Friday, 28 February 2014

Photo Challenge - February

The theme of this month's photo challenge coordinated by P.J. over at a 'lilhoohaa is "red". Now I was pretty busy in February what with participating in a daily writing challenge and all. I did find the time to take the lovely Mrs. Dufus out for dinner and present her with a beautiful bouquet of red roses. Lucky for me, nudge, nudge.

Click on P.J.'s link up there and see how the rest of the photog bloggers dealt with the prompt.

The Last Friggin' Day - Day 28

And Then My Brain Exploded

My life was flashing before my eyes. It had been a good life. I was happy with it. Funny how fear made you able to see what was going on around you while at the same time flashing back on days gone by. A click as Silver unlatched the safety on his service revolver brought me back to my surroundings.

"Don't do it, John. You won't get away with it"

"Sure I will, Jack. I'm gonna pin it all on you."

"After you shoot me."

"After I shoot you."

I pushed my hands out, not unlike the Supremes way back when they used to sing Stop, In The Name Of Love. Damn, now I was going to blow this mortal coil with that damn ear worm. 

Silver fired.


He fired again.


I put out my hand out to take his revolver.

"I emptied the clip before you got here this morning, John. Also, I looked under your desk. You know you moved your desk a couple of weeks ago? Yeah. There's a secret compartment there that you hid. And that compartment was full of blow and dough and women's underwear. It's over, Captain. You're going up the river."

I couldn't help but talk tough, in police vernacular, given the circumstances. Hey, it's what we do.

"I turned the whole thing over to Internal Affairs who, by the way have been listening to our little conversation. Yeah, I was wired. You may have heard the tape thumping as the cassette tape whirled  in the tape machine taped to my chest."

Silver sighed. He was going away for a long time and he knew he'd have to leave his women's clothing behind.

It was over. No sooner was I across the threshold when I fell into Dylan's arms.

"Come here, baby. I've got just what you need."

And she did. 

Silently, she slowly unknotted my tie and pulled it from my neck as she kissed me on my left cheek and then my right. She undid the buttons on my shirt and kissed my chest. And as she unbuckled my trousers we fell into bed and ever so slowly we started to make love.

Maybe it was a way of releasing my pent up energy from the case I'd been concentrating on for the last four weeks but whatever it was I'd never experienced love-making like that ever before.

And it seemed to go on forever and ever. I closed my eyes and had visions of trains steaming into tunnels, tall smokestacks tumbling to the ground, fireworks exploding in the night sky and huge rockets - of course they were huge - blasting off into outer space. I was in heaven but I was holding back and holding back enjoying the moment for all it was worth…

And then my brian exploded.

And this concludes 30 Days Minus 2 of Writing 2014 - and the ongoing adventures of Investigator Jack Gouda - the brainchild(?) of Nicky Eff and Cheesy Mike. Blast on over to We Work For Cheese to see how the rest of the crazy group of bloggers brought their month of writing to an end.

Thursday, 27 February 2014

It's Not Long Now! - Day 27

How Did You Find Out?

I spread out the paper on the table as I downed my sausages and eggs. I checked the crime stories every day. After all my case wasn't the only game out there. Across the front page was splashed a story about Mr. Moore Arty who'd been shot in the head at his breakfast table. He'd been found by his landlady face down in a bowl of Cheerios. Damn, I thought, this is the work of a cereal killer.

I got to the precinct early, before most of the day shift had arrived. It was 20 minutes before Silver was expected to show which was just fine. I wanted to be there before he was. I had something to do before he arrived.

The red second hand swept around the dial face of the clock on the squad room wall. It just didn't seem to be moving quickly enough. The air was stale, although not quite as stale as the three Gitanes cigarettes I had smoked in the last five minutes.

"Gouda" said Silver, startled."What are you doing in my office?"

"Sit down, Captain, we need to have a little talk."

"What's all this about, Jack?

"I know all about it, John. The drugs, the illegals, your penchant for dressing up in women's clothing - well on that I'm just guessing - and your criminal compadres and the murders."

"You don't know Jack, Jack"

"That's redundant Captain. I know it all."

"How did you find out?" queried Silver adjusting his bra.

"I think we'll save that for your trial, John, if you don't mind. But I have a question of my own."

"What's that?"

"Why? I've known and worked with you for two decades, Captain, and I never knew."

"Well, Jack, you're a gouda cop to have found me out."

"Cut out the cute quips, John, and answer my question."

"Well I'd gotten used to the additional income from my family's restaurants."

"Your family's restaurants?"

"Yeah we ran a chain of fish and chip places."

"No, don't tell me…"

"Yep, Long John Silver's. But they went under and I couldn't live on just my piddling cop salary so when the Amigo boys came to me with a scheme I jumped at the bait."

"The guy who ran fish and chip shops jumped at the bait?"

"That's right, Jack, and I'm not about to give the additional income up either. I can't afford living on scale."

"Another fish joke, eh, John? Just for the halibut?"

With lightening speed he opened the middle drawer of his desk and pulled out his service revolver, aiming it directly at my thumping chest.

I guess he didn't like people deriding him for his sense of humour.

One more day to go. Before we get there shoot on over to We Work for Cheese where you can read everyone else's stories.

Wednesday, 26 February 2014

Three More Days? Really? - Day 26

Naked and Lost

The air was pungent and full of smoke. My nostrils were working overtime to deal with the overpowering smell of beer, tobacco and human sweat. I lifted my head from the beer-drenched table  top and ran my fingers through my wet scalp.

Since coming to the conclusion that Captain Silver was a kingpin in drug running and illegals smuggling activities - and a murderer - I'd kinda gone off on a bender.

Kinda gone off on a bender was like expecting triplets and saying you're kinda pregnant. Who was I kidding. I'd done some serious damage to my liver, not to mention a few brain cells.

