I rolled over and noticed that the hooker was gone. "Shit!" I got up and checked the wallet on the night stand... empty! I had to laugh, I was planning on ripping her off before I passed out. Still, I had to find her. The ancient coin she stole was going to buy my retirement home in Jamaica. There's no way she could know how valuable it is, could she?
I got dressed and walked over to the corner store for a pack of Camels and few dozen scratchers, all losers, except for one free ticket, also a loser. I decided to call my pimp-friend Ronnie, he knew every bitch in town, and all the hookers, too.
"Hello?" Ronnie answered.
"Ronnie! Ronnie Ron Ron!"
"Oh hell, Gene. Every time you call me I end up in jail or one of my girls goes missing."
"Hey, you every heard of Crystal Diamonddrawers?"
"She's old news, Gene. What are you in love or something?"
"Don't be an idiot. She robbed me this morning. I need to know where I can find her."
"She must be one of Harold's bitches, so go deal with him!"
I hung up the phone. Harold... why did it have to be Harold?
I took a cab over to Ceaser's Palace and went up to the Presidential Suite. The guard outside Harold's suite patted me down, but he didn't find the Derringer I'd tucked between my ass cheeks. He let me in. Harold lay on the couch, all 400 lbs of him. I tried not to look at the boil on his neck, but it was almost the size of his head. He was excited to see me. He was always excited to see me. "Gene! My closest friend! Sit down and share a cake with me!"
"No thanks on the cake. I work hard on this figure."
"Ha! You crack me up! Get this cake out of here, Fatty!" He threw the cake at his guard who then left to clean himself off. Leaving me alone with Harold.
"I'm looking for Crystal Diamonddrawers," I told him.
"Diamonddrawers... Diamonddrawers... you don't mean Crystal Copperpanties? When did she start calling herself Diamonddrawers?"
"Brown hair, blue eyes, double d's?"
"Yes, I fired her two months ago." Harold gave me her address and I left, wondering why I'd shoved a Derringer up my ass.
Her address was in a part of town I'd never seen, and the streets leading to it just kept getting uglier and uglier. When I finally found it, it was no bigger than a shack. I busted in and caught her packing her shit. "Shit!" she yelled out in surprise. She went for a gun but I froze her in place with my sweaty, stinky Derringer. I took her over my knee and started spanking her. "Bad whore! Bad whore!" I yelled.
"Good lord, do you have an erection?" She asked. I smiled. Then I knocked her out, found my coin and took a crap in her hair. On my way home, I stopped by Ronnie's for a new hooker.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Saturday, June 23, 2012
A Drunk in the Rain
I was sitting at a bus stop waiting for it to stop raining so I could walk home without getting wet. My car got towed last week. Who knew you were supposed to pay registration fees every year? It made work hard, ever try to tail someone on a bus?
Anyway, a door behind me opened and a well dressed, incredibly drunk man came out and sat with me. He gave me a cigarette in exchange for helping him light up. He was damn near in tears about something, but he wouldn't say what. When he got up to leave, I figured I'd better tail him.
I tailed him for two blocks. He went into the Plaza. They have a restaurant there called 'Hash House A Go Go' that has a tractor for a logo. To my knowledge, it's the only place where tractors and hash (the food, not the drug) are teamed up with the words 'A Go Go.' It was owned by an ex football player named Jimmy Cowen. I did some snooping. It turned out the drunk guy was Jimmy's brother, who turned out to owe a bunch of money to a shark, a loan shark.
I owed Jimmy big time. He took a dive once, just short of the in zone, and cost his team the game. I made a big bet on the game, but instead of giving Jimmy his cut, I drove out to the Bunny Ranch and blew it all on hookers and hooker snacks.
As I watched from a corner booth, Jimmy kicked his moocher brother out of the restaurant, with only a few thousand in cash, to work out his debts on his own. I tailed him again, this time to Charlie's mobile casino. I figured this was my chance to make things right. I stopped him right before he walked into the casino and told him that Jimmy sent me. I took his four grand in cash and told him all his debts were wiped clean. He made some asshole joke, then we went our separate ways. I never heard from him or his brother again.
Anyway, a door behind me opened and a well dressed, incredibly drunk man came out and sat with me. He gave me a cigarette in exchange for helping him light up. He was damn near in tears about something, but he wouldn't say what. When he got up to leave, I figured I'd better tail him.
I tailed him for two blocks. He went into the Plaza. They have a restaurant there called 'Hash House A Go Go' that has a tractor for a logo. To my knowledge, it's the only place where tractors and hash (the food, not the drug) are teamed up with the words 'A Go Go.' It was owned by an ex football player named Jimmy Cowen. I did some snooping. It turned out the drunk guy was Jimmy's brother, who turned out to owe a bunch of money to a shark, a loan shark.
