Free Fiction: Doggone Part Nine (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

Lenny Parker, PI / roadie / metalhead is back in a new serial, blending a bit of comedy with a hardboiled detective story, one feet into metal culture. This time he is hired to track down a missing dog. Read the other parts here.

TEN

The cops had shown up pretty quickly. They arrested all of the spectators who hadn’t fled away yet. Among them was Cliff. It was satisfying to see him get led away in handcuffs. Among the dogs in the cages in the building was Ozzy. Obviously Cliff had dognapped it to sell to Luis and his men. An animal protection unit showed up to take care of them and managed to catch the loose dogs.

The cop who seemed to be in charge, a forty-something black man with glasses and a big moustache told Lenny, “Even though you called this one in we will need to cuff you as well until we’ve sorted this all out.”

“I understand,” Lenny said. “I’m just glad you guys are here. I hope these animals get back to their owners or a good home.”

“Yeah. I have to admit I wouldn’t mind throwing these assholes in the ring with these dogs so they can do some justice of their own,” the cop said.

Casey walked in, flanked by a young cop. She was wearing handcuffs. He told the black cop, “This lady was in a car outside and got kind of aggressive when I prohibited her from going inside.”

“I just wanted to make sure my friend is okay,” Casey said.

“Calling me a pig wasn’t the best way to achieve that,” the young cop said.

“Excuse my dear friend,” Lenny pleaded. “She can get a bit worked up sometimes but means well.”

“Yeah. Uncuff us. We’re not the bad guys here. We just blew the lid off a whole dognapping ring and illegal dog fighting organization. We’re heroes.”

“We’ll work that out at the station,” the black cop decided.

*

After the paperwork was done Casey and Lenny were allowed to go home again. No charges were pressed against Casey after she suggested the papers would be interested in hearing how she was arrested after freeing helpless animals from captivity. The cops didn’t need the bad press from animal rights organizations and she got off with just a slap on the wrist.

They visited Janson a day later, together with Janice. It was so good to see Ozzy reunited with the old man. The dog didn’t leave Janson’s side.

“I want to say I’m very grateful for your help. All of you. I really appreciate your help too, Janice. Please come over for coffee more often,” Janson said.

“I’d love to. And you should come over for diner sometime.”

Janson handed a crate to Lenny. “Here’s the Black Sabbath albums I promised you. A very small price for the danger you put yourself in.”

“I’m not sure I can really take this,” Lenny said. “Honestly, I think it was just my civic duty to do what I did. I can’t stand animals getting hurt.”

“Please, my hearing isn’t getting any better and I’m getting older. I’d rather leave them to you than my kids who never visit me. Take them.”

Lenny took the crate and looked inside. It was looking inside a treasure chest, but instead of gold doubloons it was filled with vinyl.

THE END

Free Fiction: Doggone Part Nine (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

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Free Fiction: Doggone Part Eight (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

Lenny Parker, PI / roadie / metalhead is back in a new serial, blending a bit of comedy with a hardboiled detective story, one feet into metal culture. This time he is hired to track down a missing dog. Read the other parts here.

EIGHT

Lenny parked his truck near Market Street and killed the lights. Casey was with him, sitting next to him.

“You take the wheel. When I come out you get us away from here as quick as you can,” Lenny told her.

“Expecting trouble?” she asked him.

“I’m going undercover at an illegal dogfighting ring. If shit goes sour it will probably get real sour,” Lenny explained.

Casey nodded. “Sounds logical. Be careful, Len.”

“Sure,” he said and left the car.

The street was quiet, but a little further ahead he noticed a high number of parked cars. That had to be near the warehouse. He walked closer. Indeed, the cars were parked near a big abandoned warehouse. The windows of the building were boarded shut, but there was some light coming through the wood. Two big dudes were in front of the warehouse’s door, arms folded, all attitude.

“Hey,” Lenny said by way of introduction.

One of the big guys, a muscular black man with a sleeveless green shirt and camo-pants gave him a dirty look. “Move along.”

“Scooby Doo,” Lenny said, feeling a bit silly as he did.

The other guy at the door, a Caucasian dude with a hipster beard and a shitload of tattoos frowned. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“I’m new. But eager to spend some money,” Lenny said.