The last thing I remember is ordering another Pabst test - my nickname for a whiskey with a Blue Ribbon chaser. And then things went dark.

I wasn't wearing a handkerchief on my head but nevertheless my brain hurt. Seven jackhammers pounding in concrete couldn't compete with what was going on in my brain. As I squinted open my eyes I was immediately hit by bright sunlight. Not good. I quickly shut my lids, turned away from the source of light and tried again. My God, I was naked…and lost.

Where in hell was I and where were my clothes.

"And how are we doing now Sweet Cheeks?"

I knew that voice. But could I place it?

"You did yourself some major damage last night. Joe, who calls himself Paddy, called me about 2am this morning and I went and picked you up?"


"Yes, it's me, Studly."

Yes it was her. Although the last thing I was feeling was studly.

I wasn't lost after all - at least physically. "Where are my clothes" I croaked.

"I trashed them" said Dylan. You were a walking fire hazard. Had you passed by a lit match those things would have gone up in seconds. I think you had more beer on your clothes than in your belly - if that's possible."

"Coffee" I was able to say.  I had to sober up because I needed a clear head to filter fact from fiction.

We're getting down to the short strokes in our little tale. See what strokes my pals took today by checking out their stuff over at We Work For Cheese.

Tuesday, 25 February 2014

Four More Days - Yay!!! - Day 25

Social Media

I had to accelerate my efforts. Time was running out. However if my hunch was right my Captain Silver would soon have nothing but time on his hands. But a hunch wasn't good enough. I needed proof.

Now, I'm just your every day average hard-boiled homicide detective. I usually rely on underworld contacts and snitches for information. They're usually pretty reliable but getting the information can take  time and be a bit expensive.

I needed something quicker. I borrowed Dylan's laptop and started exploring. She had something called social media sites and plenty of them. I couldn't really get why they called it social media when people all talked to each other on computers and not face-to-face. To my mind they should have called it  unsocial media. Especially with the rate of exchange between the American and Canadian dollars.

Anyway, I Googled John Silver and one of the entries took me to something called Facebook. What's this? Among his friends were Ned, Lucky and Dusty Amigo as well as Joe Blow and Trigger Raynes. This can't be right I thought. Why are all my contacts in this case all friends with Captain Silver? Not only that but I found photos in his timeline where he was tagged in pictures with all these drug lords. They were all heavily armed and stood behind a table piled high with white powder.

The capper was a picture of Silver and Rob Ford jaywalking in Vancouver.

Now this was interesting. And then I found the most damning evidence of all. A recent status update of Silver's read "Thanks for taking care of Gouda's snitch Dusty and Lucky. He'll never catch on to us now."

I was confused. This case was quickly turning into an episode of True Detective.

I was stunned. I'd known Silver for 20 years, in good times and in bad, and always thought him to be a stand up guy.

But now I was sure Silver was tarnished. A bad cop. How long had Long John been mixed up with this? However long it was about to end if I had anything to do with it. 

And I did.

Woah, this is getting exciting, eh? That's it for today. Find out how exciting my blogging friends are by clicking over to We Work For Cheese and seeing how they dealt with today's prompt.

Monday, 24 February 2014

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.

Sunday, 23 February 2014

Thank God We're In the Home Stretch - Day 23

There Are Things

There are things that really annoy me.  Justin Bieber, Celine Dion, figure skating judges, Stephen Harper and peas to name a few. But none of them hold a candle to unsolved cases that just drag on and on…not unlike seemingly endless internet writing challenges. Both are like a bad rash on your testicles that only gets worse the more you scratch.

Captain Silver was growing impatient with my lack of progress - with the case not the rash on my testicles - and had decided to call in the big guns. I guess he thought my Magnum wasn't big enough. Funny, I thought that's why they called it a Magnum.

Wait, gun was a metaphor. In an early morning meeting in his office he introduced me to an old, paunchy, bleary-eyed character named John Rebus.

Turns out Rebus was a semi-retired Scottish police Inspector with some time on his hands. How he and Silver knew each other I didn't know and neither were forthcoming about it. And when I inquired as to how the two had met Silver replied "There are things you just don't ask, Jack."

Rebus thought it might be a good idea to discuss the case over a drink or two. I was liking this fella already. I took him to Rover's Rump, a cheerful place where everybody knows your name. Well except for his because he'd never been there before so I had to introduce him to Joe the bartender.

"Damn, Jack, it's not Joe it's Paddy" said Joe who said that wasn't his name.

"Whatever, a Guinness for my friend here and me my regular."

"Woah, woah, woah, there Jack. I'll be having none of that Irish motor oil. Give me a pint of IPA."

We nestled into a table at the back of the bar and I brought Rebus up to date.

"Are you bloody crazy?" said Rebus. "You want my help after three weeks of being unable to solve this case?"You're on your own, Jack. I have no idea on how to help you out."

I was speechless. Scotland's number one crime solver was wimping out on me. 

"But I thought you and Silver were best friends" I cried.

"What, no" he replied. I was just in town visiting when I got picked up on a drunk and disorderly. Silver said he'd drop the charges if I helped you with your case." 

"Having heard what you're up against I think I'd prefer to be locked up."

There are things that piss me off. Drunken and unhelpful semi-retired Scottish cops are now right up there with mid-winter writing challenges.

Well I was on my own again. And I was running out of time. I turned from Rebus to Paddy and said "Good-bye Joe, we gotta go, me-oh-my-oh."

Son of a gun.

There are things to check out at We Work For Cheese where maybe you'll have great fun on the bayou.

Saturday, 22 February 2014

30M2DW III - Day 22

It's Only A Dream

I took my .44 Magnum from the bottom dresser drawer, fingered the hallow points into the clip, pumped the clip into the gun and stuck it into my pants, dropping the front of my Hawaiian shirt to hide it. At least I thought I'd hidden it.

