The Long Nap part II (C) Tobe Freddo 2013

So a day latter I’m cooling my heels at the Stoner Fortress.  Gunter, the butler greeted me at the door with all the warmth of an undertaker.  He was tall - silver haired - Germanic.  His walk was tight, precise and measured which maybe explained the tube of Preparation H hanging out of his coat pocket.  The rumor was that the General got him as part of the Versailles Treaty after the Great War; his own little settlement with the Kaiser.  The General also got a wife, two bratty daughters and the clap.  The wife was dead and I didn’t think he wanted to see me about the clap, so I figured it had to be the daughters. Gunter left me waiting to find out.  I looked around.  The place was filthy with family paintings of droopy eyed stuck ups with vacant stares. Obviously the General was from a long line of Stoner’s.  I thought it strange that there were no paintings of his kids any where.  Maybe they missed picture day.  Maybe he didn’t want to be reminded of his mistakes.  One of them though was now sauntering her way down the stairs with the intermittent flow of a post nasal drip.

She was wearing white tennis shorts the way snow wears a mountain pass. She had legs that seemed to go all the way to her neck and a pair that looked more like a full house. They were almost bursting out of her black top like a couple of bulls in a rodeo pen that you couldn’t wait to ride.  It was a good thing I wore a hat which I now held at my waist with the fingertips of both hands.  It came in handy, strategically speaking.  She looked me up one side and down the other, pulled back a little then stared at my hat.  She ran the back of right hand around the brim.  She licked her lips put a finger in her nose, pulled it out and pointed in my direction and asked in a sultry tone,

“Is that a Borsolino?”

“Looks more like a bugger” I smiled.

“No, that thing in you hands.  Is that a Borsolino?”

I looked down and replied “It tries to be.  I just call it Waldo.”

She tossed her head back laughed. “What are you?”

“My mom was French and my old man was a drunkard.”

She laughed some more. “No silly, I mean what do you do?”

“I’m a shamus” I said.

“Your heal people? She squinted.

“No, no.  An investigator, a private dick.

 “You and every other man.”  She laughed again and then fell back.

There was a ‘thunk.’   She rubbed the back of her head as she got to her knees pulling on my belt to steady her self. Her face was planted in my hat as she struggled.  Just then Gunter walked in.  His left eyebrow rose as his right lowered simultaneously as though he was putting on an imaginary monocle.  His gaze met hers momentarily. She raised her head a bit defiantly then giggled again into my hat.  She turned to Gunter slowly shaking her head.

“It’s not a Borsolino.” She said pointing to it.

Gunter extended an arm to help her. “As you say, madam, but then few are.”  

She backed away from me tripping a little like she had one too many martinis, which I’m sure she had.  She ran her left hand through her hair then let it fall to that chasm between her bosoms keeping her gaze all the while on my hat, which was now really coming in handy.  She licked her lips again. 

“You know, I got a box for that hat. It might be a tight squeeze, but I bet I could get it to fit.”  

I laughed a little. “I bet you could, but thanks just the same.”

Gunter for his part was trying to look nonchalant and detached, but his presence was clearly putting a chill in the air.  She picked up the drop in temperature.  An index finger went into the nose again for a moment. She stepped back.

“I’m just saying if you want to keep that hat in good shape every now and then it has to spend some time in a box”  She put the index finger in her mouth and licked it. “Mmm. Salty - like me.” She giggled again, turned and ambled out of the room like a new foal out of a barn.

 I kept holding onto my hat, still fidgeting the brim.  I nodded in the direction of the arched doorway she passed through and asked.

“Is she house broken?”

Gunter turned to the doorway glancing at her departing figure, the back at me.

“I really can’t say, sir.  You’ll have to excuse Ms. Wendy. She’s high spirited.”

I cocked my head. “Yeah, well I have whatever spirits she’s drinking.”

Gunter cleared his throat.  “Indeed, sir.  Now if you and your ... hat will follow me, the General will see you in the conservatory.”

I followed, making a note that Gunter seemed to be paying a little too much attention to my hat.  Hmm, maybe that explained the Preparation H. 

The Long Nap or Film Noir - Re-Noir'd (c) 2013 Tobe Freddo

It's been a while since I posted anything, but after Tobe re-read Raymond Chandler's "The Big Sleep," he was inspired to write some "hardboiled detective" copy of his own.  How much of the parody he will complete is anyone's guess.  For now however, WELCOME TO

By Fillitup Merlot.

Waking up in a strange city to a foggy morning is one of those things you smell before you see.  It hits you in the kisser like a pair of panties that a girl you picked up at some dive the night before would leave on your face the next morning while you were still sleeping so you wouldn't see her rifling through the wallet you left on the chest of drawers. Yeah you wake up a little wiser, a lot more broke and with a salty caramel taste in your mouth … and a smile.  You got played. She’s gone alright, but you tell yourself, “One thing for sure, I'm keeping the panties!" 

