My Story

Here one of the stories I wrote out in AIM chats last year. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. (Caution, this story is long, and probably would be rated PG-13 if it were a movie. Oh, and its MINE, and Dan's, too, I suppose, so don't republish it without my permission, or I'll get pissed.)

Greg Levine's
Sex, Lies, and Small Brown Rodents
By Greg Levine, with Dan’s assistance

It was a dark and stormy night in East Windsor, New Jersey, with threatening clouds billowing over a pale yellow moon. Everywhere, passion was afoot. Or ahand, as the case may be. Always passion. Passionate love; passionate hate. Even, passionate murder...
A dark figure was killing a large, heavyset man. With a passion. (That is to say, the killer was passionately killing; the victim was decidedly unpleased with his situation.) The heavyset mans expressed his displeasure at being killed by screaming. Over a thunderclap, his screams were heard by several squirrels. The squirrels scattered, leaving their nuts to the mercy of any nearby raccoons. The dark murderer slunk away into the night.

Inexplicably, the next several hours were passed by with a forty-minute-long theme song.

Greg Levine, P.I., sat at his desk. He was not having the best day. First, several minutes had been recently wasted by an inappropriately long theme song. Even if it was about him, which it was, forty minutes was way too long.
Greg had also recently been kicked off the East Windsor police force for breaking one rule to many.
He had tried to explain it wasn't his fault. It was just the way he was. He was a man who dances along the edge of the law. He defies authority as a principle. He plays by his own rules. He has one goal: justice. And the side mission of profit. And the occasional sex. But only after justice.
His Captain had told him he had seen too many bad movies. He also had given Greg an hour to clean out his desk.
However, Greg's day was about to pick up. A loud creak alerted him to someone entering his office. It was a tall blonde. Her name was Ginger.
"My name is Ginger," she said, "and I need your help."
Greg wasn't surprised; lots of people needed his help.
"I'm not surprised," he grunted. "Lotsa folks need my help."
Ginger leaned over Greg's desk, putting her low neckline to good use. "My husband was murdered, and the police said--"
"Bah!" interrupted Greg. "What do the police know?"
"The police said he was mauled to death by squirrels," continued Ginger, "but I know that he was Murdered."
Ginger's use of a capital 'M' showed Greg how serious she was. She proceeded to explain how she saw a dark figure stab her husband passionately. "I think it was something about a debt of something," she explained. "When he was finished, he covered Frank in acorns, and used some sort of whistle to summon a bunch of squirrels."
There was something about Ginger that told Greg... something. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but... "Okay," said Greg, "My fee is fifty bucks an hour, plus expenses."
"So you'll take the case?" Ginger looked like a giddy school girl. A giddy school girl in a low cut dress, but a school girl nonetheless.
"Hell yeah," Greg replied. "Three reasons. One, I'm a month behind in my rent, and my land lord's gonna kill me in the next week.
"Two, I'm a trained squirrelologist, mostly because I had a spare semester in college.
"And three," Greg said, with his trademark smirk, "you're a hottie. I never pass up the hottie cases."