"Oh, Studly," purred Dylan, "Are you glad to see me or what?"

"Very funny, Dylan, it's my Magnum."

"That's not the Magnum I saw last night" she cooed. "I hope you won't tell me it's only a dream."

"No honey last night was real enough that's for sure."

You know Dylan really made it difficult for me to keep my mind on my work but as much as I wanted to stay and play I knew what I had to do.

After our little distraction I quickly got dressed and hopped in my car. I had seven more days to wrap up this case and frankly I was getting a little tired of it dragging out as long as it had, not unlike the three-week mark of certain internet mid-winter writing challenges.

I was due to meet with Chief Silver in half an hour and I was going over in my mind how the case had unfolded to date.

I pulled my Pontiac into the precinct parking lot and pounded the pavement to the building's prominent front entrance.

Pauline, the police interface with the public, sat behind he plexiglass partition and gave me a wink as I padded by. (For some reason all of a sudden I had to go pee.)

"Hold up there, Jack. If you're looking for Silver he's not in."

"But we've got a meeting. I need to talk to him about this case.:

"Sorry, boy-o, them's the breaks."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No idea and he didn't say when he was coming back."

Strange, I thought, that's unusual behaviour for a copper like Silver. 

I wonder what's up.

Maybe he's out celebrating the Canadian Olympic men and women's hockey teams' defeat of the Americans?

If you wanna know what's up bounce on over to We Work For Cheese and check out how everyone else has covered off today's prompt.

Friday, 21 February 2014

30DM2W III - Day 21

Yes I Made That

Drug kingpin Joe Blow had certainly given me lots to chew on, and I wasn't talking about the two servings of frogs legs he'd feted me with. I was certain Joe had blown Ned Amigo away and my snitch Bird. But apparently not, and for some that might be hard to swallow. For me, though, I seriously doubted that the overweight slimeball ever left the chair in his restaurant.

But I'd put the case aside for a day. I had other things to think about. It was Dylan's birthday and I wanted it to be a very special occasion for her. And, if I played my cards right, at the end of the day it'd be a very special occasion for me, if you get my drift.

I told her she needed to get out of the apartment for awhile, so she arranged to spend several hours shopping with her friend Sara. Dylan had known Sara for some years. She came from the Lowlands and she always struck me as a bit of a sad eyed lady. But I digress.

It was time to go to work. I headed out to the market. I needed the freshest ingredients for my Waldorf salad. Where better to find them than at the Statler market.

Then it was off to the butcher for their best cut of flank steak. Finally, I stopped in at the liquor store where I picked up a couple of bottles of expensive plonk. On the way home I picked up a nice bouquet at the florist. My mission was accomplished. It was time to work my miracle.

She pushed back her chair and looked at me with her baby blue eyes and said "Did you…"

I cut her off "Yes, I made that. Did you like it?

"I loved it babe. I had no idea you were this good out of bed too."

Golly, I thought, she always knows just what to say. I think I'm going to get lucky tonight...and I wasn't  just talking about not having to do the dishes.

Wanna get lucky? Traipse on over to We Work For Cheese and see what my blogging buddies are doing with today's prompt? 

Thursday, 20 February 2014

Yadda, Yadda, Yadda III - Day 20


He was right. They did taste like chicken. They were so good I ordered another plate of frogs legs with nary a thought of how the poor frogs got around without any legs.

"Good, eh?" said Joe.

"Hrmph, mumph, dumph" I replied and then thought maybe I should wait to respond when my mouth wasn't full.

And I had a lot of questions for Joe and I hoped he wouldn't blow me off. Ha, ha, I thought. I made a funny. Joe Blow. Blow me off. Sometimes I killed myself.

"Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark…Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark."

What the hell? Is that coming from the kitchen? I didn't see dog on the menu. Just as I was about to ask Joe he said "Relax, Inspector, it's just my phone. I got this crazy bark app for my ring tone from someone called Lauren. You should have seen the look on your face. Don't worry, Jack, my phone's bark is worse than it's bite…ha, ha, ha."

He turned his head away from me to take the call. I washed the last of the frogs legs down with some saki and settled in for the conversation that was to come.

"That was my CHAOS associate" said Joe "and he had some interesting news to tell me about you, Jack."

"CHAOS? What's that?"

"Oh me and the boys have formed our own little underworld organization. Crazy Honkies And Other Slimeballs. You know, like Mr. Ford over there. We usually just use the acronym…for obvious reasons."

This was one crazy dude, I thought. Not unlike the Russian and American judges in Olympic ice dancing. I'd better be careful.

"Listen I appreciate the gratis frogs legs but let's get down to brass tacks. I'm investigating two murders and from what I've been told you had a role to play in both."

"That's what my associate just told me. The Amigos? I wouldn't waste the effort. They're pip-squeaks and no way would qualify as a crazy honkey or other slimeball."

"But I thought they were horning in on your drug business?"

"Yeah, so? They hardly made a dent. If you're looking for someone who wanted to knock them off try someone who swam with them at the bottom of their barrel."

Geez, some crooks talked funny I thought, using odd metaphors and such.

"Do you have anyone in particular in mind" I asked.

"I do."

Find out who Joe has in mind tomorrow. Same place. Same blog. Until then, mosey on over to We Work For Cheese and see who I have in mind in terms of dealing with today's prompt. 

Wednesday, 19 February 2014

30M2DW III - Day 19

Tastes Like Chicken

I left Dusty and Lucky on the beach in Bijao, Panama - where the temperature hovered around 90F every day - sipping their fruity drinks with the little paper umbrellas in them and made for the Tocumen airport. I had a two hour cab ride ahead of me and I really needed to catch the last flight out to Newark. Otherwise, I'd have to spend another day in Panama. Did I mention the temperature was 90F?

With layovers in Newark and Montreal, and after a 14 hour travel day I finally made it home where, exhausted, I fell into bed next to Dylan.

She stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and she said to me "Hey, Stud. Glad you're back. Actually, I'm glad you're front too." And with that we tumbled into each other's arms and, like they say in the movies, fade to black.

The next day I was up early, showered, shaved and was ship-shape to continue my sleuthing. I checked the internet for the address of this restaurant in Chinatown, collected my keys and with my head filled with visions of last night's acrobatics - I think Dylan would do well in an X-rated Cirque de Soleil -I drove into town.

There was no way one could drive a car through the narrow streets of Chinatown so I parked the beast and got out and walked. I hadn't gone far before I saw a sign over an inconspicuous doorway that said "Sum Yung Guy Hung Fook Hing Low" and I chuckled to myself. The doorway might have been inconspicuous but that sign certainly wasn't. I went in.

The place was poorly lit. You almost had to take the menu with you outside in the daylight to read it, And then I saw him. A huge hulk of a human. He must have weighed 600 pounds, No wonder I couldn't see. The guy was sitting between me and the window and his frame blocked out the sunlight.


"No. I'm Rob."

"Rob? Rob who?"

"Rob Ford, mayor of the great city of Toronto."

"What the hell are you doing in my story," I asked.

He snorted a line of coke, looked up at me and said "I must be in one of my drunken stupors."

Over his shoulder some guy was waving at me. It was Joe Blow. He motioned me over with his index finger. He pointed to a vacant chair. I sat.

Geez, I thought. They'll let just about anyone in this place.

"Hey, Joe, what do you know?" I asked.

"I just got back from Kokomo" he replied.

"Oh, yeah? Did you see the Beach Boys while you were there?"


"Never mind."


"A little."

"You should try the frogs legs. They're our signature dish."

"Frogs legs? Really?"

"Go on. Try them. It tastes like chicken."

Tune in tomorrow to see if Inspector Gouda try's the frogs legs. In the meantime, hop (sorry frog) on over to We Work For Cheese and see how the rest of those poor sods covered off today's prompt.


Tuesday, 18 February 2014

Damn, It's Only Day 18 of 30M2DW III


The breeze was almost non-existent. The sand beneath my feet was warm but not baking as it sometimes could be. And the ocean crept gently to the shore, it's waves whispering quietly upon the beach.

That's right. I'd tracked Dusty and Lucky Amigo to Panama where - stop me if you've heard this before - the sun shone brightly every day and the temperature crested at about 90F. But I digress.

I found the Amigos in a beach front bar sipping on fruity drinks with little umbrellas in them. They were easy to spot. Their funny Mexican sombreros stood out a mile away. I called for a Corona, pulled up a chair and sat down.

"You're a really gooda detective to track us down here" said Dusty and the two of them dissolved into giggles at Dusty's little joke.

"Yeah, yeah, everyone's a comedian. But you guys are a couple of liars.  Actually, you're a couple of outliars."

"Outliars?" said Dusty. "What the heck you talking about?"

"An outliar is someone who convincingly lies about their level of success. Like you guys. Usually, after about 10,000 hours or so an outliar more or less becomes an expert liar about how successful they are."

"But we're crooks," says Lucky "Of course we're gonna lie."

"My point exactly. Now let's cut the crap and and tell me about who killed Ned dead and why you misfits faked your murders?"

"We had to fake our deaths," said Lucky. "Once Ned was dead we were filled with dread that the same person might just put a gun to our heads and kill us in our beds."

"But who?" I asked. "He killed Ned and he killed Bird my snitch. Poor Bird went out on a limb to give me information but his killer flew the coup, you might say."

"You said it, not us" chirped Lucky.

Said Dusty "It's got to be Joe Blow. He's the biggest guy in the drug scene that we're aware of and he didn't like us horning in on his business."

"And just where do I find this Joe Blow drug magnate guy?"

"He hangs out back home in Chinatown; has a restaurant there called Sum Yung Guy Hung Fook Hing Low."

Boy, I'm glad Chief Silver was paying my travel expenses. Air fare to and from Panama wasn't cheap, not to mention all the bars and restaurants I'd visited.

Hey, it's a tough job but someone has to do it.

Hungry for more? Slink on over to We Work For Cheese and see how those other suckers dealt with today's prompt.

Monday, 17 February 2014

Day 17 of The Writing Thingy

I Faked It

"You Gouda?"

"I've been called worse."

Horse face had seen me in my dark corner of the Twelfth Night Pub and made a bee-line for my table. He didn't make a bzz-bzz noise. In fact he didn't make any noise at all. He just walked straight to my table.

"I hear you've been looking for me" says Horse face.

"You could say that, although unfortunately I don't know your name."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Trigger. Raynes Trigger."

He had to be kidding. A guy with a face like a horse is named Trigger? 

"So Raynes, can I call you Raynes?"

"Hey, don't pull back."

"Okay, great. So Raynes, what can you tell me about the untimely demise of the 3 Amigos?"

"If they're dead then they had it coming."

"What do you mean 'if'?"

"Well I ran into Lucky only yesterday and he said, and this is a direct quote: 'I faked it'."

"He said that?"

"Yep, and Dusty was with him and confirmed it."

"What about Ned?"

"Didn't you hear? Ned's dead."

"Ned's dead? Is that what you said?"

"That's what I said. Ned's dead. A bullet to the head."

"I don't get it."

"Someone knocked off Ned so Dusty and Lucky pretended they'd been topped too."

"But who?"

"Hey, you're the cop" Trigger brayed. "You figure it out."

Looks like I was headed in a different direction. Now I had to find Dusty and Lucky.

That was okay. I was getting pretty tired of this bar where all they spoke was Shakespearean English.

"Ha!" shouted the barkeep. "I faked it!"

Get yourself over to We Work For Cheese and see how the rest of my friends faked it today.

