The Whistler Street Chronicles Vol. 1
by
Kurt D. Frazier Sr.
SMASHWORDS EDITION
ISBN# 978-1-4661-7059-9
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Kurt D. Frazier Sr.
*****
The Whistler Street Chronicles Vol. 1
Copyright © 2011 by Kurt D. Frazier Sr.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to any person or place is purely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Missing Bear
Airborne
Penelope
Friday
The Intruder
Broken Hero
Peaceful Orbs
Circumstances
Power Play
Drabbles {samples from an upcoming book called the Drabble Conspiracy}
Whoppers
Antagonist
Exploration
Found
Running
Connect with me
*****
The Missing Bear
The man in the yellow coat sat across the aisle from me on the Fred St. bus. I wondered where he was going and what he was up too. Why, you might ask did this concern me? Well, I have this awful habit of being a people watcher.
People are very interesting you know. They do things in public without thinking about it and some of the things I see are quite striking. The woman that plays with the curl on her left side of her head then rolls her eyes back and forth and then smiles at me. Or there was the man that rotates his hat from front to back and then left to right; the little boy that picks his nose and then without a thought ingests the rewards that he found. Oh, there are so many odd things that people do out there in the world and I have seen many of them.
The thing that bothers me the most about some weird thing I am doing is that others will see; am I the odd little man in the checkered sport coat that is the subject of conversation between a man and his wife over the evening dinner table?
Yes, I am that man and there are many strange things that I do. Perhaps I will tell you of some of those and who knows maybe we are related. Be on the lookout for the strange little man coming soon to your neighborhood.
My name is, well, that is not important at the moment; however, there is one very crucial bit of information that you should know and that is the fact that at this moment I am not wanted by the police for anything, nor have I ever been on a watch list of any kind. As a matter of fact my assistance has been requested by many a small town sheriff and even by the FBI. I am a highly trained professional private investigator and despite the appearance of my oddly dressed self, I have pulled some of the foulest and most despicable characters out of hiding and facilitated their relocation into the nearest jail house.
Friends have often told me that if I were to change my image then perhaps I should not get so many second glances from those I meet. I happen to think my green, blue, and yellow checkered sport coat and the odd neckties that I often wear show that if anything I have a great sense of humor to replace my lack of fashion sense.
Standing at a height of 5’-5’’ with just a smidgen of hair around the back of my head and a pair of round rimmed glasses perched upon my button of a nose, I resemble someone that perhaps would be seen in the local circus as a clown or other performer, and the size 15 shoes I wear would be “the icing on the cake” as they say. This shy, nerdy appearance serves as a great disguise to keep the criminal element as oblivious to my real demeanor as a toddler is to his parent’s hushed conversation.
My name is Matthew Shadow and I am working on the “case of the missing bear.” It was late one evening on a moonlit and windy night when I got the call from a Mrs. G. Rowling, “Mr. Shadow it is most urgent that I meet with you and tell you about a problem that I have. The bear in question is a carved statue about three foot tall and it resembles the one in this picture, it was an anniversary gift to my husband Gregory and he will just die if he comes home from his fishing trip and finds it missing.”
I assured the nervous wife in her mid forties that it would be no problem for me to discover the whereabouts of the bear in question and gave her my promise that I would do the job quickly and discretely. So, with the $49.99 that she gave me as a deposit, I took to the streets in search of the bear called Stanley.
That is how I found myself upon the city bus traveling north to the edge of town to a diner called Doozies, and this is the same bus that I saw the man in the yellow rain coat. I wondered to myself about the man and whether or not he may have any knowledge of the missing bear’s whereabouts. Perhaps the woman with the curl in her hair knew the man in the rain coat, and perhaps the boy who enjoyed nose candy was their son, and just maybe they were all in on this thing together. Did they do it for a large ransom, or maybe it was for revenge upon the poor Mrs. G. Rowling and her unsuspecting husband? I stretched forth an ear to listen to their conversation and soon found that it’s not wise for an odd looking man in a multi colored sport coat to get too close to a couple in conversation. For upon doing so I felt the sharp slap of a woman’s hand upon my cheek and the even sharper tone in the man’s voice telling me to mind my own business.