The black man shrugged. “He’s got the password right.”

“I guess,” the hipster said. “Arms up, spread your legs.”

“Huh?” Lenny went, but before he could say anything else the hipster was frisking him.

“Clean,” the hipster said.

The black guy opened the door. Lenny walked into the warehouse, saying thanks.

There had to be at least forty guys in the warehouse. They were seated on wooden benches that surrounded an impromptu fighting ring created by wooden gates. Next to the gates stood half a dozen cages. In the cages Lenny spotted ferocious looking dogs. He couldn’t be sure if Ozzy was in there too, though.

A Hispanic man with slicked back hair and a long leather jacket approached him. “You’re new, right?”

“Yeah,” Lenny admitted.

“I’m Luis. I will take your bets,” the Hispanic man said.

“Okay. I’m Lenny. Cool.”

“Already have any favorites?” Luis asked.

“Not yet. But I usually root for the underdog.”

Luis laughed. “Quite funny! But seriously, going for the less popular fighter will get you the most profit in case it wins.”

“All right, twenty bucks on the least popular then,” Lenny said.

“Minimum bet is a hundred,” Luis told the roadie.

Lenny sighed. This case was costing him a lot. He forked it over, though.  “Okay, here’s a hundred.”

“Great. A hundred on Cujo.”

Cujo? Seriously? Originality wasn’t these guys strong suit, Lenny thought. He walked over to the cages.

“What are you doing?” Luis asked.

“Getting a better look at the dogs,” Lenny told him. “I want to know what I just bet on.”

“Take a seat please. We don’t want you to get too close to the fighters. For your own safety. And of course, we don’t want anyone sabotaging the fight, you understand?”

“Sounds logical,” Lenny agreed and went over to the benches. The bench slightly creaked under his weight. Obviously, profits didn’t go into the furniture.

Lenny was sitting next to a guy in his fifties with a moustache and a scarred eyebrow. The man gave Lenny a look. He refrained from asking if he was new, but Lenny had no doubt that was going through the man’s mind. Obviously this case catered to a regular audience.

From his bench Lenny tried to get a better look the dogs in the cages, but the light lower than at a black metal concert, obscuring the animals from his view.

Luis walked into the gates and turned out to be the ringmaster of the evening. “Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the first match!”

There was some excited applause. Lenny tried to muster up some as well, imagining he was watching Exhumed or Testament on stage.

“In one corner we have Cujo, in the other we have the great Cerberus!” Luis announced.

Two guys in coveralls opened two cages and led the dogs at their collars into the ring. The dogs wore muzzles. The men in coveralls removed the muzzles and quickly got behind the gates. To Lenny’s horror the dogs rapidly went at each other’s throats. Ozzy wasn’t one of the dogs but Lenny felt compelled to break it up. He figured Luis and his men wouldn’t exactly be too happy about that, not to mention the forty spectators.

Lenny started to wonder what exactly he was going to do when in fact he found Ozzy here. He’d come in there to find that dog. But it didn’t look like he had any way to get the dog out of there without losing his own life. Maybe he should have thought this over better.

Free Fiction: Doggone Part Seven (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

Lenny Parker, PI / roadie / metalhead is back in a new serial, blending a bit of comedy with a hardboiled detective story, one feet into metal culture. This time he is hired to track down a missing dog. Read the other parts here.

SEVEN

Lenny met up with Baby Jackson’s snitch in  a dive bar in the worst part of San Diego. Baby had described the man as an ugly dude with a red goatee and pockmarked face. It wasn’t difficult to find him. Not that most guys in the bar weren’t ugly. The snitch was the only one with a red goatee. He was sitting in  a booth in the back, nursing a large beer.

Lenny ordered a bottle of Corona at the bar and walked over to the snitch’s booth. According to Baby he was known by the name of Ugly Jim. That was obviously not one of those ironic nicknames, like tall dudes they call Tiny. Aside from a pockmarked face Jim was cross-eyed, had no eyebrows and huge ears. Lenny suddenly felt like he was Tom Cruise himself.

“Jim?” Lenny ventured as he neared the man’s booth.

“Lenny?”

