Writers Corner for July 13, 2012

THE LEGENDARY BRAD DRUMMOND

By Phil Membury, Coeur d'Alene

Brad Drummond was a private detective, a private investigator or, as he preferred to be called, a private eye. He imagined himself in the mold of Philip Marlowe or Mike Hammer - a tough guy with a heart of gold. One who attracted legions of stunningly beautiful females who lined up panting for his attention. The closest he'd come so far was a rather plain looking housewife who wanted her husband followed, in secret, to see what was really going on during those frequent "business trips." They turned out to be as she suspected and a divorce quickly followed. An amusing sidelight was that she was also engaging in a few extra-curricular activities. Drummond, sensing a two-birds-with-one-stone opportunity, cashed in from both parties. Drummond's real name, by the way, was Joe Slivivitz but he figured Brad Drummond was better suited to the lifestyle he'd always imagined.

Joe, or Brad, was sitting in his office one day bemoaning his ho-hum life and wondering what had become of all the Marlowe/Hammer beauties when who should walk in but this absolutely gorgeous red-head. Murmuring to himself "There is a God after all" he darted around his desk to escort her to a chair. Her eyes were puffy from crying and she looked totally defenseless-the way Brad liked them (the girl, not the eyes). After a few choking sobs she calmed down and began to talk. It turned out her husband - drat the luck - had a gambling problem to match his roving eye problem. She'd decided to divorce him - things were looking up already - and was going to tell him last night but he never came home. Feeling sure he had spent the night with his latest interest she began making preparations to move out. This morning she was all but ready to go when the phone call came. If she ever wanted to see Charlie, his name, again she, Angie, her name, had better produce $150,000 or say "Good-bye Charlie." She had one week to collect the donations and deliver the cash. She certainly didn't like Charlie any more but she didn't want him dead. She wondered if Brad could help. "Of course" he purred although he had no idea how and added "That's what I'm here for". He was already plotting how to arrange private meetings with her as he went about the investigation. He decided that continually seeking new information was the key. Where did Charlie go to school? What size pants did he wear? What kind of music did he like? That sort of thing. All crucial facts that could have a bearing on how he could be retrieved. And of course the retrieved Charlie had to be shown as a worthless skirt-chaser while he, Brad, would be the knight in shining armor giving his all for his lady fair.

Two days later Charlie turned up without any help from Brad. The remains, as I believe is the official designation, were in a dumpster just off Second Avenue. He'd been shot in the back of the head execution style. Brad found out through some friends in the police department. He hurried to tell Angie. On the way he wondered why they'd killed Charlie after only two days when they told Angie she had a week. Oh well, probably just a warning. After all someone still owed them $150,000.

After a let-me-comfort-you session with Angie during which he put his arm around her - and she didn't shake it off - he left to gather more facts and plot his next moves. He talked his police friends into letting him see the body. What he saw made him freeze. Clutched firmly in Charlie's hand was a ruby broach he'd last seen on Angies's blouse when she first visited him.

•••

Big and little

Short or tall

Happy, sad,

Weak or strong

Full of wisdom,

right or wrong

Blessed with grace,

What a joy,

A happy face.

Wondrous words

That tell it all-

Gee, I miss you

Would you call!

- Virginia Burnet, Dalton Gardens

•••

THE KITE

If I were a kite and could fly high in the sky,

I'd be ever so thankful for the chance to try.

First I'd soar straight up into the blue,

All the while taking in the rainbow's hue.

Oh, it would be so wonderful to feel the wind rush by me,

And hear it whisper like heavens harmony.

Then I'd soon come to rest on a fluffy white cloud,

And wrap it around me like a linen shroud.

Feeling the suns warmth, while I was this clouds guest,

Gave me pause to look down on God's best.

From the plush green meadows at the end of the valley,

Where the animals love to come to rally.

To the tumbling ocean with it's sandy floor,

Filled with life's mysteries, who could ask for more?

Yes, I'd see all the sights by and by,

If I were a kite and could fly in the sky

- Penny Anderson, Post Falls

•••

Word-slingers wanted.

Send us your poems, your prose, essays and anecdotes. We'll publish them here.

The Press Writers Corner features original, creative writing submitted by our readers. We publish the column most Fridays in the North Idaho Life section of the print edition of The Press.

Send your Writers Corner submissions to Maureen Dolan, [email protected].

We prefer email submissions, and ask that you limit the length of your short stories, essays and poems. Please include your hometown with your submission.

You can send hard-copies by mail to Maureen Dolan at The Press, 201 Second St., Coeur d'Alene, ID 83814.