Sunday, 16 February 2014

30M2DW III - Day Whatever

Shakespearean English

I slipped into the Twelfth Night Pub unobserved and thought to myself "Hmm, what a coincidence. The Twelfth night and this was the 16th night I'd been on the case." Cops weren't always the most accurate of people but, hey, close enough.

I parked myself in one of the darkest, deepest recesses of the bar and sat with my back to the wall so as to observe the comings and goings.

"What be your pleasure, my liege" boomed a voice in my ear. It was the barkeep, a swarthy looking fellow in what looked like knickerbockers and long stockings, shoes with silver buckles and a frilly shirt like in that Seinfeld episode.

I immediately thought of Dylan, but of course that wasn't the pleasure little Lord Fauntleroy was referring to.

"A whiskey with a Pabst chaser, and keep 'em coming."

"Forsooth, my lord has a liking for the spirits" claimed LLF.

"I don't know about your four suits but four Pabsts sounds about right."

He disappeared behind the bar and went to work on my order. I thought to myself "Gee, this guy's striving for authenticity in the Twelfth Night Bar speaking Shakespearean English and all. I'm sure glad I wasn't sent to a Chaucer Pub.

I could see out the large front window that a long, sleek, jet-black Cadillac was pulling into the parking lot. It's headlamps cut a swath across the dark interior of the bar.

Some wag at the bar shouted "Hark, what light through yonder window breaks?"

LLF was just about to chime in when I saw for myself who was entering the bar. It was him. Horse face.

LLF turned to my man and inquired: "My lord, perchance thou might share with me why the long visage?"

Prithee search out We Work For Cheese if thee feign any interest at all in this day's prompt.

Saturday, 15 February 2014

30DM2W III - Day 15

My Ears Are Ringing

The hot mid-day sun hung high in a cloudless sky beating down on those of us silly enough to be out and about at that time of day. I pulled a well-worn handkerchief out of my back pocket and dabbed my brow for the umpteenth time in the last hour. I was waiting for my contact, sitting on a park bench in the town square. He was late and I was suffering the consequences of sitting in an area without a shade tree in sight. My contact was an immigration expert although not exactly of the legal sort. Word had it he ran wetbacks across the border and was probably the most successful at it, more than any of his competition.

And then he was beside me on the bench. He'd arrived silently and gave me a bit of a start.


"Good what?" I responded.

"No, you. Gouda?"

"Oh, sorry, yeah, that's me. You Manuel?

"Si, me Manuel."

"Okay, Manuel, I see you. But tell me, how does it work? Just what's the genesis of transporting illegals?"

"Well" said Manuel. "I got a cousin and she got a friend who thought that her aunt knew a man who could help. At his apartment I knocked on the door. He wouldn't come out until he got paid. Now don't tell anybody what I wanna do. If they find out you know that they'll never let me through."

"Hmm" I responded "I can see it's no fun being an illegal alien, no it's no fun being an illegal alien."

"Si, you've hit the hammer on your head, Jack."

"Okay, so I'm on the trail of one of these illegals. I think he may have topped off some Mexicans. Is there some community of them somewhere? A place where they hang out maybe?"

"Si, there are several. Say, why are my ears ringing? My ears are ringing, Jack. What's with that?"

"It's not your ears, Manuel. It's my phone you dummy."

I took the call. It was Dylan, my live-in lover, calling to thank me for all the trouble I'd gone to the day before - Valentine's Day. I'd gotten hold of a rare, almost out of print Van Morrison CD that for new sold for close to $100. But I'd managed to find a used copy of Hard Nose the Highway on the internet for $33. We were looking forward to listening to it later together. "No problem, babe. Anything for you." We exchanged some personal stuff, unique to couples in the grips of cupid, that I won't go into here. Let's just say I'd be looking forward to going home tonight - maybe I'd go home a little early - you know, for some, as Van puts it, warm love.

We said our good-byes and I turned to Manuel. He had a bemused look on his face. He'd obviously overheard my conversation with Dylan.

But he made no reference to it. Instead he told me that many of the illegals hung out at a pub called The Twelfth Night. I slipped Manuel a Benjamin and knew where I'd be spending my afternoon.

Where are you spending your afternoon? Why not spend it at We Work For Cheese reading the posts from my blogging buddies and their take on today's prompt.

Friday, 14 February 2014

The Half-way Mark of this Bloody February Writing Thing - Day 14

It Has To Be Aliens

I was just coming out of  Daffy Dill's, the florist where I'd bought a bouquet of Bluebells to give to Dylan for Valentine's, when I saw him. There was no mistake about it. He had a long face, wide-set eyes, big teeth, a flowing mane and he kind of trotted as he moved in and out of pedestrians on the sidewalk across the street.

"Halt" I yelled and drew my pistol. I had no choice but to pitch the flowers as I took up the chase. A homeless woman, in whose lap I'd thrown the flowers gazed at me longingly. He was about a block ahead of me and as I picked up speed his trot quickly became a gallop. As we turned a corner and descended a set of stairs horse face was in the lead and I was on the rail.

And then he was gone. "What the…". Just like that he had disappeared.

Where the hell did he go I thought. "It has to be the aliens and their tractor beam" I said aloud as passers by started to stare at this wild-eyed, dishevelled dick mumbling something about aliens. "What?" I said to no one in particular. "Happens every day. Aliens just pluck people off the street just like that."

Of course I didn't believe it. The statement was more a coping mechanism than anything else. But he had disappeared. And right before my eyes. But I had seen him. I knew what he looked like now. And I'd describe him to the sketch artist and we'd paper the city with that artist's depiction. It was only a matter of time before we caught him. That is if the aliens let him go first.

"Holy hell, that's it" I exclaimed and in one of those "Damn I could have had a V-8" moves I slapped myself.

Aliens. Illegal aliens. It has to be the aliens!

Before the aliens get you check out the links at We Work for Cheese for how the rest of my blogger buddies handled today's prompt.

