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Private Investigator – Chapter 2

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 11/17/2014

Private Investigator

Frank Francis is a private detective. A private eye. A private dick.

Chapter 2 – Mood Indigo

The moon glows, reflected off the silver chrome of Judy’s Diner. I was meeting with former heavyweight boxer Albert Garaventa, upon his girlfriend Olivia’s request. The food at Judy’s agrees with me about as much as my ex-wife; which is to say, it only agrees that we should be separated. And yet I keep coming back. Maybe it’s the ambiance. Maybe it’s just the friendly service.

“What the hell do you want?” Judy harangued, friendly-like.

“They should call this place Friendly’s,” I blurted stupidly.

“Place an order or I’m going to shove this pen so far up your ass you’ll spit ink,” Judy threatened in a friendly manner.

“I’ll have the Cobb salad,” Albert ordered foolishly, unaware of the way they handle lettuce in this diner.

I ordered the usual — coffee, black; with a lot of cream and sugar. — unknowingly just as foolishly unaware of the way this diner handles cream and sugar.

“So Albert, tell me about the Gutierrez fight.”

“Mr. Dorsey arranged the whole thing. He said if I take a dive in the third round and give Gutierrez the belt, I’d make $10,000 dollars.”

“Ten thousand bucks. That’s a lotta smackers,” I licked my lips hungrily.

“You can say that again.”

“Ten thousand bucks. That’s a lotta smack–“

“So I did what Mr. Dorsey told me. I threw the fight.”

“And you haven’t seen a dime since.”

The former heavyweight title contender furrowed his brow like an endangered mountain gorilla. “I see lots of dimes. I see dimes every day.”

“A dime pertaining to the winnings from the Gutierrez fight.”

“In that case, no.”

“And you have no tangible proof of Mr. Dorsey’s involvement. Some sort of receipt. Or a note that says ‘Throw the fight’ with Tommy Dorsey’s signature and a date stamp.”

“No.”

I scratched my chin in a detective-like manner. “Well you just made my job a whole helluva lot harder.”

Albert looked down at his place mat like a scolded puppy. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You can make it up to me by paying for my coffee.”

Judy slammed down a Cobb salad in front of Albert and a boiling hot cup of coffee (mostly) in my lap. Albert looked up at our jovial waitress with a grin. “I’ll have the Cobb salad.”

Judy frowned and pointed down at the table.

“Oh wow, that was fast,” Albert smiled. He began to dig in and looked up at me with a mouth full of lettuce, tomato, eggs and bacon as I toweled off. “So you want me to tell you about the Gutierrez fight?”

“You just di–“

It sunk in quick. It appeared Albert Garaventa had taken one too many knocks to the noggin. I sighed and sipped what remained of my coffee after wringing out of my napkin back in the cup. It appeared I was going to have to do the heavy lifting on this case. Which was a shame, because Garaventa had huge arms. Really mondo pipes.

“Lay it on me, champ.”

“Mr. Dorsey arranged the whole thing. He said if I took a dive in the third round..”


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