 A note on the chest of drawers catches your eye.   It has her cheap perfume scent. You're intrigued.  You didn't know she could write. You read her scrawl. You noticed she misspelled ‘penicillin’, then you wonder what she meant by "Thanks for every little thing...."  You shrug it off, walk over to the window and push it open and let the grey roll in, stench and all.  You start to think; yeah Fog City is a lot like Lucile - thick and close to the ground.  Lucile on the other hand was nothing like her younger sister, Wendy. 

For being sisters, the only thing they had in common was that visit from “Aunt Flo” every month. Wendy tried not be home when she came, but she did anyway, an unwanted houseguest who like the proverbial fish began to stink after the third day, oddly enough like a fish.  Still Wendy was not without her charms.  She had that kind of looks and voice that made men write checks that would bounce higher than a $10 trick with a new mattress.  Her Rita Hayworth legs, Veronica Lake hair and Betty Davis eyes made her a walking movie poster with “Coming Soon” written all over.  No doubt about it, Wendy knew what she had even if she couldn’t pronounce it and whatever it was it burned and it’s what was always getting her in Dutch with her old man, General Stoner.

 It was the General that now had me waiting in his foyer. He had called my old boss, Bernie from the D.A.’s office and said he had “something to show me and he wanted me to jump on it right away.”

 I told Bernie that “I don’t swing that way”

 Bernie said “It’s business.”

 I said “Not even for money.” 

 Bernie said “It involves a girl.” 

 Hmm that got my attention.  I asked Bernie “A three way?”

 Bernie said, “No, the girl is dead.”  

 I asked “Dead, dead or is she just English?” 

 Bernie said “Both!”

 Now he really had my motor running, but before I could ask anything more Bernie said

 “Just get down here, Merlot.  The old man wants to see you at Stoner Manner on Westwood off Wilshire, next Monday at one in the afternoon.” Bernie barked “You got that, Merlot?”  

 
I barked back. “Yeah, Stoner Manner, off Wilshire.”  I started to hang up the phone, but not before I heard Bernie add:

“And bring your own papers.”

To be continued.......

Tobe In The Land of the Twits

Tobe In The Land of the Twits

Tobe’s a hedgehog who’s loyal and true.  He loves little children as all hedgehogs do.  So to no one’s surprise and very little guessing he went off with Joseph to do CPS’ing. 

The first house they went to was really a mess with vermin and roaches and things all upset.  The cupboards were empty with nothing to cook, and the stove was all greasy and covered in soot.  The rats in the bath gave a terrible spook and the toilet so filthy you feared you would puke.  But the bedroom,  -  the bedroom was all shot to pieces with garbage, soiled diapers and animal feces.  

And there in a crib, against a far wall, Tobe heard a sweet voice so soft and so small that he winced just a little before he could look to see a new infant amidst all the gook. 

 He turned to the mom and he yelled “What the hell? Does the word child neglect ring some kind a bell?”  She just shrugged her shoulders annoyed by the fuss, but the pipe Tobe found said more than enough. 

 Without hesitation or any delay Joseph phoned for the police who came right away.  They drove up in cop cars, the ones they call “cruisers” with a big German Shepherd, who I think they called “Bruiser.”  They hooked up the mother and read her a verse and then they drove her away while she continued to curse. 

 Tobe looked at the child with no sense of joy not certain if the tot was a girl or a boy.  The name on the paper gave not a clue as it seemed to be written in a tongue no one knew.  No matter however, a placement was found in a nice foster home that was safe and was sound.  Then it was back to the office to write the report and file a petition to send off  to court, to explain to the judge the dangers of drugs and the who’s its and what’s its of babies and bugs.

While Joseph set forth to recap the mess, Tobe searched all about for a quiet place to rest.

There among the forms, the computers and logs, in between the memos and bureaucratic cogs, he found a little niche in which he could sit and think about the children whose lives turned to shit.  The longer he thought and the more that he sat the sadder he felt for the lives that got shat.  He wondered and pondered as he furrowed his brow the why’s and the where’s and the who’s and the how’s. 

“Abuse” he told Joseph “is a terrible thing - and neglect – just as bad as a bell that won’t ring.  But how does this happen that children get tricked by mothers and fathers that no one would pick?  How do they get here – by what roads and what passes and how can they breathe with their heads up their asses?  Where do they come from – how do they live and why do they keep their brains in a sieve? “

He was flummoxed and flustered as he looked for a clue that could give him a hint why they do what they do.  Then he thought once again as he sat and he sat, just what kind of hole they might habitat.  Is there some curse-ed place, some circle in hell where child abuser might secretly dwell?  Is it dark? Is it dank?  Does it stink like a skunk? He thought and he thought ‘til he thought all he thunk.  

