The Return of the Legends!
Six years ago, I toyed around with the idea of a comical serialisation. I’ve always enjoyed comics and crime stories (as well as the ridiculous, of course). So, I thought it would be cool to develop a couple of characters – hence Blogger Man and Comment Dog Man. At the time, I was obsessed with building up a following on my blog and commenting on all the amazing posts I read.
Now it’s time for my heroes to return!
But before I unleash them again next week. Here’s a reminder of their exploits to date!
Blogger Man & Comment Dog take on the Twisted Twitter Woman
My clients call me Blogger Man. I run a small detective agency on the south side of Scum city.
I have a reputation of never turning away clients and always winning. Writers love me, publicists hate me – but I take that on the chin – it goes with the territory.
It was nearly midnight, and I was working late.
I’d just busted a ring trafficking body parts and was tidying up the paperwork. I’d been working on the case for a month before I finally cracked it. Following my prime suspect, I eventually tracked down the missing parts to a big red warehouse down by the docks.
There will be many amputees sleeping a lot more soundly tonight – I can assure you!
My trusty partner and sidekick Comment Dog suddenly looked up and gave me a sideways glance. He always does that when he hears someone on the landing.
I could tell immediately from the clip-clop of the heels that it was a dame. A classy one judging the tone of her soles caressing the metallic plate on the bottom of the landing. Jimmy Choo’s, if my ears were correct.
A saxophone started playing from the apartment above the office when she walked through the door – Autumn Leaves by Acker Bilk. God, I love that tune.
“How can I help?” I asked.
“Are you Blogger Man?”
I nodded my response, lent back, put my feet on the desk and lit one of my finest Cubans.
Comment Dog looked at me in disgust and growled – he always does that when I smoke. He says the smoke gets into his hair and makes him smell worse.
A plume of smoke drifted up. I deliberately tried to blow it toward Comment Dog.
The Dame spoke.
“I need your help but can’t afford to pay you.”’
“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement,” I answered, noting her legs went all the way up to her hips.
She wore a Herve Leger bandage mini skirt with a sheer, red Valentino Button Down Top which just managed to cover up the parts I wished she hadn’t. No second prize for guessing was on my mind.
How the hell didn’t she freeze, walking around with just a micro mini skirt and slinky blouse?
“Well, my name is Evergreen McGuire, and up until tonight, I controlled all the banana’s coming into Scum City. The big banana’s little ones, even plantains. From India to Columbia, from Uganda to China, I controlled them all.”
“You said, up until tonight,” I interrupted.
She looked at me, dark brown eyes drilling into the core of me, her lips curled and pouted, bright red lipstick showcasing, then broadcasting their appeal. She swept her auburn hair back over her shoulders with a subtle nonchalant wave of her wrist.
Comment Dog moved over to where she stood and started to sniff about. He always does that.
“Down, boy,” I barked, but he knew he wasn’t the one being commanded.
Acker Bilk was reaching a crescendo now, and the boy blowing him sounded as though he needed to come up for air. I felt hot and sweaty. I loosened my tie further, wished I’d left the fan on.
She broke her silence.
“All the banana’s in the entire city have been stolen. Even the spares and the bent ones I sell to the supermarkets. Everything I keep in my warehouse all gone without a trace.”
“Sweet Jesus,” I muttered as I inhaled. “That’s terrible.”
Bananas were big business. This was a crime I had to solve.
“Can you help me, please?” Evergreen McGuire pleaded dolefully.
“Damn straight, I can,” I answered. “I’m getting onto it right now. C’mon Comment Dog, let’s go.”
- Will Blogger Man solve this fiendish crime, or will he slip up?
- Has Evergreen McGuire got too much skin in the game?
- Will Comment Dog split and go out on his own?
- Is this a single heist, or will there be a bunch of copycat crimes?
- Which bent criminal mastermind is behind this heinous crime?
Blogger Man and Comment Dog – Part Two
Comment Dog and I hit the pavement mixing it with all the usual low life’s slinking and scuttling about the grimy and gummy pavements of downtown Scum City.
Steam rose from the grates, emitting stifling heat, horrid smells from the labyrinth of tunnels used by the subway below. But that wasn’t that underground we were after.
Comment Dog hit up one of his informants, a French snitch named Theresa – a cold-hearted bitch if there ever was one. Theresa worked as a night guard at the Metropolitan Carpark. Usually, sniffing out trouble long before the idiots at the Scum City PD could pull out their litter bags and clean it up.
No pleasantries were exchanged – no sniffing or tail wagging.
“What’s the word on the street?” Barked Comment Dog.
“Answer me quick, Theresa – or it will be more than your chain I’ll be pulling; I’ll be covering you in tuna and dragging your sorry arse all the way down to the cat shelter.”
“You mean the banana’s?” she snarled, realising Comment Dog meant every word.
Comment Dog tilted his head, his eyes boring into her – his ears twitched in acknowledgement.
Theresa swallowed hard on her dog biscuit and started to cough. “Well, just this evening – a hella-of- a lot of nana hit the streets – good stuff too – high quality – as we speak, primates are overdosing all over the city.”
“Jesu, I muttered – you know who’s behind this Theresa?”
“No,”’ she growled – “I don’t know who’s behind it – but I do know who’s distributing them.”
At that moment, an engine started, wheels screeched, and a car came thundering down from the level above.
“Run,” I yelled, but it was too late for Theresa, unable to move quickly enough – she took the full force of the vehicle front on.
Poor old Theresa, she’d rolled over for the last time and was playing dead for real.
Comment Dog and I walked out of the car park in silence.
Useless bloody dog, I thought, why couldn’t he chase cars like any other decent dog?
Just as I was just about to ask Comment Dog, ‘what next?’ I heard a drunken voice calling from behind an overflowing dumpster.
“You looking for some Chinese food or information?”
Comment Dog wandered off and started foraging around scattered bins pretending to look for clues.
As I approached, the street bum muttered, “it’ll cost.”
He smelt worse than the dumpster and almost as bad as Comment Dog. I moved back a few paces. A streetlamp flickered on and off.
“You Blogger Man?” He asked.
I nodded. “You heard of me?”
“No, I just read your name badge. Well, Blogger Man for $2.00, I can tell you who was driving that car, the one that just sped out of the carpark. Or for 50 cents, I can tell you your fly is undone.”
I reached into my pocket and flicked him $2 bucks. “Thanks,” I said, zipping myself up.
The bum smiled, and Comment dog took a leak against the lamp post.
“It was Eddie – the Grocer – he was the one who was driving.”
“Eddie the grocer,” I gasped! “Are you sure?”
“As sure as soap hasn’t touched my body for at least 90 days.”
“That sure then,” I winced.
Eddie was well known to me; our paths had crossed before. He was the genius behind the gherkin jar debacle of 2013 and the faulty ice cream cone kerfuffle a year later. Yes, he was evil as he was clever and must be stopped, and I knew exactly where to find him.
“C’mon Comment Dog,” I yelled, “pull that leg down. We’ve got a bunny to catch.”
- Who is this bunny, and why has he made Comment Man hopping mad?
- Will Eddie the Grocer get away with another heinous crime against produce?
- Will the dumpster Bum use his $2.00 to buy some soap?
- And finally, will Comment Dog sniff out something tasty for his supper?
Stay tuned for the exciting next instalment posted week. I bet you can’t wait!