I decided then that I may have misjudged these city dwellers and from that point on I kept to myself; even though I heard the man say the word bear more than once. I exited the bus at Fred St. and went across the street into Doozies Diner where I ordered a BLT, fries and a glass of water.
As was my custom I left the photo of my subject (the missing bear) on the counter while I enjoyed my meal. This was to engage the locals in conversation about the subject and perhaps draw out some clues in the case. Hey, mister I know that girl in that picture, she was in here about an hour ago. That was how I found the missing ten year old girl last March; she had been the victim of a custodial kidnapping in which the mother had taken Olivet Jones from her father during a nasty divorce case.
Like always my instincts were right, for not soon after placing the picture next to my plate the waitress tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear the following words, “I saw that bear not two days ago, riding in the front seat of an old Ford pickup.” “What color truck was it,” I asked. “Blue with a white top,” was her reply.
In my interview with Mrs. G, she had told me that her husband drove a white Ford truck with a blue top. I began to ponder the idea that maybe, just maybe Gregory had taken Stanley with him on his fishing trip and had forgotten to mention to his wife that he was doing so. Maybe the waitress had actually seen a white Ford truck with a blue top instead of the other way around; and I asked if she may have gotten her colors mixed up. That question earned me another slap on the face and the remaining portion of my drink upon my head. Well, it seemed to me that this case was going nowhere fast, and I had better get on the right path and soon.
It had become necessary to pull out all the stops and consult the one person that a private eye dreads bring in upon a case. That’s right; it was time to call Detective Haven Sentry, from the local PD. Others may not have been as reluctant as I was to call upon the local authorities, but, I had my reasons for squirming at the thought. One he used to be my captain and the other was, well, I can’t say what the other reason was but believe you me; it is a good reason for me not wanting to ask for his help on the case.
I showed him the picture and waited for him to laugh at me, which he did and it wasn’t just a little chuckle like some people are known for, but it was a deep, deep laugh that came from way down in his body and when it left his body it burst forth like a cannon ball from an ancient weapon of war; knocking me down in the process. Then he picked me up and slapped me upon the back and shook his head of curly, brown hair back and forth while at the same time plopping me into the overstuffed chair in front of his desk. The door to his office closed behind him as Captain Sentry moved down the room from one detectives desk to another, pausing just long enough at each one to show the man at the desk the picture of the missing bear; the wooden bear named Stanley. I had never felt so humiliated in all of my life and I considered climbing out on the window ledge and making myself another statistic on the sidewalk below.
“Don’t do it Shadow,” came a booming voice from behind me. “Do what,” was my reply. “For heaven’s sake, don’t jump out the window,” Haven called out. “What, me jump; no way I was just getting some air,” I said. “Well, if I had been you; I would’ve jumped,” the captain answered back. “No you wouldn’t, you have more sense than that.” “You’re right, Shadow.”
“Times have been tough since I left the force and I had to do something to earn a living and besides that she was crying when she called me and I couldn’t turn her down.” “You always had a soft spot for a females tears Shadow.” “I know captain, but then again they get you with their smiles and dreamy eyes.” After talking about old times we got down to business and put my brains and the brawn of the detective bureau to work; determined to find the missing bear before Gregory Rowling came back and found his dear friend Stanley missing.
