by Jason Deas
Ernie did not like Burt’s retirement. Burt was home too much, and he was unpredictable. For as long as Ernie had known Burt, Burt had gone to work five days a week. He took two days off and went back to work again. He sometimes took two weeks off from his normal schedule, but then he was like clockwork once again and back on schedule.
Ernie had never seen Burt act like he did the night before.
He was having trouble walking. He was talking to himself. He was animated. And he was on the computer, laughing out loud as he typed.
Ernie couldn’t take it anymore and went to hide under the bed in the guest room. Nobody ever went in there.
With a cup of coffee in hand, Burt noticed the computer blinking on the desk in the adjacent room. He figured he’d forgotten to turn it off a couple days ago. He had no recollection of being on it the day before. Reading the screen, before powering it down he almost shot coffee out his nose in surprise.
It read: Thank you for advertising with the Blue Ridge Gazette. Your ad for Burt’s Private Investigations will begin running in Monday’s edition. We’ll send a proof for your approval in the next twenty-four hours.
Chapter 2
“Oh my God, Ernie. What did I do?”
Ernie meowed. He wanted treats.
“Why didn’t you stop me?”
Ernie meowed again. He had a one track mind when it came to treats. Burt assumed they were delicious and had been tempted to try one on multiple occasions. Ernie would lose his mind after three hours or so without one. This included the middle of the night. Burt wondered for years when he would clue in that nobody was getting up at three in the morning to give him treats. Burt got up at some point each and every night or early morning to shut the bedroom door.
“My God, Ernie. I’m a foolish man.” Burt noticed a sweat droplet fall onto the counter next to his coffee and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. As he pulled it away he studied the blue sleeve and was surprised at how wet the fabric was. He was sweating bullets. He wondered if it was nerves from the possibility of the ad going live or the brewery he drank the night before. As he sipped more coffee he settled on the fact that it was the terrible combination of both.
“I’ll just call Mick at the paper and tell him it was a joke and to please delete the ad request.”
Mick had started the Blue Ridge Gazette back in the day when just about everybody had the paper delivered to their front doors and driveways. The Internet had just about put him out of business but he’d made enough money along the way to own the buildings on one side of Main Street. He continued the paper because the ink pumped through his veins, and it was all he knew.
Mick was a jolly fellow with a white beard and a white mop of hair to match. He was shorter and rounder than most men but his mind, mouth, and wit made him seem seven feet tall. Burt met him at a local diner one afternoon when he was having a piece of pie and coffee. He’d been drawing on a napkin when Mick passed his table. Being a curious fellow as most journalists are, Mick spied the napkin and quickly turned around to inquire and compliment. They struck up a conversation about art and Mick asked Burt to do some freelance work for the paper. They’d been fast friends ever since.
Burt sipped his coffee and decided he’d give the coffee and a few headache tablets a minute or two to reach his bloodstream before he made contact with the outside world. And he had no idea where his phone was. Life was so much easier when phones were attached to walls. You couldn’t lose those.
With treats in his belly, Ernie had found a sunbeam and was sprawled out. Burt stepped over him, and Ernie didn’t seem to notice. After circling the house the phone was finally found on the front porch. Burt discovered he’d been taking pictures of the moon. He’d taken nearly forty, and they all looked the same. Burt made a mental note to not binge drink again for a long time.
With a full cup of coffee in him and his head only rattling a little, he placed a call to Mick.
“Well, good afternoon, Sherlock Holmes,” Mick said.
“I had about all the beers in my house too many last night. I guess you saw my ad?”
“Yep. I thought about not approving it, but you seem so bored since retirement that I approved it and sent it to print.”
“You did what?” Burt had been sitting near Ernie’s spot in the sun. He stood so fast he spooked Ernie and sent him running for the guest bedroom once again. “I thought I had to approve it? That’s what my screen said this morning.”
“I fast-tracked it. You’ve got friends in high places. You can thank me later.” Mick held his laughter.
“I was drunk, I was just … I don’t know what I was doing—”
“Let me ask you a few questions,” Mick said, cutting him off.
Burt was silent.
“Have you been bored since retirement?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like a new challenge in your life?”
“Yes.”
“Are you creative and think out of the box?”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations! You’re an unlicensed private eye. I added that to your ad to cover my ass.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“You want to get lunch?”
“Sure. When?”
“Now. It’s almost one. I’ll see you at Lulu’s in thirty minutes.”
Burt took a three-minute shower and somehow drank more coffee as he shampooed his hair. It was quite a feat. The hot water felt good on his achy body. He dressed in his usual blue jeans and rock-n-roll t-shirt. Today it was Led Zeppelin. He had six drawers full of them. Some had been retired, but he couldn’t throw away t-shirts. It was unthinkable.
Lulu’s was a classic diner. It was housed in a silver building that resembled a rail car and had red booths and stools and a black and white checkered floor. The food was superb, and the owner was superb as well. Lulu had been in town longer than Mick and was chatting him up when Burt walked in.
