Chet The Dog

Posts Tagged ‘Kelo Printz’

Surprise (At Least For Me)

Because, distracted by Iggy, I didn’t hear that someone was in the house. Then all of a sudden there he was, coming in from the back. He had a gun in his hand. “Drop it,” he said. Bernie dropped it. The guy was dressed in a sharp suit, no tie, had the biggest whitest teeth I’d ever seen on a human.

“Hi, Kelo,” Bernie said. Hey! It was Kelo Printz, our missing client.

“Nice work,” Kelo said. “You got the kidnappers and the film. The kidnappers you can do whatever you want with. As for the film, I’ll take it.” He held out his hand.

Donut Heaven, Continued

A lovely cruller. I curled up on the shotgun seat and got to work. Meanwhile Bernie and Lt. Stine were talking about Freddie Dancer, the dude who’d taken pot shots at us down at the tiny box canyon. I got the feeling Bernie was learning something important, like Freddie Dancer’s name was really Freddie Dangelo, and that he’d got his name from dancing on some poor guy his gang had beat up, and that he’d done time at Central State for kidnapping. But only a feeling, because mostly all that talk passed over me like a gentle breeze. I took care of that cruller, then licked off the last crumbs. I was still doing that when Bernie said, “Kidnapped? Interesting. That’s what happened to our client, Kelo Printz.”

And by the way – Sunday: Elvis Gospel

Hands up high? Had nothing to do with me. And maybe not Bernie either, even though he has hands, for sure. But he didn’t raise them.

“Chet!” he said, and at the same time dove under the wreckage of the old biplane. I crawled in with him, just in time. Crack! Zing! I knew those sounds. We were getting shot at. It happens sometimes in our job. Is it time to mention what we do, me and Bernie? We run the Little Detective Agency. Bernie’s name is Bernie Little. I’m Chet, pure and simple. We specialize in missing persons cases, missing kids most of all, but what with our finances being a mess we take just about anything, including divorce work, which we hate. In this particular case, we had a missing client, Kelo Printz, Hollywood guy. 

Crack! Zing!

“Don’t like getting shot at,” Bernie said. Then neither did I. Bernie reached into his belt. Hey! The .38 Special. I’d forgotten all about it. Good things usually happened when the .38 Special came out.

A Nice Breeze

Ezra Printz? The name was kind of vague in my mind. I was already giving up on trying to remember when Bernie said, “Sometimes it helps to go over the facts. Ezra Printz – Hollywood flack who worked on the Greed shoot, notorious silent film that ended in bitter conflict between the director, Erich von Stroheim, and the producer, Louis B. Mayer – was the great-grandfather of our client, Kelo Printz, a client now missing, in fact, abducted.” Uh-oh. That all went by way too fast. “Remember that ransom call?” I tried and tried. “And what was the ransom demand?” Bernie went on. “A can of film.” He held it up. It sparkled in the sun, a lovely sight. I felt a current of air stirring in the box canyon from somewhere behind me, and not long after realized it was my tail. We were on the job, me and Bernie.