“Yes.”

“Have a seat then.”

Lenny sat down. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“If there’s money to be had, Jim shows up.”

“Err… Good to hear that I guess. So yeah… Nice place here.”

Jim chuckled. “It’s a fucking shithole. But at least I’m not the ugliest guy around here.” Lenny thought that was up for debate in a big way but didn’t comment on that.

“At least they stock Corona,” Lenny said and toasted Jim’s mug of beer with his bottle.

“I only drink domestic myself. So, let’s get down to business. Jackson told me you need some intel on the gambling biz?”

“Yeah. Gambling on dogfights to be exact.”

Jim whistled. “Whoo-ee. That’s specific. You a gambling man, Lenny?”

“No, not at all. It’s this case I’m working on. A missing dog. I think it might have been dognapped by people involved with dogfights.”

“Yeah, Jackson mentioned you’re in the same business as she is, although not in the same league. So, what exactly do you want to know about that?”

“Well, I guess I want to look around at one of the fights. Get into contact with the organizers to see if I can find the dog.”

“You do understand that could get a bit dangerous, right? I mean… Those dogs are worth serious money to those dudes. They won’t exactly hand over the dog when you find it.”

“I’ll cross that bridge then. So, can you help me?”

“For two-hundred bucks I might.” Ugly Jim smiled an even uglier smile.

Lenny sighed. “Baby warned me you’re not cheap.”

“Fuck you, that’s a steal. I need to make a living, you know.”

“I ain’t got that kind of dough to pay you. A hundred I can do. Maybe some concert tickets to a band you like.”

Jim squinted. “You think you can get me some Five Finger Death Punch tickets?”

Lenny nodded. “I think I can. I know a dude who works with them. Used to roadie for him back in the day.”

“How do I know you’re not bullshitting me?”

“How do I know you’re not?”

Jim cackled. “Fuck me, Jackson turned you some shit, didn’t she?”

Lenny smiled. Then he got a hundred dollar bill from his battlejacket’s pocket. He put it on the table. Jim’s hand went to it, but Lenny’s hand covered it before the snitch could grab it.

“Not so fast, Jim. Tell me a bit more.”

“All right. Listen, there’s a dogfight coming up tomorrow night. Right here in merry San Diego. They rented an empty warehouse for that shit. You got the correct password and you can come in, twenty dollars cover charge.”

Slowly Lenny’s hand lifted a bit from the dollar bill. “Go on. Where is the warehouse?”

“Near Market Street.”

“What’s the password?”

“Promise me you won’t ever tell them I was the one who gave it to you.”

“One of the main skills a private investigator needs to have is knowing how to keep things confidential. I’ll keep my trap shut, Jimmy.”

Jim put a hand on the corner of the dollar bill. “It’s Scooby Doo.”

“Brilliant password,” Lenny said and allowed Jim to grab the money. It disappeared in Jim’s pocket like magic.

“But be careful, dude. If they find out you’re not there to gamble and watch the dogs fight they could get nasty on your ass.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Lenny said.

“As long as I don’t have that Five Finger Death Punch ticket in my pocket I do.”

“You’re all heart, Jimmy,” Lenny said and drained his Corona.

Free Fiction: Doggone Part Six (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

Lenny Parker, PI / roadie / metalhead is back in a new serial, blending a bit of comedy with a hardboiled detective story, one feet into metal culture. This time he is hired to track down a missing dog. Read the other parts here.

SIX

Lenny met up with Baby Jackson at a local Starbucks. The other patrons, especially the male ones looked up from their Macbooks and iPhones when she walked in. Tall, athletic with a model’s cheekbones Baby cut an impressive figure. She was wearing tight jeans, a long leather jacket and wore her hair in cornrows as she always does.

She walked over to Lenny’s table. He handed her a cup of coffee. “I already have yours. Black, like you want it.”

“Good to know you remembered something from training with us.” She was referring to the time Lenny spent with Baby Jackson and her dad, Old Man Jackson to get his private investigator license.

“I seem to remember a very large part of my duties were supplying you with coffee and donuts,” Lenny said. He was having a big White Chocolate Mocha himself. He liked to treat himself to something sweet every now and then. Like daily.