I owed Jimmy big time. He took a dive once, just short of the in zone, and cost his team the game. I made a big bet on the game, but instead of giving Jimmy his cut, I drove out to the Bunny Ranch and blew it all on hookers and hooker snacks.
As I watched from a corner booth, Jimmy kicked his moocher brother out of the restaurant, with only a few thousand in cash, to work out his debts on his own. I tailed him again, this time to Charlie's mobile casino. I figured this was my chance to make things right. I stopped him right before he walked into the casino and told him that Jimmy sent me. I took his four grand in cash and told him all his debts were wiped clean. He made some asshole joke, then we went our separate ways. I never heard from him or his brother again.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Martha and the Midget
Six PM on a Friday, Christmas Eve, eve. The only tourists in Vegas this time of year are the real degenerate low lives with no family. I hadn't had a case in weeks. I was just about to close up for the night, when in walked a midget in a plaid suit and a derby hat. The pure hilarity of him almost got the better of me, but I contained my laughter for the moment. I figured I could at least hear what he had to say first.
He said nothing. He shut the door and took off his hat. He waddled across my office like some kind of bipedal pig. He climbed up an empty chair like a child mounting a horse. He caught his breath and finally pulled out a Derringer and shot me in the stomach. "Merry Christmas, Monroe!" he said as he hopped off the chair. "Ow, my knees!" he said as he hit the ground. He limped out of my office.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911. "Your call is important to us," a computer told me. As I lost consciousness, I couldn't help but wonder, 'Who was that midget?' And, 'Why did he shoot me?'
I didn't die or anything. I woke up in the hospital and started over mental list of who I owe money to and who owes me. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. Except maybe that catheter. "Nurse, where's my drink?" I said to the first person I saw. She handed me a cup of watered-down something. As soon as she was gone, I made my escape.
I had plenty of experience removing catheters from that time I went undercover at the V.A. I walked out into the hallway and who should I see, the midget, taking a handful of bills from my ex-wife, Martha. The midget saw me and ran. "I'll deal with you later!" I told Martha as I chased after the midget, my ass hanging out of my hospital gown.
The midget was slow, and I would have caught him if I hadn't ripped my stitches and started bleeding all over the place. I got out of the hospital two days later. I never found the midget. The moral of the story? Don't ever get married. Or, Pay your alimony.
He said nothing. He shut the door and took off his hat. He waddled across my office like some kind of bipedal pig. He climbed up an empty chair like a child mounting a horse. He caught his breath and finally pulled out a Derringer and shot me in the stomach. "Merry Christmas, Monroe!" he said as he hopped off the chair. "Ow, my knees!" he said as he hit the ground. He limped out of my office.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911. "Your call is important to us," a computer told me. As I lost consciousness, I couldn't help but wonder, 'Who was that midget?' And, 'Why did he shoot me?'
I didn't die or anything. I woke up in the hospital and started over mental list of who I owe money to and who owes me. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. Except maybe that catheter. "Nurse, where's my drink?" I said to the first person I saw. She handed me a cup of watered-down something. As soon as she was gone, I made my escape.
I had plenty of experience removing catheters from that time I went undercover at the V.A. I walked out into the hallway and who should I see, the midget, taking a handful of bills from my ex-wife, Martha. The midget saw me and ran. "I'll deal with you later!" I told Martha as I chased after the midget, my ass hanging out of my hospital gown.
The midget was slow, and I would have caught him if I hadn't ripped my stitches and started bleeding all over the place. I got out of the hospital two days later. I never found the midget. The moral of the story? Don't ever get married. Or, Pay your alimony.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
The Bookie and Mrs. Banning
The heat was getting to me, so I opened a window. I knew it wouldn't be long before the fresh air proved she didn't much like me either. Damn the weather and damn this sweat. I don't normally sweat like the underside of a fat chick's titty, but today the mercury went up to 120. I think it was hotter than that in my office, but that's as high as the thermometer goes. I sat there, watching my sandwich get moldy when suddenly, the phone rang. "Hello," I said a little too excitedly.
"Mr. Monroe?" The voice was unfamiliar, a man, old I think. What could he want?
"Who's asking?"
"My name is Banning, Charles Banning. I hear you work discretely. I'd like to set up a meeting."
"When?"
"Tomorrow. Six AM. 818 Flamingo Blvd."
"You got it, Chief."
He hung up without saying goodbye, I find that rude, but it he's willing to pay, I'm there.
