30M2DW III - Day 8

Damn

A week had passed since I took on the case of the deaths of the Three Amigos and Bird, my snitch. I had to get myself in gear. Tracking down the murderer would take an olympic effort. Citius, altius, fortius I said to my self. We say that a lot in the detective business. Especially every four years around February. Not to be confused with the motto of a certain writing challenge: dimmer, dumber, drunker.

I'd escaped the clutches of the ax-wielding Boom Boom and left her commiserating with some French broad called Maryse (not a bad looker by the way). They were nursing a few at Rover's Rump pub when I excused myself and jumped out the men's room window. Now I was on the road, lukewarm on the trail of the bad guy.

What better place to track down a man called Horse than at a Dude Ranch. There were twelve of us all told - eight men and four women wanna-be cowboys - and morning came early at the dude ranch in the desert. In fact, it came before sun-up as we gathered in the mess hall for breakfast,

One of these twelve was Horse, a drug lord and the murderer of the three Amigos and my snitch, Bird. Well, one of eleven, because the twelfth was me and I know I'm a good guy. I had my work cut out for me, though. I didn't know Horse's real name but I felt confident that at the end of the day I'd be able to say I'd been to the desert on a Horse with no name.

As the group sat down for breakfast introductions were made. As we went round the table there wasn't a Horse among them. I sipped my orange juice nonchalantly and surreptitiously eyed my fellow dudes. Then it hit me. My hand. Flat across my forehead. "Damn" I exclaimed "I coulda had a V-8!"

Now I didn't think any of the women were murdering drug lords so that left me with 7 men to keep an eye on. I'd heard Horse had a horse's head tattoo on his chest - information that had cost me a couple of  Bordens (unfortunately I'd run out of Benjamins) plus the exchange rate - but I'd left my x-ray glasses at home because I didn't want to make a spectacle of myself.

I'd have to think of some other way to see just who might wear a mare in the hair on their chest. Maybe I could scare up a game of Truth or Dare. I didn't know where. I just knew it had to be while I was there, at the Dude ranch. I mean a horse's head tattoo is rare, I dare say.

Damn, it's too bad I'd ruled out the women, I thought to myself.

Be sure to tune in tomorrow for Day 9 of our ongoing tale. In the meantime check out the links at We Work For Cheese and see how those other guys are dealing with today's prompt.