Baby sat down. “So, spill. What do you need?”

“You’re hurting my feelings a bit. Maybe I just wanted to see you again. Chew the fact. Talk about your love life. Your health.”

“Who I fuck is none of your business. And you can see I’m in perfect health as always. Now cut the shit. We never meet socially.”

“All right, all right. Sheesh, I can see you’re a top investigator. Seeing through my lies like glass. Okay, I need some advice on a case I’m working on. It’s about dognapping.” Lenny filled her in while Baby listened patiently and drank her coffee.

When Lenny was finished she put down her coffee and leaned back a little. “Dognapping is more common than you might think. It hardly shows up on the news, but daily dogs are stolen from their owners. Sometimes they are stolen so they can get a ransom from the owners. Sometimes the dog is of a rare and expensive breed and they just sell them. And then there’s the whole dogfighting thing. They are either used then to fight or just train the fighters.”

“I was hoping dogfights were an urban myth or something. I heard about it on tour in Asia. But it’s a thing here in the United States?”

“Shit, Lenny… How can you still be such a naïve little shit. Yes, there’s such a thing. Fuck, it’s huge. There’s a considerable amount of money to be made gambling on thes fights. And where there’s money to be made, people are willing to commit atrocities.”

“Yeah, I guess. Well, since Mr. Janson never got any ransom amounts and Ozzy’s not a rare breed I’m afraid we’ll have to consider he is indeed in the hands of dogfighters.”

Baby nodded. “That sucks, I know. I like dogs better than people.”

“I’m not sure you actually like people at all.”

Baby shot him with her finger. “Bingo.”

Lenny chuckled. “You’re something else, Baby… So, do you have any experience with a case like this? Any idea how I could track down Ozzy?”

“Doesn’t he have a chip implanted? A lot of dogs these days have.”

“I guess not. Janson never mentioned it.”

“All right. Then you might have to look around the dogfighting circuit.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start or find anyone who knows anything about it.”

“I might know a guy who can help. A snitch who’s got a good knowledge about the local illegal gambling scene. If you want me to, I can set something up. I’m not sure if you current pay can cover your expenses though.”

“Damn, they can hardly cover this coffee. I like Mr. Janson and I just want to see him reunited with his dog. I’m not in this one for the money.”

“Fucking sap. I thought we taught you better. No pay, no case.”

Lenny shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a do-gooder.”

“You fucking are.”

Free Fiction: Doggone Part Five (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

Lenny Parker, PI / roadie / metalhead is back in a new serial, blending a bit of comedy with a hardboiled detective story, one feet into metal culture. This time he is hired to track down a missing dog. Read the other parts here.

FIVE

Lenny and his friends got to work at the crack of dawn. Mikey had printed out flyers that Casey helped him pass around in the neighborhood. Mohawk, who was often just too abrasive or freaky looking with his face tattoos and spikey hair for people not to stay out of his way decided to just hang the flyers in stores and on trees. Lenny had asked Janice to help out as well. She was glad to help. He didn’t bother asking Cliff.

Janice was standing at Lenny’s truck, picking up some new flyers.  She was wearing jeans short and a tank top that said “Eyes front, sailor.” Lenny had to admit she looked even more attractive than the day before. It probably wouldn’t take long for Mikey to make his move. The metal god with the long hair and strong chin got all the babes.

“That’s a great group of friends you’ve got there,” she said.

“Yeah, they sure are. Good people,” Lenny said.

“The one with the Mohawk looks a bit scary though.”

“Looks often deceive you. Not sure if they do in this case though,” Lenny told her, grabbing another stack of flyers from his car as well.

“The guy with the long hair… Is he single?” Janice asked.

Shit, there we go, Lenny thought. “More or less. Mikey usually has a few things going if you know what I mean.”

“Player, huh? Never mind then. Hate players,” Janice said. “See you later!” She walked off with the flyers. Lenny was embarrassed to catch himself staring at her ass a bit too long.

“Nice ass, right?” Casey said from behind him. That startled him, feeling even more embarrassed and caught. He tried not to blush but failed.

Casey laughed. “Relax, dude. Nothing to be ashamed of. I was checking her out myself. Any idea if she’s into girls?”