Thursday, 13 February 2014

30M2DW III - Day 13


As I drove out of my whey to the Cheese Store and my meeting with Chief Silver I started humming a little tune that had been rumbling around in my head. Soon, the hum turned to words…

On a tree by a river a little tom Tit,
Sang; "Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow".
And I said to him; "dickie-bird why do you sit,
singing willow, tit-willow, tit-willow?"
"Is it weakness of intellect, birdie" I cried,
"or a rather tough worm in your little insides?"
With a shake of his poor little head he decried;

"Oh willow, tit-willow, tit-willow.

You really had to hand it to Gilbert and Sullivan. They had a real turn of phrase and the Incommunicado was one of my favourite G&S works.

Anyway this little ear worm helped pass the time as I made my way to the precinct. I found Silver alone in his office pushing his furniture around.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm tired of how this place looks. I'm rearranging the furniture" said Silver.

"So I guess, then, you're the lone arranger" I quipped. "Hi-yo, Silver" I added for good measure.

"Look, Jack, cheese" I thought he was one-upping me but sure enough on his desk was an elaborate  cheese plate.

"Gouda, eh" he said. Now I was sure he was having me on but I let Silver ride. 

I explained my theory about horse chest maybe being a horse face.

"I like it" he said. "Thanks for trotting it out. The lads upstairs may think it's a load of crop and you'll likely stirrup trouble but I'm giving you my unbridled support, Gouda. I'm behind you all the way."

"After having eaten all this cheese, I'm not sure that's where you wanna be but thanks for your support, Chief," I snorted.

It felt good to be back in the saddle. This case was no cinch but I felt I was a bit further ahead than before. Now if I could just keep up the pace I was sure I could rein in the killer in no time. Of course I kept this all to my self because I thought it best to exercise tack.

Check out all the tit willows at We Work For Cheese and how they wrote about today's prompt which by the way wasn't The Mikado.

Wednesday, 12 February 2014

That Writing Thing in February - Day 12

One Bite

The wind swept down the boulevard carrying with it last night's detritus. Detritus? You know debris, waste, refuse, rubbish, litter, scrap, rubble and so on. I say detritus because my pal MikeWJ said I didn't know how to use it in a sentence. You owe me $50 Mike. And detritus is just one of those words you'd expect to find in a noir discourse. My God am I a literary marvel or a homocide detective? Good to know I've got something to fall back on if this detecting thing doesn't work out.

And it wasn't working out. As I gazed out of my apartment window at the rising sun in the east (notice how the last chapter ended with a sunset in the west? That's continuity, folks.) I thought to myself that after 12 days I was no further ahead in finding the murderer of the 3 Amigos than I was on day 1.

Something had to change. Somehow I'd wandered off the trail searching for a man called Horse. All I knew was I'd better get myself back up in the saddle. 

First, I thought, I'd trot into the kitchen for some breakfast. As I did, I scanned the bed and there was Dylan, lying peacefully on her stomach on the mattress, her long summery blonde hair flowing across her bare back. Dylan and I were a thing. Our whirlwind romance had quickly escalated to the point of her moving in with me. Imagine a girl from the north country of California and a guy from the great white north of Canada co-existing.  Well they say opposites attract.

She stirred and rolled over. Her eyes fluttered open against the light from the rising sun. "Morning stud" she croaked. If there's one thing in particular I liked about Dylan it was her canny sense of accuracy.

"Want some breakfast?" she asked.

"Hey I was just about to fix something, let's do it together."

She slid from the bed and put on my shirt that had been lying on the floor in once graceful move.

As I plugged in the coffee maker and she got out the flour, eggs, sausages and bread for crepes, french toast, eggs and all the fixings, my thoughts turned to the case.

At least I thought I still had a case of champagne and if so we could mix it with orange juice for momosas.

And as I sipped my drink and took one bite of the delicious breakfast spread out before me it came to me. Maybe it wasn't a man called Horse. Maybe it was a man that looked like a horse. You know, someone with similar facial features to Celine Dion. You know, when she walks into a bar the bartender says "Hey, why the long face?"

I was on to something. And after I got off her I showered and got dressed and left her in the apartment to clean up as I checked into the precinct. We called it the Cheese Shop because it was whey out of town. I had to see Chief Silver and explain my latest theory to him. I hopped in the car, turned the ignition and shouted "Up Scout". I don't know why but I always said that when I thought of Chief Silver.

Check out We Work For Cheese for the others in this godforsaken writing thing in February.

Tuesday, 11 February 2014

30DM2W III - Day 11


In a blaze of red-hued and slightly clouded glory the sun began it's western descent. There was something metaphorical about that sunset because it was the last one I'd see at the dude ranch. My visit to the desert was coming to a close.

And as I thought about that Elton John song where he wails "don't let the sun go down on me" something more than metaphorical was happening to me as Dylan, unlike the sun, was going down on me.

"Dylan" I said half asleep " just what do you think you're doing?"

She looked at me, through honey blonde hair hanging across her face, and whispered devilishly "Wake up, Jack, I'm a succubus."

Honey, I thought, you can suck anything you want but I said "Babe, you might want to think that through because if you succubus you're bound to burn your lips on the tailpipe."

The moment was broken. She started to laugh, an endearing hiccupping giggle that got me going too. And as our laughter subsided we looked deeply into each other's eyes and I thought hey, I can see my reflection in her eyes.

But that thought quickly flew from my mind as we began to kiss, tenderly at first and then passionately. And then… Well, I'm not gonna go there. See the movie. Suffice it say our passion played out faster than Canadian men winning the gold and silver medals in the Olympic mogul event.

And so my week at the dude ranch on the hunt for the 3 Amigos killer came to an end. I hadn't found the man called Horse but I did go to a Zombie concert. I had thought about the Grateful Dead. And I  met Dylan. Sigh, imagine. Dylan and the Dead all in the same week.

