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Jack Kasser P.I. 2
High Times




It’s me, Jack Kasser P.I. (Private Investigator jerk). I still live in Denver,
Palookaville in my opinion, population one million. I’ve put a lot of punks in the
slammer makin’ hundreds of enemies doing so, I’ve seen it all I could brag in the bar
durin’ happy hour at, but this one was new to me.


It was Thanksgivin’, thanks for nuthin I say, and was chuggin’’ down on my
good pal Jack Daniel’s. it was nine A.M. and I was startin’ on my second pack of
smokes when some lonely shmo such as myself, knocked on the door. I got up and
walked to the door, I picked up my nine and looked through the peephole. It was
some dame wearin’ a blue dress. I slowly eased the door open, judging from my
experience with women, they couldn’t be trusted. A pretty face don’t equal kind, it
usually means a pepper spray to the eyes is comin’ up. I opened the door all the way
and muttered, “whatdya want?”


She looked pretty grim, looks like some dough after all. She brushed away a
tear and told me, “I’m Kiley Jackson, oh Mr. Kasser, you need to help me!”


I crushed my Marlboro in an ash tray and answered, “for a price ya know I
can be of some assistance....got a thousand bucks?”


“All I got is seven-hundred.”


I thought about and said, “okay. So, what’s the scoop?”


She looked at me and said, “my son was killed by a drug dealer named Chico
while he was buying marijuana.” She began to cry a river and I lit another cigarette.
“Oh I didn’t even know about his drug addiction until he--”


She grabbed my coat and blew her nose on it. I pushed her away, wiped my
coat with my handkerchief, and took a sip of whisky. I told her, “gee, your a pretty
naive person ain’t choo?”


She stopped crying and said, “what do you mean?”


“At least if ya smoke one of these cancer sticks I’m smokin’, worst that’ll
happen at the moment is you’ll smell like it. If you’ve danced with Mary Jane, ya
smell, your higher than a butterfly, and ya got the munchies. How could ya not
notice?” she didn’t answer and I said, “a cigarette may have four hundred one
poisons in it, but it’s four hundred and one times better. The rich tobacco flavor--” I
accidentally swallowed my Marlboro just then. I began to choke and I began hitting
my stomach. I hacked it up, took one look at it, and continued smoking it.


She snarled at me and said, “would you stop talking about cigarettes you
idiot!”


I laughed for a second, blowing smoke in her face and said, “this kitten’s got
claws.”


She slapped me and said, “listen Mr. Kasser, I don’t like you, I just want to
hire you to find my son’s killer. All I know is that the murderer owns a food business
and that my son’s friend Shennon may know something.” She wrote me down her
phone number, a picture of her pot head kid, and this Shennon kid’s address. She
left and I sat back down to watch the tube.


It was noon of the next day I think and I was down at the Glendale police
station looking for my old partner Marcus Comeau. I laughed as I saw some punk
being caned by the cops for resisting arrest. I pretended to read a news paper and
thought about my case. I had no tolerance for the stoners and pot heads out there.
Mary Jane and all them other drugs aren’t ones you can take with dignity. The
number of clues I was given were limited so I decided to look to my good ol’ buddy
Comeau. In my opinion, it was probably some drug deal gone wrong and this Chico
punk probably pumped the poor sucker fulla lead. I figured the connection between
Mary Jane and food were pretty obvious, get high, get the munchies, and chow
down on whatever food they had. Not a bad idea I thought, you get them high and
you sell ‘em food, double the profit.


Marcus came out of the back room popping Altoids as he usually does, a
substitute for the booze and cigarettes. “Whatdya want Jack? I’m a busy man ya
know.”


“Don’t get ya panties all in a ruffle, this’ll take a second. Whatdya know
about drug trafficking in the metro area?”


He paused for a second and clasped his chin, suckin’ on his Altoids all the
while. “Not much, there really ain’t many big drug trafficking problems down here,
this is the type of stuff you’d deal with in LA or Detroit.”


“Do you have anythin’ in particular related with the grass?”


“As a matter of fact we do, there has been a lot of drug busts in Aurora over
the hash. Why do ya wanna know about the weed Kasser?”


I blew some smoke in his face and said, “how about ya quit riddin’ me with
all these questions Comeau.”


“Shut up Jack.”