“Don’t talk too loud,” Mick said to her. “His head might explode.”
Lulu played along and whispered, “Can I get you a cup of coffee or a lobotomy?”
“I’ll take a lobotomy over-easy,” Burt whispered back.
Lulu disappeared and Mick just smiled.
When Burt was settled in the booth Mick asked, “So, what? Did you think you were back in college or something?”
“I was celebrating.” Burt told him all about his crime fighting adventure from the day before.
“I’m impressed,” Mick said as their meals arrived.
Mick had ordered for them knowing what Burt would want. Nine out of ten times Burt got the patty melt with fries. Mick was a fried egg sandwich and hash browns kind of guy. Lulu guessed and brought Burt a diet soda.
“Thought something cold might be good after the coffee,” she said.
“How’d you know I’ve had coffee?”
“You’re wearing it.”
Burt looked down on his t-shirt, and she was right. Right next to Jimmy Page’s head was a brown blob.
“Are you working me for an extra good tip?”
“Always.”
“I’ve got a little surprise for you,” Mick said.
“Please don’t tell me anything else I don’t remember from last night. I just want to forget it all.”
“No. I deleted the pictures of the moon you sent me. They were all the same.” Mick reached under the table top and produced a copy of the paper. He set it in the middle of the table.
“Wow. You made a paper,” Burt kidded. “Haven’t you made like a zillion of those?”
“I have. But none of them have what I have printed on page eighteen.”
Burt picked up the copy of the paper and turned to page eighteen.
It was his ad. His mouth dropped.
“I told you I fast-tracked it, buddy. You’re in business.”
“This is my phone number,” Burt said, pointing to the number at the bottom of his ad.
“You are good at picking up clues and solving r
iddles.”
“I didn’t want my phone number on my ad. I wanted my email address.”
“Please,” Mick said. “Nobody wants to email a private detective.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Burt said. The patty melt made its way to his stomach, and he slid back in the booth. “I think I’m going to live.”
“If you ever want to lose your mind again, call me, I’ll hit you with my snow shovel. Ever since I bought it we’ve had a three-year snow drought. I’m dying to use it.”
Burt’s phone rang. It was sitting on the table and both men looked at it like it was a snake about to strike.
“Who is it?” Mick asked.
“I don’t recognize the number.” Burt turned the phone toward Mick so he could see the number on the display. Maybe it’s a telemarketer.”
“It’s a local number. Answer it.”
“I can’t,” Burt said, shaking his head from side to side. His face reddened.
Mick grabbed the phone off the table and pulled it to his ear as he slid his finger across the glass to answer.
“Burt Bigsley’s office of discreet inquiries. How may I direct your call?” He gave Burt a giant grin as Burt slid farther down into the booth.
Burt watched in horror as Mick listened.
“Mr. Bigsley is just finishing up with another client, would you mind holding for just a few seconds?” Mick nodded his head up and down. “Of course,” he said into the phone.
Mick pulled the phone away from his ear and grabbed a handful of fabric from his t-shirt and held it over the receiving end.
“She’s very upset and in need of a private detective to catch her cheating boyfriend.”
Burt sighed and waved for the phone. Just as Mick handed it to him, Lulu reappeared. Mick quieted her, but instead of pushing her away, Mick patted the seat next to him so she could sit down and watch.
Burt took a huge breath and said, “This is Mr. Bigsley, how can I be of service?”
“Lawrence is a no good dirty dog.”
Burt waited a moment for her to go on but she did not.
“Please tell me more about Lawrence.”
“I’m sure he’s cheating on me with Debbie. He’s been losing weight and not eating donuts or drinking milkshakes. The last time he did that I caught him cheating.”
“And why do you assume he’s cheating on you with a woman named Debbie?”
Burt looked across the table to see Mick and Lulu enthralled with his conversation. He held the phone against his ear with his shoulder and gave them both a middle finger with his free hands.
“Well, he’s been listening to Dolly Parton nonstop.”
“And this is pertinent how?”
“I don’t know what pertinent means but Debbie loves Dolly Parton and Lawrence is more of a Randy Travis kind of guy. He’s just listening to her because it makes him think about her.”
“And what’s your name?”
“I’m Becky. Can I come down to your office and give you a picture of Lawrence and one I got of Debbie off of Facebook?”
“My office?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, the exterminator just showed up and told me I had to leave for a few hours so why don’t we meet somewhere else?”
“Like where?”
“How about the bowling alley at four.”
“Fine. How will I know which one is you?”
“I’ll take off my suit and put on an old t-shirt. I’ll be the guy in the Led Zeppelin t-shirt playing Ms. Pacman.”
“See you there.”
She hung up.
Burt placed the phone on the table. As he wiped his brow, Mick and Lulu clapped.
“What is this, the theatre?”
“It was better than the theatre,” Lulu said.
“Great performance,” Mick added.
Burt’s hangover was magically gone. He felt great. He hadn’t felt this good since the day he retired. As they continued to clap he stood up from the table and took a great big bow.
