The Golden Cockroach

 

By Chuck Semenuk

The harried secretary rolled her eyes and shook her head as the telephone began ringing again.  It had been ringing off the hook all morning.  She debated answering.

“It’s probably another bill collector.  What can I do?  I haven’t been paid for the last three weeks myself.”

She took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

“Krasche and Burne Investigations.  How may I help you?”

The female voice on the other end was sobbing.

“I need help.  May I speak with one of the detectives please?”

“Neither Mr. Krasche nor Mr. Burne are here right now.  They’re both out working on a case,” she lied.  “I do expect them to be in the office within the next hour or so if you’d like to come in.”

The woman sniffled.  “Alright.  Is your address the same as listed in the phone book?”

The secretary answered, “Yes, it is.”   She was really thinking, “If the landlord doesn’t toss us out on the street.”

“I’ll be there in about an hour.”

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Betsy Jordan had been with the agency since it started a couple of years ago.  The business was not doing badly in the beginning but the last few months had not been good.  With the stock market crash a bad memory, the economy was still not recovering as quickly as the politicians wanted everyone to believe.  The big war was over and large numbers of service men were coming home; there weren’t enough jobs to go around.  Manufacturers had to retool again, from military hardware to domestic goods but people didn’t yet have the money to buy them.  The crime rate had climbed since the crash but private investigators weren’t getting any of that work.  Why pay someone when the police did the work for free?

Jonathan “Jonnie” Krasche couldn’t find work when he returned from the service so he decided to try starting a business on his own.  He saw plenty of action overseas but managed to return home unscathed except for a bad case of athlete’s foot, which was an occupational hazard when in the infantry.  Jonnie was basically a decent Joe but could best be described as a player and a wise-ass.  He always had an eye out for a pretty face and a nice shape which got him in trouble more often than not.  By chance, he ran into his old high school buddy Will when he got home from the service.

Wilbur “Will” Burne hadn’t been as lucky as Jonnie.  Will had taken a couple of bullets in the leg during the landing at Normandy.  After a period of time in an Army hospital, he was sent home with a Purple Heart and a permanent limp.  Work was hard enough to find, let alone for a guy with a bum leg.

With an uncanny knack for problem solving, the two men readily jumped into the idea of an agency offering investigative services.

Betsy did her best to hold everything together.  Girl Friday, big sister, accountant, whatever it took to keep things on an even keel.  Jonnie and Will were like brothers.  Her own brother never came home from the war; he was on the Arizona at Pearl Harbor.

The Payback

By Chuck Semenuk

 Randy watched in awe as Fire-Rescue arrived and the well trained team began the task of attending to the occupants of a badly wrecked automobile.  The vehicle reminded him of a ball of wrinkled foil, crushed and thrown away.  Randy was startled as he recognized the woman being carefully removed from the carnage.  It was his wife Shirley.

“What was she doing in that car?” he wondered.

While paramedics moved her to a waiting ambulance, the noise from the cutting equipment brought his attention back to the driver.  After much cutting and bending, rescuers were finally able to remove the man from the wreck.  Randy’s jaw dropped as he watched the medics trying to stabilize the man.

“That looks like me!  That’s me!  How can that be?”

Suddenly, visions of the preceding events began the play in front of his eyes.  He was driving down the dark road.  It was raining.  In the darkness it was nearly impossible to see the lane markings and the edges of the road against the shiny black asphalt.  Randy hated driving at night, especially in the rain.

Shirley’s mouth was running non-stop as usual.  Nag, nag, nag.  “Why did I ever marry her?” he thought.

“Slow down.  You’re driving too fast.  I told you not to drink at the party.  You know you shouldn’t drink.  You sure liked it when that young redhead was rubbing her boobs all over you.”

On and on she went.  Finally summing up enough courage, he turned and told her to shut up.

“Lookout you fool!  You’re on the wrong side of the road!”