I left the station even more confused than last time, at least my good buddy
narrowed it down for me. I drove my Eldorado down to Colorado Blvd. to check
things out with my back-up weasel: Taylor ‘The Rat’ Peper. Of course he wasn’t as
dependable as he once was, but he picks up a few things when he serves the crooks
and thugs that enjoy a NicDonald’s Large and Savory. Taylor looked particularly
dumb today with his stupid come over and his polka-dotted tie. He saw me and ran
away from the service counter saying, “Amanda, take over for me will ya!”


Before he ran out the door, I reached forward and slammed to the ground,
“long time no see Peper.”


“Jack please! I don’t know anything, please let me go!”


“You better know somethin’ because I’m through with pussy-footing around
with you, and better not be the same info you gave me last time--”


“What’s goin’ on here Taylor!” I turned around and saw a blonde haired
dame with blue eyes and straight white teeth. “Why aren’t you at the service
counter?”


“I’m sorry.”


“Shut up,” I said smacking him upside the head. “And who might you be?
The new manager?”


She pursed her lips in a funny way which reminded me of some one I knew
an said, “No, I’m Breanna Wise! Manager and owner of this NicDonald’s for ten
years!”


I laughed for a while and said, “thanks for the laugh doll face, haven’t
laughed that hard in a while.”


“But I am Breanna you moron!”


“Please, the Breanna I know has an eye patch, braces, and should be in jail
until she’s sixty.”


“It’s called plastic surgery and bribery of a jury, and you are no longer
welcome in this NicDonald’s!”


“Whatdya gonna do? Give me a convenient address and try to snuff me? And
by the way, you wouldn’t happen to be sellin’ Puff the Magic Dragon to a bunch of
pimple faced losers now would ya?”


She gritted her teeth and said, “no, now get out!”


I let the weasel go and faced Wise, “how about you let me stay and I wont
give this tape recorder I have to the cops.” She threw me a dirty look and walked
away and presumed with the business I had at hand. “Know anythin’ about Mary
Jane and Aurora?”


“There is no tape recorder is there?”


I slammed his head on the ground and said, “shut yer mouth, now spill it!
Whatdya know?”


He twiddled his thumbs nervously sweatin’ like a hog and said, “um,
nothing.”


I snatched him by the collar and breathed smoked down his pie hole, “ya sure
about that Taylor.”


He cowered like a puppy and his lips quivered, “all right! All right! I-I’ll tell
ya everything! It’s not much but my ex-friend Shennon O’Conner is a heavy pot
smoker, I don’t know where he lives any more!”


I grinned and said, “thanx punk,” I knocked him silly and left him in the
alley. I looked at the info this Jackson broad gave me and recalled the info that loser
Peper gave me. They both mentioned some pimple faced jerk named Shennon
O’Conner that’s neck deep in the hash. I drove down to Colfax Avenue and stopped
by at some jacked up apartment complex. I knocked on the door of apartment 3A
and some pimple faced loser opened the door. He was wearin’ a Software T-shirt,
thick black glasses, and was holdin’ a wizard bong in his right hand. He said, “well,
it’s about time you brought my pizza!”


“I’m not here to bring ya any pizza stoner.”


He dropped his wizard bong and began sobbin’ on the ground like some
hideous baby. “Please!” He said kissin’ my feet, “I’m to young to go to jail, they’ll
treat me like those fat guys in prison movies, and look at me! Look at me!”


I grimaced and kicked him away, “take it easy kid, I’m not a cop anymore.”


He stopped crying and wiped off his forehead, “oh man! What a relief, so....
why are you here?”


I flicked the ashes off my cigarette and handed him the picture of Jackson’s
kid, “tell me about your old pal and the drug deal he had that turned ugly.”


He pushed his glasses further up his nose and sniffed back a disgustingly large
amount of snot, “ya I know him, Danny and me were like two peas in a pod, we
were smoking buddies, totally--”


I impatiently said, “what do you know about a man named Chico?”


He scratched his second chin and said, “oh him, he was the man that killed
Danny.”


“Why dontcha tell me somethin’ I don’t know?”


“I can lick my own nipple!”


I punched him in the face and grabbed him by his fat throat, “If.... you....
ever, tell me somethin’ like that again, I will skin you like a buffalo and sell your
blubber to the Eskimos!”


“Sorry!”


“Now, anythin’ else ya know about Chico tubby?”


“Not really, except his full name is Kevin Chico, we didn’t go to him much
and he’s definitely changed his location.”


I began walkin’ away when he suddenly said behind me, “I can find you
more information on the Internet!”


I turned around and tossed my cigarette on the ground, “no kiddin’?”