And as if she could read my mind or see the look in my eyes she pulled me to her and whispered "You ain't going nowhere."

And you know what? I wasn't.

It takes a lot to laugh but it takes a train to cry. You decide when you check out We Work For Cheese and link to the rest of the losers for today's prompt.

Monday, 10 February 2014

30M2DW III - Day 10


So I'd narrowed Horse down to be one of the seven guys. I won't say how I ruled out the ladies. You'll just have to take my word for it.

I'd staked out the men's showers bright and early. I'd drilled a tiny peep hole in the outside wall, giving me a clear shot at whoever might be taking a shower. In this way I'd be able to identify the guy with a horse's head tattoo on his chest.

Bob was the first up. And in no time at all I'd ruled him out. But Bob seemed to really enjoy his shower and took his time, if you know what I mean. I couldn't watch.

Bill was next and I could see right away he wasn't my guy. A bit of a horse's ass, Bill. But no horse's head.

Brian showed up next. And wait. He had a tattoo. But he was sideways to me and I couldn't make it out. He turned and… What the fuck? Who the hell was Harold?

It didn't take me long to find out when the next guy in the shower was…Harold. And he didn't wait for Brian to leave. I think Brian must have dropped the soap but I couldn't watch anymore.

That left Colin, Jim and Rod. But after Brian and Harold I wasn't in the mood for any more peeping.

And I didn't have to because there they were coming out of the bunkhouse. 

"Hey, mate" said the first one, "I'm Rod and these are me mates Colin and Jim"

"Oh hi guys, I'm Jack. Pleased to meet you."

"Are you coming to the concert tonight?" asked Rod.

"Concert? What concert?" I queried. "You mean the 50th Anniversary of the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show concert?"

"No, no that was last night" Rod mulled and rolled his eyes. "Our concert. We're the surviving members of that lesser known but hot 60s British pop group… "

"The Dave Clark Five?" I blurted.

"No, the Zombies."

"The Zombies?"

"Yeah, you know 'Tell Her No', 'She's Not There', Season of the Witch'?"

"Sorry, before my time I'm afraid.

"Oh that's a shame" said Rod, "Really great stuff."

"I'm sure. Say don't Colin or Jim talk?"

"Not if they don't have to. They much prefer to sing."

I said if I had nothing else to do I might drop by the concert. Maybe Dylan would come with me. Who knew this dude ranch had Zombies.

Now if you had have said the Grateful Dead were gonna perform I'd have jumped at the chance. But the living dead? Not so much.

Well I suppose it's better than Vampires.

Another day another episode of Inspector Jake Gouda and the case of the Three Amigos. Why don't you check out my blogging amigos over at We Work For Cheese and see what they're up to with today's prompt.

Sunday, 9 February 2014

30M2DW III - Day 9


She was a tall, cool glass of water and I thought I'd love to have her slake my thirst - nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

"Hi" she whispered breathily in my direction. "And who might you be, handsome?"

Well she'd already answered her own question but I decided to play along.

"I'm Jack. Jack Gouda, pleased to meet you Miss…?"

"Oh, I'm Dylan. Dylan Thinman."

"How interesting. Named after Dylan Thomas? McDermott? O'Brien? Farrow?"

"No, silly, Bob she moaned. "My parents were hippies. I'm just glad they didn't name me Sunflower or Moonbeam, Microbus or Weed," she giggled.

Wow, good looking and a sense of humour.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"Don't think twice, it's all right."

"So what's the ballad of Ms Thinman, Dylan? Where's a girl like you from?

"The north country."

"And you're here all on your own? No husband or boyfriend?"

"Hey, the times they are a changing'"

"Say those are nice riding boots you've got there."

"Thanks, they're boots of spanish leather."

" Uh-oh, we won't get much riding in today. It's starting to rain."

"Then we'd better find ourselves some shelter from the storm."

"You bet because it looks like a hard rain's gonna fall."

Damn, I thought, now she's got me doing it.

The longer we talked I came to realize she reminded me of a former girlfriend. A serious girlfriend. With whom I'd had a deep and meaningful relationship. I was starting to have visions of Johanna.  

Well one thing led to another. We found ourselves some cover in the barn with all the tired horses and as we started to kiss she whispered "tonight I'll be staying here with you" lustily into my ear.

"Lay lady lay" I said to myself.

And then she added, "You may have thought me to be the shy and reserved type but that ain't me, babe."

And that was the day Dylan became my rainy day woman.

Coincidentally, I ruled her out as a suspect. She didn't have a horse tattoo on her chest. I checked.

While you're waiting for the next instalment of your favourite cheesy Detective Gouda check out the links at We Work For Cheese and see how the rest of those yahoos are coping with today's prompt.

Saturday, 8 February 2014

30M2DW III - Day 8


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.

Friday, 7 February 2014

30M2DW III - Day 7

Hint, Hint

The life of a hard-boiled cop isn't an easy one. At the station house you're only as good as the last case you cracked. In the dirty underworld of criminals, pimps and snitches you're only as good as your last Benjamin. And to the barkeeps of the world you're no good at all because they let you drink free beers and then you keep turning up for more like a bad penny. Not that I know any Pennys that are bad. In fact I know one who's pretty good, if you know what I mean. And in terms of currency I don't see how there can be any bad pennies because Canada got rid of them recently so we'd have to talk in terms of bad nickels, dimes, loonies and toonies. Just doesn't have the same ring to it.

And you may think it odd that a Canadian detective carries around a pocket full of Benjamins - American $100 bills. Well, yeah, it is a little odd but "Benjamin" sounds so much better than "Borden", some long-forgotten prime minister. And besides, the new polymer Canadian $100 bills smell like maple syrup. How could I ever attract snitches and maintain my credibility - my currency as a cop as it were - smelling like crepe?

