Chapter Five - The Case of The Pullet Surprise

By Jim Prime and Ben Robicheau

    Gurrey and Grime were sitting around their combined detective office and fish shack discussing philosophy as they gutted the few remaining pollack and took the odd call from a client. “We’ve only had one fine day all summer and they called it a weather breeder,” said Gurrey. “Your arse is sucking wind,” countered Grime, wiping entrails from his final report on the Balancing Rock affair. “We had that other day…late August I think it was."
     Having exhausted the subject of weather, they turned their attention to the other subject that occupied their downtime. “Getting any?” posited Gurrey. “Naww, and I’m as harny as a 3-peckered owl.” “You mean you’re as raspy as a file?” queried Gurrey. “Whatever,” said Grime. “The point is a man like me has needs, needs that must be met, damn it. I was voted Sexiest Man in Freeport four consecutive years 1967-70 inclusive.”
    “Listen,” said Gurrey, “That don’t amount to the square root of sweet f…” The phone rang, interrupting the discourse. Grime grabbed it and barked a hello. “Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok, we’ll be right over.” He slammed the phone down, creating a brief flurry of fish scales. “What’s up?” said Gurrey. “It’s that chick Virginia from the Briar Island Lodge. Claims that Levena from Levena’s has been bad-mouthing her clams. That’s the third call this week. Last week it was Levena claiming that Virginia was defaming her dulse. This restaurant war has got to stop, damn it!” He pounded his fist on the desk but instead struck a small herring that had been inside a rather large gutted codfish. The fish exploded all over Gurrey who wiped his face off nonchalantly as if this was an everyday occurrence, which it was.
     “What are we going to do?” said Grime. “These are both fine eating establishments. We’ve got to make them see that there’s room for everyone in this all-inclusive Tri-Island paradise of ours” “I think it’s time to go undercover,” said Gurrey. The two eyed each other, Grime through the beautiful green peepers that had rendered the knees of island women weak just a few short years prior, and Gurrey through his lone, still-functional bloodshot bulging orb.
     "Great idea Gurrey!” admitted Grime. It’ll give us a chance to try out those new disguises we bought at Dollarama in New Minas, the pearl of the Valley. “This is definitely better than a kick in the ass with a frozen boot.”
Twenty minutes later they were ready to go, hardly recognizable to each other let alone the general public. Grime wore a tuxedo with top hat and silver-knobbed cane, and sported an elegant handlebar moustache and monocle. Gurrey was to be his date. He wore a knee-length pleated dress, circa 1968, and a simple white pullover sweater. His shoulder length hair was made of frayed yellow polypropylene rope. He had stuffed bait bags in his chest area to approximate his fading memory of what women’s breasts look like. Grime looked him up and down and declared: “The last time I saw legs like that they had a message attached.”
     “Never mind all that,” said Gurrey. “I’ll just throw on some makeup and lippy and we’ll go check these places out.” He had never before felt so lovely.'
     Grime and Gurrey decided to make Lavena’s their first stop. They jumped into the Buick and caught the ferry. The old car had no heater and its rusted out body was no match for the cold wind blowing off the North Atlantic. Grime was shivering.
     “How do you stay so warm?” he inquired of his partner, who had removed his coat and was fanning himself. “ “I use Stanfield’ s Trap Door long underwear,” he replied proudly. “I’ve been wearing STDs since I was 16 and I’ve never been cold. I liked them so much I bought a whole case of them at the Metropolitan Store in Digby. The design changes a bit every year but they still work great. And if you’re ever caught short, it makes things a lot easier too.” In fact Gurrey was so warm that he rolled down the car window. Outside, within earshot and enjoying the cool breeze were two attractive middle age women that both men had had their eyes on (three eyes in all, as earlier indicated). Gurrey continued to brag about his long underwear.
     “Yup, I got my first case of STD at the Met in Digby when I was 16, and I’ve had a case of STDs every year since. I remember I picked up that first one on the shelves right next to the Women’s Whatnot department. The STD is a little different every year, but I’ve always got a case.”