Not Casey too, Lenny thought. “She liked Mikey.”

“Maybe she swing both ways. Lot of that going around these days,” Casey offered.

Lenny sighed. “Just get some flyers, okay?”

Casey chuckled, ruffling Lenny’s hair. “Just messing with you, dude. I can see you like her. I’m not the kind of girl to cramp your style. Enough fish in the sea for me.”

“I really don’t think she’s interested in me,” Lenny said.

“Hey, some girls like big dudes. It could happen. And you’re a nice guy, Len. Contrary to popular belief these days, most girls still like nice guys.”

“Haven’t noticed,” Lenny said.

“Ah, fuck it, Lenny! You’re making me sad!” Casey said and smacked him on the arm. “Let’s get these flyers out there.”

With those words they both got to work again.

The whole neighborhood was covered, flyers ended up in everybody’s hands that was willing to listen to the metalheads and the nurse. Nobody had seen Ozzy the last week though. Some people knew the dog and told them how sorry they felt for the old man. While those sympathies were heartwarming it did little in helping them find the dog, though.

It was getting dark when they all got together at Lenny’s car, sharing their progress or lack of it.

“We did our best, that counts for something I guess. And I got some exercise walking all over the neighborhood,” Janice said.

“You don’t look like you need any,” Mikey said, all shit-eating bad boy James Dean smile. Lenny rolled his eyes.

“That’s laying it on a bit thick,” Janice said.

Mikey shrugged, “I just calls ‘em like I sees ‘em.”

“I think it’s still a bit weird nobody saw Ozzy,” Lenny cut in. “It’s like he vanished in thin air. Or indeed, someone did… Dognap him.”

“Did you just really say dognap?” Mike guffawed.

Lenny shrugged. “Best name for it I guess.”

“You might be right,” Casey agreed.

“Hey, you know I already thought that was a possibility,” Janice said.

“But how are we going to find Ozzy then? He could literally be anywhere about now,” Lenny said.

“Hey, don’t look at me. You’re the fucking private eye,” Mohawk said.

Lenny couldn’t argue with that. Maybe he should indeed start acting like a private investigator instead of someone just looking  for  a missing pet. He should start treating this as a real abduction case. Unfortunately he never worked on any of those. He knew someone who probably did though. Time to give her a call.

TO BE CONTINUED

Free Fiction: Doggone Part Four (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

Lenny Parker, PI / roadie / metalhead is back in a new serial, blending a bit of comedy with a hardboiled detective story, one feet into metal culture. This time he is hired to track down a missing dog. Read the other parts here.

FOUR

Lenny was just in time for band practice. He played bass in a thrash/death metal band called The Necromantic Poets. They usually rehearsed in the garage that belonged to their vocalist, Mikey. When Lenny came in Mikey was sitting on a speaker, drinking a bottle of Corona. Casey, sporting blue hair today was practicing her drumming skills. A barrage of blast beats sounded.

“You’re just in fucking time, Parker!” Casey yelled over the sound of her drums.

“Sorry, I’m on a case,” Lenny excused himself.

Their guitarist, Mohawk looked up from the guitar he was tuning and asked, “Anything exciting? Murder case? Extortion?”

“Missing dog,” Lenny answered.

Mohawk snorted. “Sheesh, Magnum PI you ain’t.”

“Never said I was,” Lenny said and unpacked his bass from its case. While he plugged in the bass he told his friends the details about the case.

“I feel bad for the old dude,” Casey said. “I used to have a dog when I was a kid. Broke my heart when we had to put Spike down.”

“Yeah, I get that. If I wasn’t on tour so much I wouldn’t mind a dog.”

“I’m more of a cat person myself,”  Mikey said.

“I got a snake,” Mohawk said. Lenny wasn’t surprised.

“Ugh. You probably feed him living mice? Barbarian!” Casey said. Lenny knew she was vegan.

Mohawk shrugged. “Circle of life, babe.”

“That’s bullshit,” Casey told him.

Lenny figured it was time to nip the argument in the bud. He liked playing with this band. He didn’t want an argument like that to cause it to break up. So he played a bassline that was impossible for Casey to resist. She lay down another assault of blast beats to go along with it. That prompted Mohawk to start riffing and soon they were jamming.