Greg and Ginger drove to JFK International Airport, and took the first flight to London. There they connected to Paris, Egypt, Sri Lanka, and Sydney. Once in Sydney, Greg shot a dingo, made a sandwich out of it, and the took the next direct flight to Newark, New Jersey, and drove to the murder site, two blocks from Greg's office.
"Why all the flights?" asked a puzzled Ginger. She was beginning to regret ever hiring Greg in the first place.
"Because," said Greg, "I've just always wanted to try a dingo on rye." Deep down, though, Greg was having regrets, too. Dingoes really need mayo to be enjoyed to their fullest.
"That's all going on your bill," Greg added.
Before Ginger could respond Greg kneeled over the body of Ginger's husband, Overweight Frank. He hummed and hahhed to drown out any objection she may have tried to voice.
It was a textbook example of squirrel mauling, all right. Tiny bite marks covering the body; a small nest in the victims belly; acorn shells strewn across the floor. Pretty gruesome. But Greg noticed that something was wrong.
"Something's wrong," Greg remarked. "There's something weird going on here. Well, weirder than a squirrel mauling is, anyway."
Just then, a squirrel leapt from behind a kidney. It was carrying a small bit of flesh in its mouth.
"Tsststststssst," said Greg. "tissttststtssstttsstststs." To Ginger's untrained ear, it sounded like an actual squirrel was speaking, or rather, squeaking.
Indeed, to the squirrels very much trained ear, it also sounded like a real squirrel squeaking. The squirrel immediately opened its mouth and responded with something like "Oh yeah, well your mother's a raccoon!" and angrily left. Greg bent down to pick up the flesh the squirrel had dropped. He studied it.
"Hrrrmmmm...." said Greg.
"What is it?" asked Ginger.
"I've got to see the police."

Fifteen monetary systems later, the couple arrived at the local police station. Greg marched in with the air of someone who knew what he was doing. He walked down a hall, went into the first door on his left, and, after five minutes, walked out with a much relieved look on his face. The door closed behind him, and Greg noticed that the word 'men's', which he had seen earlier, had the prefix 'Wo', which he had no seen earlier. "Well, that explains the lack of urinals," he remarked, to no one in particular. "And the screaming".
Greg led Ginger to the captain's door, then pointed her to a seat. "Wait out here," he said. "Its for your protection."
Actually, it was for Greg's protection. The captain was neither violent nor dangerous. Greg merely found that chicks slept with him less if they saw him arguing with Captain Dan.
As Greg walked in, he prayed that the captain was in a good mood.
He wasn't.
"Oooohhh no, Levine," said the captain upon seeing Greg. "Not again. I told you last time, you don't get a watch when you accuse the Mayor of a triple homicide."
"Look," said Greg, "If I was wrong about that, it’s only because I didn't have enough evidence to prove the fourth case." He grinned. "'Sides, that was a long time ago. Now I need your help."
"What?" said Dan. "Why should I do anything to help you?"
"Here's why." Greg threw the piece of flesh on the table.
"What is this?"
"Judging from the hair," said Greg, "it’s from the backside of the late Overweight Frank."
"Wait, you took evidence from a crime scene? That's a felony."
Greg grinned. "It's not the ACTUAL bit of flesh. It’s a plaster copy."
The captain stared at the grin for a second before saying, "Yeah, well, anyway, that's yesterday's news. He died of a squirrel mauling. Case closed."
"You sure? Look at this." Greg squeezed the chunk of hairy meat, and it opened like a meaty clam, more or less. "That," he said "is a knife wound. Since when do squirrels dine with machetes?"
"So Franky was murdered." Dan scratched his brow. "But the question is, who? Who killed him?"
"That's what I need you guys for. I have a witness outside who said she saw the murder. It’s his wife."
"Wife? Frank wasn't married. He divorced some blonde last week. His fourth since Ninety-nine."
"Well, he obviously found a new one. Maybe he eloped or something."
The captain looked though some files, then nodded. "Yeah. He got married a couple of days ago, or started to anyway. Never got the papers signed officially."
"Anyway, it doesn't matter." Greg was growing impatient. "See what you can coax outta Ginger here. I'll meet you tonight at Micky's." He rose to leave.
"Wait!" cried Dan. "Where are you going? What are you gonna do? How can I reach you?"
"You have my cell." With that non-shallot comment, Greg was gone.
"NO I DON'T!!" yelled Dan.
Dan's phone rang, and he answered it. "Yes?"
"Now you do." And Greg hung up.
Dan ran outside. Greg was gone, but in big letters, above the sign saying 'POLICE', it read:
GREG LEVINE, P.I.
(609)-555-0047
"Dammit, Greg."