     The women averted their eyes and turned away in disgust. “Playing hard to get,” said Gurrey with a wink of his good eye.
    "What is it we're doing again?", Grime asked for the third time in as many minutes. As the ferry approached the Freeport slip, Gurrey patiently went over the plan one more time for his nearly senile partner. "We're going undercover to observe the goings-on at Lavena's. The key to this operation is to not attract attention, we've got to fly under the radar on this one, we don't want people to know who we are or even notice that we're there." With that, Gurrey started the big Buick V-8, floored the gas, and with the unmuffled engine roaring and the rear wheels spinning in the wet seaweed, fishtailed up the slip.
    Sliding into Lavena's parking lot in a spray of gravel with the 8-track blasting Iron Butterfly's "Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida", the partners quickly found a parking space and then nonchalantly sauntered over to the restaurant.
    "Hi guys, what's with the get-ups", Lavena greeted them as soon as they stepped through the door. "I'm sorry, you must have us confused with some other couple", said Grime, "My date and I are complete strangers here and are just looking for a good place to get a meal". Lavena shrugged and replied, "O.K. then, have a seat." As soon as they were seated, she said, "What do you think of our new menus?", and handed them a pair of leather bound folders with gold-leaf lettering that spelled out, "Lavena's Catch - Where The Elite Who Eat More Than Meat Meet To Eat". "I think our slogan needs a little fine tuning", she said, "it doesn't sound quite as catchy as I had imagined."
    After perusing the menu, Grime declared, "My guts are in an uproar today, I think I'll just have a pine float." "I don't see that on the menu", said Gurrey, "what's a pine float?" "It's a toothpick in a glass of water.", replied Grime. "Cheap bastard", muttered Gurrey, "I think I'll have my usual, Chicken Chow Mein and a grilled cheese sandwich.
    As they waited for their order to come, the two dicks surreptitiously observed the activity in the cafe, despite being interrupted every few minutes by people greeting them by name, they were still able to overhear a conversation between Lavena and her chef. "We're out of flounder", the chef said flatly. "I hate to do it in light of what's been happening lately", said Lavena reluctantly, "but send the new girl over to the Lodge again and see if they can loan us some." She pulled a bag of lobster meat from the freezer, "Tell her to take this, I know they need it for tonight's chowder."
    As they left the Cafe to a chorus of good-byes, Grime astutely observed, "I'm not sure, but I think our undercover personas may have been comprimised." "I think you might be right", said Gurrey, "our car is too well known, it must have blown our cover. Before we go any farther with this we need to change vehicles."
    Owen Otley was just finishing up a lazy mid-afternoon breakfast of cold finnan haddie, rappie pie and an extra large pepperoni and anchovy pizza when a knock came on his door. "We need to borrow your car Owen," said Grime, "we need something that won't attract as much attention as the Dickmobile." "O.K.", said Otley, "but I need it back by tonight, I've got a hot date." "Yeah, right, a date with a deep-fried cheesecake", muttered Gurrey to himself. "What was that about cheesecake?", said Otley, suddenly alert, "are you taking the car to get cheesecake?" "No", said Gurrey, "There's no cheesecake, what I said was, 'this fog makes my knees ache.'" "I could have sworn you said cheesecake.", said Otley, turning dejectedly back to his table.
    Otley's vehicle was a 1970 Dodge van with chrome reverse wheels, chrome exhaust side-pipes and a fancy paint job that included an air-brushed portrait of a naked woman reclining below the scripted words, "Shaggin' Wagon". The interior featured a waterbed in the back, purple shag carpeting on the walls and black-lights.
    Gurrey and Grime climbed into the front bucket seats and turned the key. Suddenly the deep, intimate voice of Barry White flowed from the stereo,
"The longer we make love... The closer I want to be... I just can't get enough... I love the way you freak me"
    The twelve-speaker high-end sound system made it feel like Barry White was standing right behind them, whispering the words in their ears.
