Posts Tagged ‘Kelo’

In The Game


September 8th, 2009 Posted 7:52 am

“I’ll make a deal,” Portia said.

“Where’s Kelo?” said Bernie. “That’s the only deal we’re interested in.”

Made sense to me. Kelo Printz was the client. The client pays the bill at the end the of the case. No client, no money, and our finances were a mess already.

“Not one more word,” said Freddie Dancer, down on the floor, hands cuffed behind his back.

Bernie gave him a little poke with his toe. “Freddie, you’re not in the game anymore. That’s what lying cuffed on the floor means.”

“I can’t tell you where Kelo is,” Portia said. “But I can tell you what this is all about.”

“We just want to know where Kelo is,” said Bernie. “We know what this is all about.”

We did? That was good to know. I got the feeling we were doing great, gave Freddie’s pant leg a quick nip.


An Old Familiar Smell


April 23rd, 2009 Posted 7:15 am

Portia Peters, the blond woman, ex-wife of Kelo Printz, our client, now missing – wow! I remembered all that! – drove away from our place on Mesquite Road. Bernie and I got outside in time to see her car – red, but don’t take my word for that – headed down the hill. We hopped into the Porsche – have I mentioned the Porsche? It’s a real old one, with lots of problems. Sometimes Bernie has to pop the hood and get out the tools. Look out when that happens. 

Where was I? The Porsche. We hopped in. And as we did, I picked up a smell I hadn’t picked up in a long time, I raised my nose, took a few deep sniffs just to be sure. Yes, no doubt about it: the scent of Iggy! Iggy had been out? That hadn’t happened in a long long time. Out, and in our yard. I looked around, didn’t see him. I checked his window, didn’t see him there either. I barked. No answering yip-yip-yip, and Iggy didn’t appear again. I barked some more, nice and loud. 

“It’s okay, Chet,” Bernie said. “We’re not going to lose her.”

Huh? What was he talking about?


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Posted in Chet The Dog

The Greed Case, Episode Who Knows How Many


April 22nd, 2009 Posted 8:07 am

“Might as well answer the question,” Bernie said.

“I don’t have to answer your questions,” the blond woman said.

Meaning we’d be playing fetch soon? Or not?

“Kelo’s wife or sister,” Bernie said. “I can probably look it up in a matter of minutes.”

The blond woman’s nostrils widened. I love when humans do that! I do it, too, to get more smells in quicker. Why humans do it is a big puzzle, since they can smell just about nothing. 

“Ex-wife,  if you must know,” the blond woman said. “I haven’t had my license changed yet.”

“To what?”

“My birth name – Peters. Portia Peters.”

“And the reason you’re looking for him?”

“He’s got something of mine.”


“I’d prefer not to say. You can’t keep me here.”

Bernie nodded. He’s a great nodder, has lots of nods. I wasn’t sure what this one meant. 

“What does that nod mean?” said Portia Peters. Hey! She was maybe turning out to be not so bad after all. 

Bernie smiled. He has the nicest smile, if I haven’t pointed that out already. “Why don’t you search the house first?” he said. “That’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

“I think I’ll just leave,” Portia said. “I’d like my gun back.”

Bernie laughed. “We’ll ship it to you.”

“Why are all men jerks?” Portia said. She opened the door and left, slamming it behind her.

Bernie looked at me. “Male jerkiness must have some kind of Darwinian upside – that’s all I can think of off the top of my head. All set for a ride in the car?”

My tail started wagging big time. Was I ever.


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Posted in Chet The Dog

The Greed Case, Continued


April 21st, 2009 Posted 7:01 am

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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