That night, Greg walked into Micky's and sat at his usual table. Dan was waiting.
"Whaddaya got?" Greg asked.
"You first." said the captain.
"How 'bout you first, and I buy dinner."
"Fine. This is what we got." Dan held up a composite drawing of a black guy in a knit cap. He looked angry.
"Hey," quipped Greg. "Haven't I seen that guy on CNN? Isn't the face of... oh... EVERY UNSOLVED CASE IN A BIG CITY?"
"Yeah," said Dan. "We noticed that, too."
"So, not much help there." Greg was a master at noticing the obvious.
Just then he noticed his favorite waitress walking up. "Hey, Marie," he said. "What's shaking?"
Marie just giggled. "What can I get you boys?" she asked, unnecessarily. She knew what her love would order.
"The Usual" Greg replied. Dan grimaced.
Marie smiled and trotted off sexily to get their cheeseburger Happy Meal and child sized Cokes.
Dan ducked and narrowly avoided a red plastic ball headed his way. "Greg, you cheapskate, you've gotta stop eating at McDonald's."
"But Micky and I go back a long way." said Greg. "I solved my first case in this very resturaunt. Some kid had been hit in a drive-by balling. He said he’d give me three fries and a McNugget if I found the culprit. And I did. Bet McNugget I ever had."
"So..." Dan drove on. "What have you found?"
"Not much, cept it probably wasn't Blackey Mc-Stereotype over here. Frank gave regularly to the local NAACP. Why, just last week, he helped put a giant flaming lowercase 'y' in front of the KKK Klubhouse. Just to confuse them."
"So that's what it was..." said Dan. "We'd been puzzling over that one for some time now."
"Anyway, I couldn't find any good suspects. Frank was well liked, 'cept for his ex-wives."
"Well, what about them?" Dan asked.
Greg had spoken to three of Frank's ex-wives that day. "I spoke to three of Frank's wives today. They all had motive enough, but no real opportunity. 'Specially that Amy Arset."
"Why? What's so special about her?" That was a rhetorical question. Dan had seen Amy around town. She was quite the looker. "She have an alibi?"
"The best," said Greg. "Rock solid."
Greg grinned smugly, then added, "Mine."
"Oh really," said Marie as she walked up with the check. It was worth it to be a frequent patron to Micky's.
"Its closing time, gentlemen." Even when she was kicking people out, Marie looked gorgeous. Greg told her so, and she blushed, becoming even more gorgeous.
"Hey, Marie," grinned Greg, "There's something in the back room I need to show you." Greg smiled his irresistible smile, the one Marie couldn't avoid. It was worth it to be a frequent patron of Mickys.
Dan just rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Listen, you. Save me an Egg McMuffin in the morning."
"Yeah, sure, no problem." Greg wouldn't remember. His attention was thoroughly focused on something else.
'How is Greg so damn lucky,' thought Dan as he walked out. He heard Greg whisper something. Marie laughed. 'Lucky bastard' added Dan's head.
Just before he got in his car, Dan heard a scream from inside. He ran to check it out.
When he got to the back room, Marie wasn't wearing her shirt. Dan found this wildly distracting. Then he saw what had stopped her from taking of her bra, and had made her decide to scream instead.
Greg was on the floor next to a pretty young woman, ungagging her. When he had taken it off, she said "I'm Candy, Overweight Frank's fifth wife. I think someone's trying to kill him."
'How the hell,' though Dan, 'is Greg so damn lucky?!'