“Niiiiiiiiice,” Mikey approved and saluted them with his bottle.

What followed was an hour of playing their particular brand of loud and heavy music that got them all sweaty and red in the face. They took a break, opening up a case of beer.

“You need some help with the investigation?” Casey asked Lenny while she popped open a can.

“I guess I could use some help. Pay’s pretty damn low, though. I’m afraid it will be hard to compensate you for the time,” Lenny said and wiped off some beer foam from his goatee.

“No pay needed. I’m doing it for the old man,” Casey said. “I could like canvass the neighborhood. Maybe leave some flyers and shit.”

“Count me in as well,” Mikey said.

“Ah, shit… Why not? I’ll help out as well,” Mohawk said.

“Awesome, dudes!” Lenny said. “Tomorrow morning we start? For now, let’s finish our beers and play a Sodom cover, all right?”

TO BE CONTINUED

Free Fiction: Doggone Part Three (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

Lenny Parker, PI / roadie / metalhead is back in a new serial, blending a bit of comedy with a hardboiled detective story, one feet into metal culture. This time he is hired to track down a missing dog. Read the other parts here.

THREE

Lenny tried Janson’s other neighbor's door. She had a doorbell which he rang. It took a while but the door opened. He could understand why Cliff classified her as hot. She was a full-bosomed redhead with wide hips that were clad in tight jeans. Her skin was unblemished, her lips thick, eyes a sparkling blue.

“Hello,” Lenny said.

“Hello?” Janice greeted slowly. She didn’t have metalheads visiting every day, obviously.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m Lenny Parker, I’m a private investigator.”

“Okay?” She seemed a bit scared. Could be the tattoos. Or the goatee. Lenny didn’t look like an insurance salesman.

He held up his hands, showing he meant no harm. “Nothing to worry about, Janice.”

“How do you know my name?” All right, that might not have been the smartest move on his front, mentioning her first name.

“Chill, your neighbor told me your name. It’s okay. I’m here because your neighbor, Mr. Janson hired me to find his dog.”

“Ozzy is missing?”  Lenny wasn’t sure the worry she showed was because she felt sorry for the dog or its owner.

“Yes, for a week now.”

“Oh, no… Now that you mention it… I haven’t seen the little rascal for a few days now. That’s terrible. Mister Janson loves that dog!”

“Indeed he does. That’s why he hired me to get it back.”

“All right… Wow. Okay. So you’re like that guy in the movie, the pet detective?”

“Not really. Only thing I have in common with that character basically is his love for Cannibal Corpse.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Lenny wasn’t surprised Janice didn’t get the hint. She might have seen the movie, but she hadn’t recognized the death metal band playing in one of the scenes. He figured her for an Ed Sheeran fan. Springsteen on a good day.

“Well, do you want to come in then?” she asked.

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Lenny said.

Janice’s place was the exact opposite of Cliff’s crib. It was clean as a whistle, nicely decorated with vintage but well-kept furniture.

“Have a seat,” she told Lenny.

He sat down on a comfortable chair, declining the coffee she offered.

“So, I was wondering if you’ve seen or heard anything a week ago… I mean, did you see Ozzy maybe out of the backyard? Or did you maybe notice the gate was open?”

“Mr. Janson never kept the gate open. He wouldn’t want Ozzy to escape. Oh he loved that animal like crazy.”

“He’s not the youngest anymore. Maybe he forgot to close it?”

Janice shook her head vehemently. “No, no way. I know Mr. Janson. His mind is still working very well. He wouldn’t be careless about that.”

“Strange… How did the dog escape then? Maybe he could have jumped over the gate? Have you ever seen Ozzy jump that high?”

“There’s no way Ozzy could jump that high,” Janice said.

Lenny stroked his goatee. “Odd… Any idea what could have happened then?”

“The only thing I can think of somebody else opened the gate.”

“Any idea who could have done that? Maybe some visitor of Mr. Janson?”

“He never invites people in really. I only meet him when he’s walking Ozzy. Maybe… Maybe someone took Ozzy?”

“Took? As in dognapped?”

