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30M2DW III Day Yeah, Yeah, Whatever


And Then She Said

I was depressed. I'd spent 24 days on this murder case and if I didn't solve it in the next five days I'd soon be pounding a beat and pushing parking tickets.

I got home late. After work I'd stopped off at Rover's Rump where I'd reintroduced myself to my friends Mr Blue Ribbon and Mr Jack Daniels. They couldn't seem to remember my name so I'd had to make several attempts at introductions.

As I fumbled with my key in the apartment's front lock I could hear high-pitched laughter coming from the other side of the door. What the hell's going on here, I thought.

I swung open the door and there was my sweetie-pie Dylan along with another woman, a brunette-bobbed beauty with deep diaphanous eyes, languid lanky legs that wouldn't quit and big bouncy boobs any man could get lost in. She was wearing a sleek, slinky, strapless, backless, sequinned red number. And it's number I was guessing was 38-24-36. They were playing Trivial Pursuit - Baby Boomer Edition - at the coffee table, a couple of bottles of white wine, one empty, one half full, sat next to the playing board.

"Jack" squealed Dylan "I want you to meet my friend Nicky Eff. Nicky, this is Jack"

"How the eff are you Jack? Dylan tells me you're an effin' cop. What the eff is that like? Do you like my effin' dress? I effin' got it at effin' Holt Renfrew in downtown effin' Montreal."

I was getting a sense of why people called her Nickey Eff.

"Nicky's an old and dear friend, Jack. We went to separate schools together."

"Ah, I see. Nice to meet you Nicky.

"Nice to effin' meet you too Jack" she giggled. "Like my effin' shoes?" And then she said, "How's tricks?." 

And that's when it hit me. Like a slapshot from Sid Crosby in the Gold medal Olympic hockey victory. Of course. I'd been tricked. All the way through my investigation I'd been tricked. Someone had been intentionally misdirecting me.

And then she said "What's the matter, Jack? Cat got your tongue?"

Yeah, Jack," chimed in Dylan "You silver tongued-devil."

Silver. That was it. Or was it? Was it Silver? Drug king Joe Blow had told me at the Chinese restaurant that he thought it was a cop who had killed Ned Amigo and had prevented my snitch, Bird, from singing. But my own captain? And how could I prove it. The guy that liked to move his office furniture around? Silver; the lone arranger? I had to tread carefully. This could be Tonto-mount to insubordination.

Tune in tomorrow for the next thrilling instalment of Inspector Jack Gouda. Until then you'll have to make do with visiting We Work For Cheese and see what else she said today.

Comments

Cheryl said…
Loved your intro to Nicky and now I finally know why they call her N. Eff. Well done, buddy. Also, I've had a feeling it was Silver all along. Go get 'em!
nonamedufus said…
You know Nicky, too? Effin' fine woman.
Cadeaux said…
Ugh...Tonto-mount. You silly, silly man.
ReformingGeek said…
Well, eff it all. You've let the cat out of the bag. Nicky has no secrets now.
Linda R. said…
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, if it's Silver, you gotta make it stick.
frankleemeidere said…
"This could be Tonto-mount to insubordination." Really? What is it like to be in your mind?
nonamedufus said…
That has to be one of my favourites. And, yes, I'm silly…and proud of it.
nonamedufus said…
She's an open book, isn't she.
nonamedufus said…
Oh, very good, Linda. Who better than Jack Gouda, police dick.
nonamedufus said…
I've pretty much worn down my immediate family with what's in my mind. I'm just expanding my audience.
meleahrebeccah said…
I am dying laughing, literally cracking up, at Nicky Eff's dialogue.
nonamedufus said…
She talks just like that, right?
Linda Medrano said…
Your prose has turned a bit purple. I guess Nicky in that red dress does that to all of us.
nonamedufus said…
Hey, I'm just your humble reporter. Why do you think everyone calls her Nicky Eff.
"How the eff are you Jack? Dylan tells me you're an effin' cop. What the
eff is that like? Do you like my effin' dress? I effin' got it at
effin' Holt Renfrew in downtown effin' Montreal."






I was getting a sense of why people called her Nickey Eff."

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAAA!!!!! That was hysterical!
Nicky said…
"a brunette-bobbed beauty with deep diaphanous eyes, languid lanky legs that wouldn't quit and big bouncy boobs any man could get lost in. She was wearing a sleek, slinky, strapless, backless, sequinned red number. And it's number I was guessing was 38-24-36."
You have no idea how much you made me laugh. Really, full-out belly laugh. I'm 5'4, those "languid lanky legs" quit a lot sooner than I care to admit and as for the "big bouncy boobs"... well, I'm not even going to go there. And I hate to tell you, but you've got the wrong number.
Other than that, you got the whole effin' thing right. :-D
nonamedufus said…
I won't tell if you won't tell. A man;s gotta dream, eh?
Cheryl P. said…
That Nicky is quite the little chatterbox. isn't she?

Hahah the lone arranger and Tonto-mount...you are so funny.
nonamedufus said…
It's like she was injected with a gramophone needle.


I've waited 24 days to use that pun.
Well, Eff me! So that's why Nicky didn't show up at the Rack 'n Roll. I was wondering what happened to her. But seriously... is there a three-way in your future? (What with Effin' Nicky and Dylan being such good friends and all.)
nonamedufus said…
Three-way? Yeah, there's one just down at the corner.

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