The invasive water was cold around the waders that Greg Rowling had borrowed from his neighbor Phil and was finding its way into the left boot and slowly filling the foot area up but that was not about to stop him from getting his catch for the day. He had brought some basic essentials with the other things that were needed for his week stay in the woods. Things like peanut butter crackers, chips, and bottled water and coffee; and even more important than those items were the six cans of tuna, three cases of jerky, and four bags of marshmallows to roast over the fire. His goal for today was to catch some fresh fish and make a filling meal of those watery creatures. His take for the morning was limited to three small trout and a rubber boot; Greg had thrown the trout upon the bank of the river and had tried the boot on in hopes of covering the hole that was in the waders. That was not to be the case because the boot had two problems; it was too small and went on the right foot not the left, no matter though for he still had the three small trout. From the area behind a large oak tree Greg heard some type of scuffling going on and turned to see what was making all of the racket and soon discovered that there were two raccoons fighting over his dinner that had been lying on the ground. That was all that Greg could stand for one day, between the cold water soaking his foot, the mosquitoes making a meal out of him and now those blasted raccoons eating his dinner… that was the last straw and he almost convinced himself to pack up and go home. One more day, he thought and if the fishing were not any better tomorrow he might return home.
The tuna on the peanut butter crackers wasn’t too bad and the coffee was a little better than the food, but the roasted marshmallows with chocolate and graham crackers made all of his struggles worth it. After all this trip was not so bad, he did have his portable radio, camping lantern and he had brought his entire Dickens collection to read while relaxing here in the wilderness.
Greg sat down in the rocking chair in the rustic, creaky, rented cabin; and took out all thirty of his classic reading books and began to scroll through the pages of his e-reader. Which one should he read tonight? “A Christmas Carol” had been his choice for the previous nights reading which he had enjoyed very much. “Dickens old boy, he said, I have greatly enjoyed this book that you have written and I should have read it much sooner than this. I have watched the movie; several versions over the years, but I have never had the inclination to read the book to which I must give you my compliments on a job well done.” The thought crossed his mind and he began to wonder what Charles Dickens would have said if someone had told him that one day a person could own every work that Dickens had written and carry them around in a device that was smaller than the printed version of “A Christmas Carol.” Greg settled on reading “A Tale of Two Cities” and so began his new nightly passion.
As Greg began to doze off he thought of his wife and wondered what she was doing at the moment. Probably resting comfortably while watching her favorite late night classic TV shows and munching on some buttery, salty popcorn. He knew that he had nothing to worry about because Gertie had faithful old Stanley to watch over her while he was gone and with that comforting thought Gregory Lowing fell fast asleep.
Stanley wanted to run as fast as he could, he wished that he could growl like the bears he had seen on TV. If he could run and he could growl then he could chew the legs off the man that had picked him up and taken him away from his family, the only family that had ever loved him. If only he could do that then he could escape and make it back home. Oh why hadn’t Gregory taken me with him; thought Stanley. I wouldn’t have been much trouble to him; all I wanted to do was sit on the river bank while he fished. Just to sit there and watch his friend having a wonderful time was all that Stanley had wished for; that is all that would have been needed for a stronger bond between the two of them. --You stay here and keep an eye on the wife, see that no harm comes to her; okay Stanley. -- Some protector he turned out to be, he couldn’t even keep himself safe. Now here I am in some kind of tent and I think that I smell elephants, and I know that I heard some of those funny dressed people talking about “seeing how many we can fit in that little car,” and then they all left me here alone. --Don’t forget the dummy-- The man screamed and then fell over and now he was lying in a pool of what might be blood. “No one calls my friend a dummy,” said the man with curly green hair and a big red nose.
“Shadow its Sentry, can you come downtown? We found your bear, yeah he’s ok, and a little shaken up though; we think that he was a witness in a murder case. A couple of clowns got into it and the one stabbed the other one and then disappeared into the night.”
“No problem captain, you found my bear and now I will find your clown,” was my reply to my friend. “You know that I believe in the right to bear arms Haven, I was just thinking that it’s too bad we don’t have the right to arm bears.” “You’re right, Matthew; that’s all we need is an evil clown running around causing problems.
Airborne
Fishman was worried; very worried to an extreme degree. He had goofed up before; but never like he had today. The boss would surely fire him now and Fishman knew it for the boss had said; “one more goof up and you’re fired.” Why had the boss given him a blank check? He wished someone else had gotten it not him; for he was too not there in matters like these.
Besides that a pesky fly tormented him relentlessly. Oh what a day today was, he slipped on a banana peel, and fell; Fishman saw the blank check flying upward.