Then there among the bruises and bones that were broken, the concept of parents that were only a token - nestled betwixt the cracks where they fell with the strangest of names that no one could spell, an answer was lurking quiet as mouse but as big as an elephant or maybe a house.  There it sat staring him right in the face, glaring and leering, but holding its place.  Its form was disfigured, its mind was a blank, its gaze soporific its odor quite rank.  With a grin that was toothless and form large and fat it hobbled right over to where Tobe sat.  It extended a hand and in a pigeon like coo said:

“How do you do? My friends call me Stu . Stu Pidity of course if more formal is due.

I thrive on the policies that just never work.   I count on the fact that there is always a jerk who likes to hang out where unicorns lurk,who thinks that psychology is only for nerds and the worst of abuse needs only kind words and that all children can heal with a hope and a prayer and some positive thoughts to chase away scares. 

 Ideology you see, no matter how baseless, is ever so easy when children are faceless, and wishful thinking is all that it takes to over look the more predictable fate of all those kept  waiting at logic’s locked gate.  Knowledge I find is a dangerous thing and the more that there is the more that it stings. I don’t want to think I just want to feel and ignorance you see is the perfect ideal to hide or diguise what’s there and and what’s real.  I want to be liked, to be family friendly – even if things should end up – well deadly. It’s the thought that really counts -  the kind hearted words - and never at all any behaviors observed.  Who cares if their brains are working or busted and if drugs fried minds can no longer be trusted. With a hope and a smile and a quiet little prayer child welfare can go where reason not dare.”

Having spoken his piece no matter how flawed, Stu seemed now content and finally took pause.  Tobe puzzled as he wondered what Rogerian lathe could milled out a piece of so thin a gage that could so mismeassure both science and fact in favor of warm fuzzies and pats on the back.  He did not know what to say or what things to to do, or what words or what points mights get thru to Stu, so he just turned and sighed, resigned there to sit and do the best he could in the land of the twits.

Gimme Gimme Gimme!

I'm coming for you, Rome ..... and your little wolf too!

I came across someone the other day asking for “reparations” for slavery.  Now there is no doubt that slavery is wrong, insidious and reprehensible no matter where or when it occurs.  Since it is now and has always been inherently wrong, there is no reason to believe that is more reprehensible in one historical era than another.  However, the argument made by some individuals today that there should be an award for damages or “reparations” for the past wrongs done their ancestors may have merit for us all.  I say this since virtually every ethnicity on this planet has been at some point someone’s slave.

As a full blooded Sicilian I can claim ancestry to the peoples of Carthage (Northern Coast of Africa), Greece, Phoenicia and God only knows where else.  The owners of my ancestors were most likely Roman, though force servitude also existed under the English, Spanish and French as everyone had their fingers in the Sicilian pie.  This having been said allow me to make my demands now for “reparations.”  They are simple and fair,.

 From the Romans, I should like a Villa near San Gimignano with full free board and spa privileges at Saturnia.

 From the French, I am requesting an apartment at least 750 Sq. Meters in size in the Latin Quarter or Montmartre.

From the Spanish, I’ll be asking for tapas, lots of tapas whenever I want them.

From the English, well, I just want them to go away, but leave Shakespeare and Monty Python.

 OK, so there are my demands on behalf of my ancestors who suffered under the yoke of slavery at the hands of foreigners who usurped their rights and assaulted their humanity. Tobe will be handling the details, so come on Rome, France, Spain and England – get with it – chop – chop!

R I P VELMA

Timmy & Tobe

Tobe is sad to report that Velma Fawnskin who portrayed Bumbi's mother in "Man In My Forest", "Eat My Venison", and "Buck Me Like You Mean It" was found dead today in the southwest corner of his backyard in El Cerrito. A Rottweiler and his or her pup was seen near the carcas. It is unknown if the canines were actually responsible for her death of if she was the victim of other possible natural ailments. She was reportedly in consideration for a remake of the classic "A Fence Too High." Tobe was heard to comment: "Velma's loss will be felt, though the stench of her rotting, bloated, insect ridden corpse will linger for several more days." :(

TOBE GOES ON A CFS INVESTIGATION

For Father’s Day I received a delightful gift of a little stuffed hedgehog named Tobe.  My daughter has a similar one named Timmy.  (See picture below.) Tobe is his brother and came with excellent references. In keeping with our anthropomorphizing, Tobe and Timmy are as far as we are concerned REAL with personalities and the whole nine yards. Never mind that you can’t understand them’ my daughter and I do.  Anyway since animals stuffed and otherwise are a great way to get kids to open up I decided to take Tobe with me on an investigation.