The next day I pulled up at 818 Flamingo Blvd. in my '86 Buick Skylark. The place was a run down house that looked perfect for the enterprising crystal meth cook. I slipped my 1911 Colt into my coat pocket and headed to the door. I knocked and counted to three. No answer. I pulled out the gun and hopped the fence into the back yard. The I heard the lock on the front door starting to jiggle. I scrambled back over the fence and landed in some bushes. Banning gave my a once over, then invited me in.
His story was like this: his wife had been kidnapped, but he couldn't go to the police because he was pretty sure she'd been taken by a bookie he owed money to. "How can you be so sure?" I asked questioningly. He showed me the ransom note. It said, "Charles, send the money you owe, or your wife dies. Sincerely, Gregory the Bookie."
"What do you need a detective for? The case is solved!"
"I'm into this guy for $300,000. I'll pay you $30,000 to get my wife back and erase my debt."
"Any ideas how I might do that?"
"He has a weakness. His son is addicted to pain pills. Exploit this however you want. Just don't get my wife killed in the process."
I told him I'd need $3,000 up front. He paid in cash.
I spent the rest of the day at the Rio playing blackjack. By the end of the day I owed the house $1,200. "Shit!" I said as I went to sleep that night, "I better find this asshole's wife."
I woke up at six PM. I splashed some water on my face. I think the thought occurred to me in my sleep, and it was just starting to sink in. A Bookie in Vegas? Either Banning was setting me up, or he was betting on horse cock-fights or something. I'd better ask around about this Gregory guy. I called Tommy the Tooth, he knows everything there is to know about Vegas, he even has a day job as a tour guide. Tommy the Tooth confirmed that Gregory the Bookie dealt in horse cock-fights. "Shit," I said, "I hate horse cock-fights."
I showed up at Greg's around midnight. Peeking in through the window, I saw Gregory and Mrs. Banning. The latter was tied to a chair. On the table was about $500,000 in cash. I thought for a moment, then I kicked the door open and shot the bookie in the chest. Then I pulled out my throwaway piece and shot Mrs. Banning. I made it look like they'd shot each other, took the cash and went home. "Mr. Banning can go fuck himself," I said. "That's what he gets for gambling."
"Mr. Monroe?" The voice was unfamiliar, a man, old I think. What could he want?
"Who's asking?"
"My name is Banning, Charles Banning. I hear you work discretely. I'd like to set up a meeting."
"When?"
"Tomorrow. Six AM. 818 Flamingo Blvd."
"You got it, Chief."
He hung up without saying goodbye, I find that rude, but it he's willing to pay, I'm there.
The next day I pulled up at 818 Flamingo Blvd. in my '86 Buick Skylark. The place was a run down house that looked perfect for the enterprising crystal meth cook. I slipped my 1911 Colt into my coat pocket and headed to the door. I knocked and counted to three. No answer. I pulled out the gun and hopped the fence into the back yard. The I heard the lock on the front door starting to jiggle. I scrambled back over the fence and landed in some bushes. Banning gave my a once over, then invited me in.
His story was like this: his wife had been kidnapped, but he couldn't go to the police because he was pretty sure she'd been taken by a bookie he owed money to. "How can you be so sure?" I asked questioningly. He showed me the ransom note. It said, "Charles, send the money you owe, or your wife dies. Sincerely, Gregory the Bookie."
"What do you need a detective for? The case is solved!"
"I'm into this guy for $300,000. I'll pay you $30,000 to get my wife back and erase my debt."
"Any ideas how I might do that?"
"He has a weakness. His son is addicted to pain pills. Exploit this however you want. Just don't get my wife killed in the process."
I told him I'd need $3,000 up front. He paid in cash.
I spent the rest of the day at the Rio playing blackjack. By the end of the day I owed the house $1,200. "Shit!" I said as I went to sleep that night, "I better find this asshole's wife."
I woke up at six PM. I splashed some water on my face. I think the thought occurred to me in my sleep, and it was just starting to sink in. A Bookie in Vegas? Either Banning was setting me up, or he was betting on horse cock-fights or something. I'd better ask around about this Gregory guy. I called Tommy the Tooth, he knows everything there is to know about Vegas, he even has a day job as a tour guide. Tommy the Tooth confirmed that Gregory the Bookie dealt in horse cock-fights. "Shit," I said, "I hate horse cock-fights."
I showed up at Greg's around midnight. Peeking in through the window, I saw Gregory and Mrs. Banning. The latter was tied to a chair. On the table was about $500,000 in cash. I thought for a moment, then I kicked the door open and shot the bookie in the chest. Then I pulled out my throwaway piece and shot Mrs. Banning. I made it look like they'd shot each other, took the cash and went home. "Mr. Banning can go fuck himself," I said. "That's what he gets for gambling."
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