8 Funny Detective Stories with Maynard Soloman, Gal-Damn Detective by Benjamin Sobieck

Author:Benjamin Sobieck
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: elmore leonard, carl hiaasen, detective stories, the onion, mystery short stories, crime short stories, the pink panther
Publisher: Benjamin Sobieck

“You don’t plan on cooking my dog, do you?” I say.

That greaseball knobber woman rolls down the window on her POS Ford Festiva. It’s packed to the gills with my stuff. And baby formula. Revenge is sprawled out over my commemorative plate collection, either dead or asleep.

“Oh, so that RV was yours?” she says and points across the parking lot.

Smells bad in there. Like cheesy feet and old French fries.

“Yeah, that’s my jalopy. Don’t play dumb Dora on me, you watered down mudsill,” I say.

She shrugs. “I thought it was abandoned. It sure looked like it.”

“You’re so full of shit, you oughtta be saggin’ off a baby’s bottom. You ever seen an abandoned RV with a dog inside?” I say.

She starts rolling up the window. If she’s planning on making a getaway, that car’s too full to get far. The bottom is already scraping against the pavement.

“Stop,” I say and push the window back down. You can do that with crappy cars.

The gal starts tearing up. “You gonna turn me in now?” she says.

“Yeah. I already got your license plate memorized. You’re done,” I say. That’s a lie. I don’t know my own license plate, much less hers.

She cradles her head in her hands. “You don’t understand.”

“Actually, I understand scum like you quite good. So will the hoosegow baseball league,” I say.

She shakes her head. “What’s going to happen to my baby?” she says.

That’s when I spot him. Or her. Can’t tell when they’re that young and filthy. Curled up next to Revenge in the trash. Living out of her car, of course she’s got a baby.

Damn near breaks my pickled heart. For all my bad luck, it ain’t half as bad as the road ahead for that little one.

“Ma’am, how ‘bout I cut you a deal? I’ll give you a lottery ticket in exchange for my stuff back and you cleaning up the mess in the ‘bago. I won’t turn you in for the baby formula seeing as how I already technically paid for it,” I say. If there’s one thing I know about the chronically fucked up, it’s that they can’t resist a lottery ticket.

The tears magically disappear. I knew she was a shyster. I’ll let it slide so long as she does a good job on the ‘bago.

“Really? You’d do that?” she says.

“Sure thing. Maybe you’ll get lucky,” I say.

* * *

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