He shook his fat head, it reminded me of some fat walrus I saw at the zoo....
or was it a one of them elephants? Couldn’t remember. “No kidding, I just log onto
the Internet and download the secret information about him onto a computer disc,
you wouldn’t even need to do anymore investigating. Just step into my apartment.”


I smirked and lit another Marlboro, “sure.”


We stepped in and the tub of lard commented, “well, this is my castle!” It
looked more like some sleazy bordello than any home, but I kept my big yap shut.
All I saw in the apartment when I walked in was a moth eaten couch, an old coffee
table with a leg replaced with a dictionary and a lap top on top, a TV on a card
board box, and an open fridge with a moldy radish in it.


“Um.... nice place ya got here.”


He rubbed his nose and tossed his bong under the couch, “yeah, I love it.
Anything to get away from my dad.”


“Ah, “ I sat down on the couch and dust flew every where. I sneezed and had
to relight my cigarette. He sat down and logged on to the Internet, he entered the
website and wiped his glasses clean.


He began typing things and he turned around to look at me, “well, there’s
good news and there’s bad news. The good news is that I’ll be able to download Mr.
Chico’s information.”


“Yeah? Well, what’s the bad news?”


He scratched his armpit and said, “the bad news is that it will take six and a
half hours to download on to a disc.”


“Six and a half hours?! I can’t wait that long!”


“Well, tough.” I grabbed the bong under the couch and threw it at his face.
“Ow!”


“Shut up!”


It was the longest six hours of my life. I wanted to leave but I couldn’t
because I needed the info on this Chico punk to end this case, I needed the dough.
About half way through, he tossed me some book and said, “wanna play Dungeon’s
and Dragon’s to pass the time? I’m a level 23 so I’ll go easy on you!”


“Shut....up....”


Finally with about thirty minutes left, the info on Chico was nearly finished
and I could finally get out of here. I was long out of cigarettes and it felt as if bugs
were crawling up my skin. I rubbed my face and saw out the corner of my eye that
Shennon was lightin’ somethin’ up. My experiences with drugs were few and in my
state of desperation, I looked past the obvious and figured he was lighting up a home
rolled cancer stick. I snatched it out of his hands and took a deep puff. In shock,
Shennon gasped, “Mr. Kasser! I didn’t know you smoked!”


This thing I was smokin’, I wasn’t even sure if it was tobacco anymore. For
one thing, it was a pretty weak tastin’ tobacco, like the diet coke of all tobacco. But
one thing it did was make all my worries go away, I felt as if I was lighter than air,
like nothing could bring me down. I looked at him and began to laugh, “he, what
are you simple? He, he, I was smokin’ when I got in here.”


“Oh, those were some pretty fancy looking ones you were smoking.”


Suddenly, I felt a cramp in my belly and I really wanted to eat somethin’,
“say Shenny ol’ boy, you wouldn’t by any chance have a forty pound bag of Oreo
cookies would you? With some garlic dip? He, he, he, ha, ha, ho, he, ha, ho, ho, ho,
ha!”


He pushed the glasses up his nose and replied, “no.... but I do have this
Snickers bar-” He pulled it out of his pocket and I snatched it from his walrus hands
and crammed it down my throat, forgetting to remove the wrapper. He chuckled and
commented, “ya, it’s some pretty great weed huh?” My eyes went wide and the blunt
I realized I was smokin’, fell out of my mouth and on to the carpet. “Dude, watch
the rug! If my mom finds another burn on the carpet she’ll stop paying for my
apartment!”


“He, he, ho, ho, ho, ho, ha, you mean I’ve been puffing on the magic dragon
this whole time, he?”


“Duh!”


I jumped up, stumbled towards the door, and barfed my guts out, “I’ve gotta
get out of here!”


I ran out the door and Shennon yelled, “hey! Don’t you want the information
on Chico?” I didn’t answer back, he shrugged, picked up the blunt, and smoked.


I woke up that next mornin’ behind the King Soopers on Colfax and
Chambers with my head pounding, a half eaten burger on my chest, and a stray cat
licking mayonnaise off my lips. I woke up with a grunt and the cat hissed, scratched
the crap out of my face, and ran off. I rolled over and clutched my face, particularly
my nose, that frickin’ cat did a number on that. That’s when I noticed I was holding
a paper bag, I looked at it and it read, “Burgenero’s, home of the famous Habanero
Burger!” I scratched my head and wiped the blood from my face, frickin’ cats, think
they’re frickin’ gods! I dumped the bag on the ground and observed my findings:
fries, packets of ketchup and habanero sauce, and receipt for Burgenero’s. I looked at
it, “what in the?!” The receipt total was $95.38, for one Special family sized
Habanero burger combo. I crumpled up the paper bag, tossed it in a nearby trash
can, and walked away. I entered the King Soopers and bought myself a large pack of
smokes, some disinfectant cream, and a box of band aids for my face. I went to go
buy it and the clerk bit her tongue to prevent herself from laughin’ herself silly,
“that’ll come to.... the total of $32.15, ha, ha!”