She shrugged. “These days, you never know what people will do, right? Maybe someone has wanted a dog like that for a long time but can’t pay for one or something?”

“Doesn’t sound very likely. But maybe if we have to rule out that he just escaped you might be right. Thank you for your time. If you think of anything that could be of importance to the case, give me a call.” Lenny handed his business card to Janice.

She had a look at it. “Here it says you’re a guitar technician/roadie.”

“Yeah, I do that too. I don’t have the budget yet to get one printed that says I’m a private investigator as well.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll let you know if I think of anything for sure. I hope you find Ozzy. Oh poor Mr. Janson…”

TO BE CONTINUED

Free Fiction: Doggone Part Two (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

Lenny Parker, PI / roadie / metalhead is back in a new serial, blending a bit of comedy with a hardboiled detective story, one feet into metal culture. This time he is hired to track down a missing dog. Read the first part here.

TWO

Lenny decided the best place to start the investigation was at Janson’s place. Specifically, the neighbors. Janson might have thought they hadn’t seen anything, but Lenny figured it couldn’t hurt to double-check. He parked his Dodge Ram in front of Janson’s place, ending the Destruction album he was playing when he turned  off the ignition. He left his car and knocked on the door of Janson’s left door neighbor. The blinds in front of the window told him this was probably the pot-smoker’s place.

There was no answer. He decided to knock a little bit harder. Still nothing. Of course, you don’t earn a living as a private eye if you’re detained by such a little thing. He walked over to the window and banged on that.

The door opened. A lanky, pimply kid with a mullet and a Kyuss T-shirt opened the door. Lenny had to admit he approved of the kid’s taste in bands. He wasn’t sure about the mullet though.

“What the fuck man? You startled the living shit out of me, dude!”

“Sorry about that. I really want to talk to you,” Lenny said, holding up his hands apogolepticaly.

The kid squinted. “About what?”

“Your neighbor’s dog.”

“What about that stupid mutt?”

“It’s missing. And dear to your neighbor.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Maybe we can talk about this inside?” Lenny suggested.

“Well, you sure as fuck don’t look like a narc. Come the fuck inside. Nice battle jacket, by the way.”

“Thanks. Sowed it myself,” Lenny beamed.

“Good for you.”

Lenny followed the kid inside his home. “What’s your name?”

“Cliff.”

“Lenny.”

Cliff’s place reeked of marihuana. It was also very dark inside, the only light coming from a weak table-lamp. The floor was littered with pizza boxes and empty cans of beer. Lenny recognized the band playing on the kid’s stereo as Monolord. Fine riffage.

Cliff dropped down on a ratty chair and pointed to an old crate for Lenny to sit on. Lenny slowly lowered his ass, not sure the crate would hold his considerable weight. It creaked, but didn’t break.

Cliff lit a joint. “You want a hit, dude?”

“No, thanks. Haven’t smoked one since high school.”

“Shit, really? Can’t miss it, dude. Not that I’m hooked or something, you know? I just like the fucking way it makes me feel. A beer then?”

“I’m fine, thanks.  So, can you please tell me if you saw how Mr. Janson’s dog got out of his yard two weeks ago?”

“How the fuck should I know? It’s not like I sit staring at his yard, you know. Good fucking riddance too, that dog. Sometimes that fucking creature barks so loud I can’t even hear my tunes.” Cliff blew a huge amount of smoke to the ceiling. It was as yellow as egg yolk.

“Come on, Cliff… That animal means a lot to the old man. Don’t be a dick. Anything you saw or heard might help.”

“Why the fuck are you asking these questions anyway? Who are you?” Paranoia had struck the stoner.

“I told you. I’m Lenny.”

“Yeah, but why are you off busting your ass for the old man? I know he ain’t got no son.”

“Mr. Janson hired me. I’m a private investigator.”

“What the fuck? In that outfit? I would never have figured you for one dressed like that!”

“We don’t all wear trench coats or Hawaii shirts, Cliff. Now please, humor me… Is there anything you can think of that might help me track down the dog?”

“Sorry, dude. Really don’t. Maybe the hot chick next door to the old man.”

“The nurse?”