Any way, let's continue with our story. A dick's life can be hard. Um, no pun intended.

Take this case I'm on, please. Ha, every cop likes to impersonate Henny Youngman. But seriously, folks, I had few leads into the deaths of the 3 Amigos and my snitch Bird. And Chief Silver was breathing down my neck.

Which is why I was hanging out in the hinterland - the seedy part of town where all the mother rapers, father stabbers, father rapers, mean and nasty and ugly and horrible crime-type guys hung out. No litterers, though. Gee, I'm hungry all of a sudden. I want to go somewhere I can get anything I want.

And where better to pick up hints about a crime than in the hinterland, huh, huh, huh?

And it paid off. Paid off big time.

According to my source a man called 'Horse', so named because of his drug connections not his movie character, was looking to horn into the drug trade the Amigos were running and what better way to do that than to off your competition. Oddly enough the Amigos had done the very same thing - horned in on someone else's turf.

My snitch wanted compensation for his information and leaned close into my ear and whispered "hint, hint".

I quickly brushed my suit coat thinking he said "lint, lint" as I'd gone out without my hearing aids again.

I needed to find out who this Horse fella was and I figured I'd have to go under cover to do it. But that was okay. I'd been under cover with Jhurigo and that worked out just great.

Ah, that concludes the first week of our adventures of Inspector Jack, a pretty gouda cop. Tune in tomorrow for our next instalment. Until then check out the links at We Work For Cheese and see what the rest of those blogger folk are doing with today's prompt.

Thursday, 6 February 2014

30M2DW III - Day 6


When last we checked Izzy Amigo and I had shared a plate of cheese and a bottle of tequila while he gave me his thoughts on who murdered his bothers, the 3 Amigos. Izzy Amigo? No, not really, just an acquaintance who gave me some information.

But I couldn't sit around Rover's Rump much longer. Another drink would surely put me under the table and in that case I'd be a sitting duck for Boom Boom. Boom Boom? Just the most stubborn chick out of Rochester. And when she gets a bee in her bonnet, look out. It'll sting her and she'll strike out at the closest thing to her. I'd heard she was tracking me and she wasn't happy. My first clue? She carried an ax. Hey, give me some credit. I'm a detective.

But enough about that and back to our story. I stepped purposefully up the neatly-trimmed sidewalk of 77 rue Sunset, on the French end of the strip. This is where Izzy's cousin Jhurigo Hugo lives. Hugo is her married name. 

The door swings open and I take a step back. My God, it's the girl of my dreams. Lithe, big-busted, long-legged, blonde…need I go on. And then she speaks.

"Oh, you must be Inspector Gadget. Izzy told me you'd be by. How are you? Would you like to come in? Hot out isn't it? Oh, look at that cute squirrel. What are your thoughts on global warming? Terrible the things they're doing in Canada's tar sands isn't it…"

And on and on she went. She didn't stop, just jumped from one thing to the next as if she were Roger Rabbit.

She introduced herself: "I'm Mrs Hugo but you can call me Jhurigo."

Honey, I thought, if it weren't for that motor-mouth I'd go Jhurever you would go. 

"Well, not Mrs Hugo for long. Only until the divorce goes through."

Ding, ding, ding, ding…an alarm was going off in the far reaches of my brain and in the not so far reaches of my body.

I think she was coming on to me. Scatterbrained or not, the next couple of hours might prove to be interesting. Probing as we say in the detective business.

Are the adventures of Jack Gouda cheesy enough for you? Get yourself over to We Work For Cheese and see how the rest of those poor sods are coping with today's prompt.

Wednesday, 5 February 2014

30M2DW III - Day 5

The Empty Bottle

I had to dig deeper. There was a killer out there. I had to find him before he struck again. Victims were dropping faster than participants in a certain mid-winter writing challenge.

When the Chief says get on the case, he's not talking about scotch. I'd received a tip that a fourth Amigo may have had some knowledge about the untimely demise of his three Amigo brothers. So Jack Gouda was back in the hunt.

His first name was Isuza. For some reason people associated Isuza Amigo with the car business but he actually owned a chain of supermarkets in Puerto Rico.

Izzy, as most called him, was a quiet, low-key individual. Of the four Amigo brothers Izzy was the one who rose above criminal activity. He was kinda the Amigo version of Zeppo Marx. He was on the level, a straight shooter - not in the literal sense, 'cause he didn't carry a gun - in short an honest man. Not a short, honest man because Izzy was 6'2". And, like Zeppo, he wasn't funny.

Izzy'd agreed to meet me in a quaint out-of-the-way Mexican cantina. I should have known better to accept given my nasty relationship with alcohol but, hey, who said we were gonna drink, right?

When I arrived I inquired of the bartender, "Izzy, here?"

"Is who here?" came his reply.

"You know" I said "Izzy."

"Look, Jack, I don't know how I can tell you if he's here or not unless you give me his name."

This was a clever bartender. He knew my name. But just then Izzy appeared seemingly from out of  nowhere at my elbow. This was kind of odd because I knew he was from out of Puerto Rico. 

"Hey, Jack, let's sit down. Jack, want some cheese?"

"Are you making fun of me, Izzy?"

"Not at all. I like Jack Cheese."

With the cheese came a bottle of tequila. Our little chat was about to get interesting as long as Izzy didn't worm his way out of it.

A half hour later the cheese was gone and the empty bottle of tequila lay on its side on the table top.

Izzy, having imbibed much more than me, not to mention the worm, snored away lazily, his chin resting on his chest.  But not before he'd passed along his thoughts on his brothers' murders, not to mention who he thought was the murderer.

Day 5 of 28 of the riveting tale of Inspector Jack Gouda who calls his precinct the Cheese Shop because it's whey out of town.  Check the links at We Work For Cheese to see how the rest of these imbeciles are dealing with the daily prompts.
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