I threw her a dirty look and saw her eyes were about to pop, “And oh yeah,
do ya know where the Burgenero is?”


She smiled cautiously and replied, “the B-B-Burgenero is across the s-street.”


“Thanx,” I walked away and I heard the sound of laughs behind me, I
grinded my teeth together and walked away. I saw my car parked in the parking lot,
I got in, squirted the entire bottle of disinfectant into my hand, smeared it on my
face, and covered my face with band aids. I drove across the street and stopped at
Burgenero’s, passing some weed smellin’ hippie holding a family sized bag-o-grub.
The place actually seemed like a pretty clean place that didn’t match my the picture I
drew in my head before I got here. There were families here eating their meals and
a happy lookin’ cashier at the counter takin’ an order from some teen with dread
locks.


He walked away and I went up to the cashier, “hi, welcome to Burgeneros
home of the habanero burger! May I take your order?”


Lookin’ back on the receipt I found in that bag, I decided to order that, “hi I
think I’ll take a Special Family sized Habanero burger combo.” I laid the trap and I
waited for her to take the bait.


She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “that’ll be $95.38 for the weed....”


I smiled and whispered back, “gotcha....”


Her eyes became as wide as ash trays and she said, “um I need t-to sort this
out with my m-manager.” She went into the back and I heard a shout and her
manager came out of the back to speak with me. This guy was wearin’ a pair of large
black sun glasses, he had a clean lookin’ buzz cut and he had a thick brown
mustache, it made him look like an outta work porn star. I looked at his name tag
and it read: Kevin Chico, manager. I had found my man.


“Excuse us man for the mix up, there’s something wrong with dis computer
we have ya know?” His voice had a thick Hispanic accent in it.


I slapped the receipt I found onto the counter and said, “from what I see you
have quite a problem with over charging, Mr. Chico.”


He scrunched up his nose and stroked his mustache, “I suggest you leave
gringo.”


I looked around and I saw all of the janitors lookin’ at me clutchin’ their
mops, “sure I go punk but you haven’t heard the last of Jack Kasser P.I.” He gave
me a smirk and escorted me to the front door, what is it with me and fast food?


I came back later that night when it had closed with a Polaroid camera and
some hedge clippers. I went in through the back, it was unlocked, it seemed strange
at first but I didn’t think about it to much at the time. I searched the cabinets and
went through them all until I found a pretty small on with padlock on it, I busted out
my hedge clippers and snipped the lock off. Inside were dozens of zip lock bags filled
with Mary Jane, I took a few pictures and put the photos in my jacket, I was about
to leave when I suddenly heard the sound of someone pumpin’ a shotgun. “Ya shoulda
stayed away man,” I turned around and saw Chico pointin’ the shotgun at me with
his glasses up, showing his beedy black eyes.


“I tell ya Chico, you are one sick punk, and there’s a little phrase from
America’s Most wanted that I enjoy quoting.”


“Ya, and what is that gringo?”


I slipped my hand into my coat pocket and grabbed aa packet of habanero
sauce, “crime doesn’t pay.... hiyaa!” I pulled the packet out and crushed it in
between my hands squitin’ sauce into his eyes.


He fired into the cealing and rubbed his eyes in pain, “dang man that burns!”
I ran forward and gave ‘im a right hook right into the jaw, he fell backwards and hit
the wall, opening a concealed cabinet in the wall. Hundreds of blunts fell onto him
and he was knocked out, I clutched my achin’ hand and made an exit with the
evidence.


I called the cops and Chico was sent to death row, apparently he was one of
America’s most wanted crooks. I got a medal and a check for five grand, not to
shabby for two days worth of work. Miz Jackson gave me the five hundred as
promised and once again I was saved from eviction and tax fraud.


As for me, I’m still with the palookas of palookaville and I have even more
enemies and I’m still some shmo livin’ in my apartment. Yet as long as there is still
some pathetic crook that the cops can’t catch I’ll still have a job, because I’m Jack
Kasser, P.I.





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by Titus Tolshem





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