Posts Tagged ‘The Dog Who Knew Too Much’

Chetspeak on Sunday


October 15th, 2017 Posted 8:24 am

We’re doing beginnings. Today: THE DOG WHO KNEW TOO MUCH:

Was I proud of Bernie or what?

True, he’d been pretty nervous going into this gig. I can always tell when Bernie’s nervous – which hardly ever happens, and never when we’re in action – because his smell sharpens a bit, although it’s still the best human smell there is, apples, bourbon, salt and pepper; but now, up on the stage, he was doing great.

“Which, um,” he was saying, “reminds me of a joke. “Sort of. Maybe not a joke,” he went on, turning a page, “more like a – “ and at that moment the whole wad of papers somehow jumped out of his hands, all the pages gliding down in different directions. He bent and started gathering them up. That gave me a chance, sitting a few rows back, to recoy or recon – or something like that – the joint, always important in our line of work, as Bernie often said.

We were in a conference room at a hotel near the airport, and everyone in the audience – maybe not quite as big as it had been at the beginning, when Bernie had tapped the microphone, a painful sound for me, pounding like drums right next to my ears, although no one else seemed to mind, cleared his throat and said, “Can, uh, you hear me all right?” a terrific start, in my opinion – was a private eye, on account of this was the Great Western Private Eye Convention. We’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie, Bernie’s last name being Little. I’m Chet, pure and simple, and we’d been in business for almost as long as I could remember, although we’d never been to a convention before. “Not our thing,” Bernie said, so that was that, until Georgie Malhouf, president of the Great Western Private Eye Association, offered Bernie five hundred bucks to give a speech.

“A speech?” Bernie had said.

“Twenty minutes, tops,” Georgie Malhouf told him. “Plus questions.”

“I’ve never given a speech in my life.”

“So what?” said Georgie Malhouf. “There was also a time in your life when you hadn’t had sex. Did that stop you?”



Chetspeak on Sunday


April 23rd, 2017 Posted 7:43 am

We got off the elevator, found ourselves at the back of a court room. I’d been in court rooms before, even been exhibit A for my buddy Judge Jaramillo, down in the Valley, but never one this small. It had only two benches on either side of a narrow aisle, then two long desks, and in front of that and raised up on a dais another desk, at which Judge Stringer was sitting. He wore a black robe and looked real tired. At each of the two desks sat a group of two people, their backs to us. One of those people was Bernie. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit! This was the worst moment of my life.



Chetspeak on Super Bowl Sunday


February 5th, 2017 Posted 7:49 am

They were talking about sports? Sports: maybe the best idea humans ever came up with, in my opinion. Back when we were on the football case, I actually got into a real game! Bernie and I were right on the sideline, on account of we had to stay close to the blackmailer – it’s all coming back to me now, love when that happens – who turned out to be the assistant coach, yes, right on the sideline, close up to the action, when a punt happened, one of those punts down deep, whatever that means, but it’s the expression Bernie uses and he really knows football – played in high school, but dropped it when he went to West Point so he could concentrate on baseball – but forget that part, the point being that on the down deep punt the receiver stays away from the ball in the hope that it goes into the end zone, wherever that is, and meanwhile the other team tries to corral the ball, and footballs bounce in a crazy way, and when I see something crazy like that –



Chetspeak on Sunday


January 22nd, 2017 Posted 8:12 am

“No problem with that last part,” said the sheriff. “But, see, I’m the law, so what comes first is up to me. Hands out.”

Bernie shook his head.

“You resistin’ arrest?” the sheriff said.

The shotgun barrel moved again, the muzzle now pointed at Bernie’s chest. Bernie didn’t move, just sat very still on the bench. Was something real bad just about to happen? I hardly ever got that feeling, but I had it now.

“I do believe he’d dare you to squeeze that goddamn trigger, Mack,” the sheriff said, “so you’ll have to try something different.”

“Different how?” said Mack.


Mack thought, his face scrunching up unpleasantly. Then he swung the shotgun away from Bernie and aimed it straight at me.

“Somethin’ like this?” Mack said.

“Read my mind,” said Sheriff Laidlaw.

Bernie rose and held out his hands.



The Books

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