Lenny
Parker, PI / roadie / metalhead is back in a new serial. He’s my slightly more
humorous version of the PI. He doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing and sure as
hell isn’t the martial arts master my Noah Milano is.
For more
Lenny Parker stories look here.
ONE
Lenny heard the bullet dig into one
of the wooden crates in front of him. He’d taken cover behind a stack of those
crates a few minutes ago. The warehouse was full of them. He knew they wouldn’t
be much of a cover though and one of the bullets might dig through the wood and
into his flesh. He didn’t really know what to do besides taking cover though.
His cases usually didn’t often require carrying a gun, so he had nothing to
shoot back with. The assassin taking shots at him was a professional. As tall
as she was dangerous. So odds were he was going to die right there, in a warehouse
in San Diego by a 9mm fired by a sexy albino assassin. He couldn’t believe how he’d
ended up here….
*
Casey was the drummer in Lenny’s thrash/death
band The Necromantic Poets. The day she asked for his help as a private investigator
she wore her hair blue. It might be pink the next day and he wasn’t sure but
thought it had been purple a week ago. They were having a drink in their favorite
metal bar, The San Diego Batcave. He was on his second Corona, she was drinking
vodka. There was some Lamb Of God coming from the speakers.
“I’m still sorry the original
drummer left the band. Chris was awesome,” Casey said.
“I was never a big fan of their
sound. Although I like what Morton does solo,” Lenny shared.
“Too soft for me,” Casey said. “Lenny,
buddy… I didn’t just ask you over here for just a drink today. I kind of need
your professional services.”
Lenny held up his Corona. “I
already was suspicious you paid for my beer.”
“You calling me cheap?”
“I’m not calling you anything. Just
showing my professional investigation skills.”
“Yeah, I’ll need those. I need you
to find a missing person for me.”
“That’s part of my gig, sure.”
“I’ve been dating this really hot
chick, Jenna, for a few weeks now. We were supposed to go to a Dollyrots show
two days ago but she never showed up. Doesn’t answer my phone, doesn’t open the
door…”
“I don’t want to bruise your fragile
ego, but couldn’t it be possible she’s just not into you anymore?”
“Fuck you, Lenny. Only fucking
thing fragile about me is my clit. I’ve never ever been dumped after I went
down on a girl anyways. Chicks don’t leave me, I leave them. That’s just not an
option, dude.”
Lenny shook his head. “Shit, I wish
I had your confidence. I wouldn’t have to spend my night Netflixing and
chilling with just my right hand then.”
“Aww, fer chrissake… I won’t be
able to burn that image out of my head now.”
“Drink some more of that vodka,
that might help. But what, you want to hire me to track her down?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s 400 a day plus expenses.”
Casey almost choked on her drink. “Four-what?”
“I’m a professional investigator,
remember.”
“Fuck you once again, you fat slob!
You’ve worked for Black Sabbath records, bottles of Blackened whiskey
and Amazon discount codes. What are you charging me full price for?”
“I remember having to pay full price
for that time I visited that Ravenscroft show where you were asked to
fill in on drums for.”
“I wasn’t allowed to put anyone on
the guest list, dude. I was just a hired gun. Come on, how many times have I
helped you out with your cases for free? You owe me some.”
Lenny sighed. He had to admit she’d
been helpful a couple of times. And although she could give him shit every now
and then she was probably one of his best friends. “All right. Quit your
whining. You just hired a private eye. It will cost you a buck a day.”
“Sixty cents.”
Lenny rolled his eyes. “Sheesh,
fine… And another Corona. I think they’re going to play some Vader next.”
