Posts Tagged ‘milk bone’

Last Full Measure


May 31st, 2010 Posted 8:25 am

As we pulled out of the abandoned housing development I picked up that scent again and started barking.

“Yeah, I know,” Bernie said. “I don’t want to go to Vegas either.”

We were going to Vegas? Was that why I was barking? No. It was the scent. I barked some more.

“Easy, boy,” said Bernie. He glanced over at me. “Hungry, by any chance?”

Actually, I was. I stopped barking, began thinking of different kinds of food. What a world, just chock full of different kinds of food, although chalk itself turned out not to be food, as I’d discovered once, and then again, and maybe a few more times.

Soon we parked at a convenience store. Bernie went in and got milk bones for me and a roast beef sandwich for him. And part of it for me, when it ended up he couldn’t finish, or something liked that. “I see the look in your eye,” Bernie said. Roast beef: what can I say?

We drove to Vegas. Bernie was very quiet and a bit sad. That doesn’t happen often. I squeezed a little closer to him. He gave me a pat. “Memorial Day, Chet,” he said.

We remember.


Scoring A Milk Bone


May 1st, 2009 Posted 7:27 am

“Is it possible Chet wants another milk bone?” said Arnold Fetzer. “He’s awfully close to that drawer.”

“I wouldn’t bet against it,” Bernie said. 

And in no time at all I had another milk bone! I took it to a nice quiet space under a table and got to work. 

“You were telling us about Ezra Printz, Hollywood flack,” Bernie said.

Fetzer nodded. “Just as long as you didn’t get it from me.”

“That’s a deal, as long as nothing ends up in court.”

“In court?” said Fetzer. “Is there any possibility of that happening?”

“There’s the possibility of that happening every day you wake up,” Bernie said.

There was? I’ve only been to court once. I was Exhibit A. Not sure what that is, exactly, but it meant I had to walk across the room – with some uniformed guy, not Bernie – and on a leash. The leash is something I can do if I really, really have to, and afterward Bernie gave me a Polish sausage. Never had one before or since, but it did look like a pole, except much shorter, and tasted great. Exhibit B was a .44 Magnum I’m dug up out of some perp’s flower bed. He’s probably still wearing an orange jump suit at Central State. I think all that’s in Thereby Hangs A Tail. 

I polished off the milk bone. Where were we?


More Greed


April 30th, 2009 Posted 6:34 am

“Now that we’ve bonded over the ukulele,” Bernie said to Arnold Fetzer, the art gallery dude, “what have you got for us?” We were working on what Bernie called the Greed Case, not sure why. We had a paying client, which was good. He was a Hollywood producer named Kelo Printz, who’d hired us to find a missing can of film. We’d found the can, all right, in a cave in Death Valley, but there’d been no film inside, instead a folded-up painting by Martin Ramirez. What else? Oh, yeah: Kelo Printz was missing. And I think there’s more, too. Milk bones in Fetzer’s drawer, for example. I sidled over that way.

Fetzer cleared his throat. I can do that, too. Once I got a chicken bone stuck in there, a story for another time. “You say you’re interested in Martin Ramirez,” he said. “Know much about him?”

“I’m listening,” said Bernie.

“He was a poor Mexican immigrant who came up to California in the twenties looking for work. By 1931 he was in the Stockton State mental hospital and he spent the rest of his life institutionalized. He also took up painting, and is now recognized as one of the leading painters of Outsider Art. In that first year at Stockton, he met a fellow patient who’d worked in Hollywood as a PR flack. The flack’s name was Ezra Printz.”

“Ah,” said Bernie.

Ah? Meaning what? The milk bone smell was overwhelming.


A Break In The Case?


April 27th, 2009 Posted 7:04 am

“Any idea who that was?” Bernie said, pointing to the Audi, now just about out of sight.

“I didn’t see anything,” said Arnold Fetzer. 

Bernie gave him a long look. I found myself standing beside the milk bone drawer. Lots more in there – the smell came in lovely powerful waves. Bernie walked around the shop. “How’s business these days?” 

“Terrible,” said Fetzer.

Bernie paused in front of a painting. “Is this by Martin Ramirez?”

“Yes, in fact,” Fetzer said. “You surprise me.”

“Oh?” said Bernie, turning to him.

“But in a good way,” Fetzer said. “I didn’t take you for the art world type.”

“What type did you take me for?”

“Well, more the cop type, actually.”

Bernie moved a little closer to Fetzer and smiled. This wasn’t one of Bernie’s friendly smiles because his eyes weren’t smiling. He towered over Fetzer. Fetzer backed away, almost bumped into me. “I’m especially interested in Martin Ramirez,” Bernie said.

I barked, real loud. I wanted one of those milk bones. Fetzer jumped, actually got off the ground. “I had nothing to do with anything,” he said. “I swear.”


The Books

powered by wordpress | site by michael baker digital