If this were a normal day and Fishman’s boss was the type that would understand all of the circumstances he had gone through today then he would not be so worried. After all the logical thing to do with a lost check would be to call the boss, tell him about the vanishing check and let the boss call the bank and stop payment on the check. Fishman knew that was not going to happen; no, he would call the boss and the boss would throw out a series of derogatory remarks at him; something like: lamebrain, numbskull, idiot, fool, and some that are to profane to mention here. Then he would end his tirade with, “Fishman, YOU’RE FIRED!” That would be the end of life as Fishman knew it; for then he would have to go home and face the unrelenting terror that his wife would unleash upon him.
Fishman and his wife Gladys had been at odds for years and things there did not look as though they would change anytime soon. If there was one thing that made Fishman glad to go to work and face the great grump was the fact that there was at his humble abode an even greater grump; one that made the names and remarks tagged on him at work seem like the words of a beautiful melody. If Fishman were not able to recover this blank check then it was well that he neither goes back to work nor return to his humble home.
The wind caught the blank check and carried it down the street, at times the airstream would relent its’ grip upon the draft allowing it to fall to the ground and then as if someone teasing a child would pick it up and toss it out of Fishmans’ grasp. In one instance when Fishman had a finger upon the blank check a man dressed in a clown costume stepped on his hand and bent over to pick up the blank check; however, the same current of air that tormented Fishman was no friend to this circus bound fellow either, for as he reached for it, the blank check sailed up and away out of sight. The two men stood there gazing into the sky at their loss; the clowny fellow pulled at what little green curly hair he had and Fishman buried his face in his hands and began to weep.
Why had he not put the check into his wallet instead of carrying it in his hand? Simple, he figured that if a thug were to pick his pocket then what little money he had along with this blank check would be gone and what if the thief had enough sense to cash the check and clean out the company account; then Fishman would be in great trouble.
He knew that all was now lost; his future with the company, the new car, the house and Fishman was convinced that even his wife that he loved dearly would leave him and he would be all alone. Should he call the boss or should he just vanish into thin air in the same way as the blank check had done, he just didn’t know. One thing was sure and that was he was nearing the time when he should now be at the Enormous Cookie Factory, to pay for the order that the boss had placed. Why did the boss send a blank check instead of one made out to the Enormous Cookie Factory for the exact amount of the order? --this is a special order and they won’t know exactly how much it will cost until the order is complete-- and the deal was made on the sly, so that there won’t be any link to the company the “PAY TO” was left blank.
Out of the corner of his left eye Fishman saw something that brought his hopes up again; the No. 7 bus passed by and he saw that the blank check was stuck to one of the rear wheels and so like a dog on the hunt for a rabbit he began to pursue the elusive paper. When the bus reached the stop at Griffin Street, Fishman was able to retrieve the object that had caused his thundering headache. It was a little wrinkled and somewhat wet from the journey in the street, but for the most part it was still legible and Fishman placed it into his left pocket and headed straight for the Enormous Cookie Factory.
With a quick glance at his watch Fishman saw that he had a total of fifteen minutes to make it to the factory before it closed, so he hurried his pace and hoped for the best. He was three streets away from the factory, so close that he could see the enormous chocolate chip cookie on the roof of the building; when he felt something hit the top of his left shoe.
Gazing downward Fishman saw his keys lying on the sidewalk and wondered how they had gotten there. To the best of his knowledge he had placed them in his left pock…quickly he shoved his hand into the left pocket of his trousers and found at the bottom; a hole that was quite large, and nothing else. No keys; he knew where those were, no change and no blank check, what was he to do now? He turned around in the direction that he had come from, knelt down and began to pray. Fishman was not a very religious man and he couldn’t even remember when the last time he had prayed was, but he had heard a preacher say one time that it is never too late to pray and even if it has been a long time since you have bowed a knee to pray; just do it because God wants to hear from you, because He cares for you and wants to meet your greatest need and as far as Fishman was concerned his greatest need was finding that check and delivering it to the Enormous Cookie Factory.