Greg walked into his office, visibly tired. His mood got worse when he noticed his neatly sorted papers were lying on the floor in a crumpled mess.
His mood brightened, however, when he noticed Ginger lying suggestively on top of his now clear desk.
"Hey big guy," she said, even more suggestively. "Rough day on the job?"
"The worst," Greg sighed. "But we caught the guy."
"You did?" Ginger seemed surprised by Greg's fast results. "Well, then, lets celebrate"
"Sure," said Greg. He loosened his belt. "It's just... Whoa, what a day! I hadda chase this guy down an alley. He was just as you described him. Black, angry. Even got the knit cap right. You have a good memory."
"Come on, Levine," Ginger was growing anxious. "You can regale me with tales of heroism later. But now..." Ginger ripped away her new red dress, revealing pages 32 and 75 of the new Victoria's Secret catalogue. "Right now I need some Levine Loving!"
Greg tried to pretend not to notice. "The clumsy bastard, he knocked over an apple cart, never even slowed down. I did. Picked up an apple.
"Funny thing," Greg continued. “They always claim they're innocent. 'I didn't do nuthin'!' he shouted.
“‘Yeah, right,' I sez. I told him about the squirrels and the knife wound, and he still denies it. We hadda drag him kicking and screaming to the police station."
Ginger was rapidly falling out of the mood. She sat there in her underwear, and said, "Yeah, like he'd forget how he knifed my Frankie in the back."
"One thing left, before we get down," said Greg. When Ginger frowned, Greg said merely, "Your bill."
"My what?"
"Business before pleasure, that's what mamma always said." 'Or both at once,' Greg thought, as Ginger, still in lingerie, reached for her purse.
"Umm..." Ginger was feeling awkward, but asked "How much?"
"Well, it’s been 14 hours, so that's seven hundred there. Plus two thousand for the airline tickets. $11.98 for two Happy Meals, and $359 for damage to an apple cart and several apples." As if for evidence, Greg pulled out an apple and ate it. The grand total is, er..." Greg fiddled with a calculator, "$3070.98, if you please."
Ginger signed a check, and held it out to Greg then she waved him closer with her free hand. "Ready now?" she grinned.
Greg grinned back. Without speaking, he whipped his belt out and around the confused arms of an even more confused Ginger. Then he stamped his left foot.
He waited a few seconds.
Then he stomped again.
After a few more seconds, he yelled "DAN!"
Captain Dan, the girl Candy, and a half platoon of cops burst into the office. "Ginger," said Dan, "I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Overweight Frank. You have the right to remain silent..."
Candy ran up and gave Greg a hug and a long, passionate, victory kiss.
"...You have the right to wear pants..."
The kiss continued.
"...You have the right to a barrel of monkeys..."
Still kissing...
When Dan had given Ginger the right to Cherry Coke, Greg and Candy untwined from each other.
"You two done?" Ginger scowled. She scowled some more, and said "I bet you wanna know why-"
"Oh, no Ginger," said Greg. "I know why. It’s because Frank is a cheating-"
Ginger joined him in berating her victim "-lying fucking bastard!"
"Yes," Greg continued, "and when he dumped you, you hated him. So much so you killed him, and used a squirrel attack to cover it up.
"What I don't get, though, is why you came to me. You knew I was a squirrelologist. You knew I loved McDonald's. I was bound to discover the clues you left."
"Of course!" screamed Ginger hysterically. "I wanted you to find out. I wanted you to win! I LOVE YOU! I've loved you ever since you did that piece on 20/20."
"I never did a piece on 20/20," remarked Greg, as he motioned for the police to take her away.
"NOO!!" shouted Ginger, as the cops dragged her down the hall. "Greg, how can you do this?! Can't you see that we were meant to be together?"
"Crazy bitch" Greg said, though now only Dan and Candy remained with him. "Not you, Candy," he added hastily.
"Of course. She does have one redeeming quality,” beamed Candy. "She brought us together."
"Too true, too true," said Greg, whose belt-less pants finally succumbed to gravity's pull.
Dan could take a hint. "I can take a hint. I'll be going."
Greg never noticed him leave. Dan, on the other hand, couldn't help but notice what was happening on Greg's desk. He shut the door, walked down to his car, then yelled when he saw that his nearly new car had been made into one of Greg's business cards:
"Where the hell does Greg find these huge letters?!"

THE END