Tobe wasn’t too certain about cruising the less fashionable parts of Richmond, but he doesn’t like seeing kids abused or neglected so he figured he’d do his part. This was a REAL face to face contact with a 5 year old boy. It was a general neglect complaint alleging that the house was filthy and uninhabitable. I saw the kid at the Y. Mom was at her sister's house since the city Red Tagged her house. (Spew.)

Me:        Hi. My name is *** and I’m from Children’s Services, but don’t worry

              you’re not going any where and no one is in trouble. We're just going to talk.

      
Kid:     What’s that? (Pointing to Tobe.)
          
Me:        This is my friend. His name is Tobe.
         
Kid:       Is he a rat?
   
Me:        No. He’s a hedgehog.
          
Kid:       Is they rats?

Me:        Well only the ones named Walter! (Ha, ha, ha.)

Kid:       He look like a rat!

Me:        Well he’s NOT a rat. Are you Tobe?

Kid:       We gots rats but they gots tails. Your rat ain’t got no tail.

Me:        That’s because he’s a hedgehog and NOT a rat.

Kid:     We gots roaches too! My momma say it not her fault. It the landlord fault.

            The rats they eats the roaches. Your rat eats the roaches.

Me:      We don’t have any roaches and Tobe is NOT a Rat. (aside) Feel free to jump
             in any time Tobe.

Tobe:  (Just smiles)

Kid:     Dem rats eats my momma’s weed and she got heckapissed and started
            hitting Deshaun with da strap ‘cause she think he do it. But I told her it was dem
            rats ‘cause I saw dem eating that big bag she gots in the closet. Your rat eats the
            weed?

Me:        Look HE’s NOT a FFFFrrrrrrr rat. For the last time Tobe is a hedgehog!

Kid:       Hedge Hog? He don’t look like no pig. He look like a rat!

Me:        Never mind the pig ....... the rat..... never mind Tobe! Who’s Deshaun?

Kid:       He my dog.

Me:        Does he have a tail?

Kid:       Yeah he have a tail.

Me:        You sure he ain’t no rat?

             

I think Tobe and I made our point! Who da hedgehog?

Below are Timmy (on the left) and Tobe Fredo on the right.

Tobe is Fredo the light and Timmy is Fredo the dark.

Walter on the Lamb!

When my child was very small her mother and I took to anthropomorphizing all of her stuffed animals. They had names. They had back stories. They had lives. So it was no surprise that when I acquired a stuffed hedgehog he also came with a name, a back story and a life. What I did not realize was that he also had history. Had I known that, perhaps I would not have made him a roommate. At the least I would have done a background check. Well I didn’t and here’s what follows.

Walter.... excuse me Kunta Kinka III (Turns out Walter was his slave name) is on the lamb. Oakland PD was looking for him shortly after he was seen on video selling Ganja at the Mac Arthur Bart stop. I kind of let him have his own space lately. I thought he was just having a personal crisis so I didn't put 2 and 2 together and when he told me that the 12 packs of Zigzags were really hedgehog toilet paper I didn't question it. Maybe I should have. He seemed to be coming and going a lot and trying to find himself. He was frustrated at not being able to braid his quills into dreadlocks. His Rastafarian thing was OK for a while even if he did sound like Miss Cleo, but then he got on his 'Hedge Hog Power' trip and started asking for reparations, section 8 and a civil servant position with the Feds. I kept telling him he wasn't qualified for most of the positions he wanted and he said "200 years of working for the man” qualified him and I could “no longer oppress him." I asked him "Well what about the Indians? They were here first and they are oppressed shouldn't we give any Fed jobs to THEM FIRST?" He said his people were not here when they were being oppressed. I said "Exactly!" I pointed out our people were not here when his people were getting oppressed, but he wouldn't hear it. He stormed out close fist (paw?) with his little fore arm extended (which was really kind of a challenge I mean to walk on only 3 legs) singing "We Shall Overcome." When the cops came by they said that Walter, sorry, Kunta actually was suspected in other crimes, He was seen on 14'th and Mac Arthur pimping out underage hamsters. He was using an alias of Walter X for a while. I wonder about all the other Walters out there. Walters, Walters everywhere and not a one can think! Maybe Walter will show up and change his life. Maybe he'll take responsibility for his action since that is the only real power we have. Maybe he'll stop trying to live on the sacrifices of others and make some of his own. Maybe he'll honor those that came before him by using all that God has given him to the best of his ability. Maybe he'll realize we are only special when do special things for the benefit of others. Maybe he'll realize this, maybe not. We'll hope for the best, but I just can't help feeling that I'll soon be looking out the window across the bay at Walter's new home at "Hotel Saint Q." I'll keep you informed.