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Addict
Join Date: Feb 2007
Posts: 101
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"I'm Hammed, he's Mo." (Orginal Detective Story)
I’m not your average hard-boiled detective. I’m still hard-boiled though. But my partner, he’s more scrambled than anything.
I don’t ever get myself into situations I can’t get out of. Never have, never will. That’ Hammed’s job. I’m Mo. We’re two of the best detective’s on this side of Baltimore. We even rent out our own agency/office unlike Bruce Reed or Leonard Harold who sit around bars waiting for work to come to them.
Not as if we don’t wait for work to come to us also. We just wait in a more civilized place. Although I myself, would love to sit around a bar all day. But business is better when you’re getting clients in the office than the streets.
The day is Thursday, poker night at Thurman’s, Poetry Slam night at Beakman’s, and bingo night at the retirement center. We’re just lazing around our office like a couple of sheep grazing under the sun. The sheep being us, and the sun being the…sun. Our air conditioner has been broken for a month now, and we’re one good job away from getting it fixed. “Just one more big pay-out.” I murmur as Hammed sits in front of the one fan in our little crevice, as I like to call it. There’s no person in their right mind who could call this place a office anyway.
Suddenly our buzzer rings and I sit up. I fumble around for my favorite aviator glasses with the black and white lens that I love. With a black and white perspective, I seem to have mastered all of my detective instincts, and lingo. As I Hammed walked over to open the door, I wheeled around in my chair so that I was facing away from the doorway, and managed to hoist my feet up into the windowsill just as the client walked in.
“Welcome to our office. I’m Hammed and he’s Mo. Talk about your case to him. He’s all ears, and just so you know, this conversation is being recorded.” I heard the heavy clank of the tape recorder being placed on my wooden teachers desk, and waited for the client to begin speaking.
“I’ve come for your help. I’ve been turned down from two other agencies, and you’re my last chance.” I was listening, but I was paying more attention to the sincerity of the voice. It could make a difference. I’d know if this were a serious case, or someone who was just going to lead us on a goose chase. Though this time, I couldn’t tell. The voice was hoarse, so hoarse in fact, I wasn’t even sure of the guys age. The voice was almost, grizzly. But, it was important to learn about the case first, then satisfy personal needs.
“I’ve lost something important. So important in fact, my boss is going to get a button man* to shiv* me!”
“Cut to the chase, before I give ya some chin music..” I said agitated at the guys rambling. He needed to cut to the chase, so I could get myself some good ole A.C..
“Sorry…well, I lost my voice.”
This was enough for me to swivel around in my chair sooner than I usually would.
When I swiveled around, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. A woman.
“What the hell? You’re a bim*? You’re a chick?” Hammed wasn’t as surprised as I thought he would be. Then again, he saw it was a woman when he let her in. He’d had a good minute to get over the shock. But it was scary, a woman with a voice as deep as it was.
“…Sorry, how unprofessional of me. Now, you say you lost your voice. How?”
“Well, I’m a vixen up at O’Henry’s bar on Thirteenth and Repertory. In case you aren’t up on the lingo in the Row,” She said looking at Hammed’s face when she had said the word vixen. “A vixen is a canary, a showgirl who sings. Anyway, I was set to go on stage yesterday, and-”
The woman’s voice was cut off by the sound of a bullet shattering glass. A fraction of a second later, my shoulder was pierced with the whizzing piece of lead.
“Down!” Someone yelled. It could have been me, it could have been Hammed or the girl. It was too chaotic for me to remember. Another three bullets came flying into the room, one going through my door’s window, and straight through my wall. The second I believe had gotten stuck inside the wooden desk. The third, well, I’m not really sure where it ended up.
A few minutes later the calamity was over, and I was crouched under my desk. Taking a long drag of my rolled up blunt.
“Ah, you people never check to see if you’re being followed,” I sighed. “Dammit, we’ve got to get this place cleaned up. I’ll tell you what’s what. Go on home no. Then tonight go to Beakman’s at quarter past seven and go straight through the back. Take alleys all the way to Thurman’s and wait in booth fourteen. We’ll be late, mingling about Beakman’s.”
“With any luck,” Hammed began checking his goatee in the imitation Persian mirror hanging on the wall. “The assailant who just tried to scare us off the case, will try to pull something at Beakman’s. We’ll take care of him then, and afterwards we’ll meet you at Thurman’s. We’ll get all the peaching* done there.”
I sat back up in my chair and placed the blunt back in my mouth. “See ya around town Mrs….?”
As she started to walk out the door, her strawberry blonde curls twirling along with her head as she turned around. “Caris. No miss in it. I’m too young to commit.” She said with a smirk, winking at Hammed. Then she left.
“Watch out for those white girls around here Hammed. All they need is one good gullible black man….”
“First thing, relax. I don’t get involved with clients. Second thing, you came off a bit racist there-”
For the second time that day, a person was cut off mid sentence. Only this time, it wasn’t by a bullet. It was by my telephone. I picked up the telly and recognized the gruff breathing on the end as Chief Squeaks.
Chief Squeaks government name Malcolm LaRowe, he’s an interesting one. A huge guy, terrifying if you don’t know him. Only thing is, once he talks, he loses every bit of toughness you envisioned him with. The guy sounded like a little baby boy who just found out his hamster didn’t run away, but rather was crushed when a size twelve shoe came crashing down on it.
“Yea Squ-I mean ye Chief LaRowe,” I caught myself. The guy did not like to be reminded of his vocal handicap. “You need Hammed and Mo’s services?”
“What I need,” He chirped, “is a mop for all of this damn blood!”
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