“Yeah, Janice. She usually works nights, though. But she likes the old man. And the dog. So you never know.”

“Guess I will try that, then. Keep on rockin’. I’ll let myself out.” With those words Lenny left the place before he got high from second-hand smoke.

TO BE CONTINUED

Free Fiction: Doggone Part One (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

Lenny Parker, PI / roadie / metalhead is back in a new serial, blending a bit of comedy with a hardboiled detective story, one feet into metal culture.

ONE

Lenny Parker shook the old man’s hand carefully. His hand looked brittle. The old man sat down at Lenny’s usual table at Mister Janpong’s Thai restaurant. Lenny had been using it as his office for a few years now.

“Can I get you something to drink, Mister Janson?” Lenny asked the old man.

“Some iced tea would be good,” Janson said. He was in his early eighties, dressed impeccably in a beige jacket and matching tie.

Lenny ordered the tea and a bottle of Singha beer for himself.

“What can I do for you?” he asked Janson.

“I want to hire you to look for my Ozzy. He’s been missing for weeks now,” Janson said.

“All right. How old is your son?”

“Ozzy is my dog, not my son.”

Lenny had to admit he didn’t see that one coming. “Eh… All right…”

Mister Janpong put the iced tea and beer on their table. Lenny and Janson nodded in thanks. Mister Janpong made a little bow and left.

“Ozzy is pretty much the only thing I have left. I want him found.”

“I can understand that, I guess. If I wasn’t on tour so often as a roadie I probably would want a dog as well. They’re pretty loyal creatures. But I must tell you I have no experience tracking down missing pets. Missing person, yes. Pets, no.”

“I haven’t got the stamina to go look for him myself. And I have no family left to help me. My daughter died in a car crash five years ago. She was all the family I had left. Now, Ozzy is the only thing I have. I’m afraid I can’t pay you much, but I once heard you took on a case for two bottles of Jack Daniel’s and a concert ticket.”

“Yeah. But it was a Slayer ticket.”

“I’ve got a collection of Black Sabbath albums. The original ones. I think they are worth quite some money. And I know you’re really into metal…”

“What gave me away, the battle jacket, the Megadeth T-shirt or the long hair?” Lenny said, smiling.

“Your reputation,” Janson said.

“Good to know I’m building one. Not sure if the fact I work dirt-cheap is one I want to spread around too fast. Did you name your dog after Black Sabbath’s singer?”

Janson nodded. “I used to enjoy some heavy metal back in the day. Can’t stand that new crap, though. You know with the grunging and all.”

“Grunting.”

“That’s what I said, yeah. So, can I hire you?”

The next tour would be a month from now and right now Lenny had no other cases. So he figured why not. And he was a big Black Sabbath fan. He shook Janson’s hand. “You just hired yourself a private eye, Mister Janson. Now tell me some more about Ozzy. How did he get lost?”

“That’s the bloody strange thing. He was in the backyard one moment while I was on the crapper. At my age that can take a while. When I came back from it he was gone, the gate unlocked.”

“Did you forget to lock it?”

“I’m old, not damned senile.”

“Any idea how it got unlocked then?”

“Hell if I know. It doesn’t unlock itself. And Ozzy can’t do it either.  Almost has me thinking someone dognapped him.”

That sounded a bit unlikely to Lenny. “What kind of dog is Ozzy?”

“A Rottweiler. Here, that’s him,” Janson said and took a picture from his jacket. It showed a huge Rottweiler lying in the grass.

“Nice animal,” Lenny said.

“You got that right.”

“Didn’t your neighbors see anything?”

“One of my neighbors is a pot-smoking kid who never opens his curtains, the other is a nurse who works nights. I’m afraid they haven’t seen anything.”

“Too bad. Well, I guess I can ask around, see if anybody saw Ozzy. Any distinguishing characteristics?

“What? Like a tattoo? He’s a big dog. That’s it.”

Sarcasm. Not Lenny’s favorite character flaw.  “It would be good if I had a way to make sure it’s Ozzy.”

“You call his name, and he will react,” Janson said.

Lenny shrugged. “Guess that might work. Okay, Mister Janson… I will see what I can do. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

“After the life I’ve led I never do.”

TO BE CONTINUED