right – is it in Dog On It? We walked to the gate. Bernie pressed the buzzer. “Even money the next voice we hear is Foster’s,” he said.

Please, Bernie, no gambling. Our finances couldn’t take it.

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