"Don't think... just feel it... Ooooh... just do it"
    Gurrey suddenly became acutely aware that he was still wearing his undercover disguise and was dressed as a woman, an incredibly attractive woman. After a few seconds of exchanging uncomfortable glances with Grime, and before Barry could sing another verse, Gurrey snatched the cassette out of the player and flung it out the window. "I think we can do without that", he said in a deep, masculine voice. "Yeah, for sure." Grime replied awkwardly, "so, how about them Red Sox?"
     The deviously disguised dicks decided to return to Westport to visit the restaurant at the Briar Island Lodge. Grime thought he had the germ of an idea about what might be causing bad feelings between the proprietors of the two magnificent eateries. Using his superior intelligence and razor-sharp deductive powers he had deduced that something didn’t smell right. In fact it stank. It stank bad. It stank real bad. “Something stinks,” he finally said out loud. “Sorry about that,” said Gurrey. “I had some left over chili for breakfast.”
    “Not that,” said Grime, adding “although that is incredibly foul. It’s the ‘new girl’ who stinks, and I mean that in a metaphoric rather than an olfactory way if you take my meaning.”
“I do,” said Gurrey.
“I recognized her right away of course,” continued Grime. “Sure she’s changed in the 40 years we saw her last - put on 70 or 80 pounds, had a face-transplant, butt-lift, fixed her bow-legs - but I'd recognize those ear lobes anywhere - besides, how could you forget the most fiendishly talented mime to ever come out of the tri-Island area…”
“You mean..” blurted Gurrey.
“Yes,” countered Grime. “Rubella Perry-Outhouse-Thurber-Cann, the thrice married Countess of mimicry. She could impersonate anyone, living or dead or anyplace in between. The ‘girl of a thousand voices,’ they called her. She once packed the finest venues with people dying to see her act. The IOOF Hall in Freeport one night, the IOOF Hall in Tiverton the next. Those were heady days for Rubella, until she decided to use her unique powers for evil.”
    “I remember now,” said Gurrey. “She was sent to prison for a long stretch for impersonating Elsie at the phone office so that she could intercept calls and get the inside scoop on what day the bank roll was coming to Westport for the weekly bank day. Luckily that was the day we decided to try out our idea for the drive-through gutting service and traffic was held up long enough for the cops to get her. High five!” The two dicks exchanged high fives, congratulating themselves for their role in solving that crime.
“Why would she be working at Lavena’s?” Grime wondered out loud.
“Come to think of it, she’s working part time at the Lodge too,” recalled Gurrey. "I saw her there at the Swift bar mitzvah.
Ok, Gurrey, let’s put the pieces of this puzzle together:
Piece One – she can imitate any voice
Piece Two – Complaints have come in from Virginia and Lavena, even though they were always very friendly
Piece Three – Rubella works at both restaurants
Piece Four – The last I heard of her, she was training as a cook while she was inside
Conclusion: She’s trying to drive both businesses under and start her own on Gull Rock, to be called The Perch”
“Your perspicacity amazes me Grimey,” said Gurrey, adjusting his knee-length nylons as the well-broken in vehicle caroomed toward the ferry.
    As they careened onto the ferry, striking the car ahead and causing a chain reaction that left the front car hanging precariously over the bow, Grime began to think of what a great pal Gurrey had been to him all these years. He suddenly recalled that the drive-through fish-gutting service had been Gurrey’s idea, and a damn good one too. It was called Gut ‘N Go (their motto was: 'If you got fish, we'll gut 'em') and it was so successful in Westport that they had opened outlets in Tiverton and Freeport. Soon franchises sprang up all over the Tri-Island and Digby Neck region. They were making money faster than they could spend it – which was pretty fast. Soon the fast money led to fast women, fast cars and fast celebrity.
    Unfortunately they went bust when they overextended themselves by putting all their money into an outlet on Barrington Street in Halifax. It turned out to be a total disaster. Not only was there a shockingly low demand for fish-gutting from the Halifax populace, but the other franchises were damaged by the downturn in the fishery. Soon their outlets were taken over for failure to pay taxes and became drive-through Psychology Clinics, run, coincidentally, by Gurrey’s main squeeze at the time Randi. “Randi by name, randy by action,” Gurrey used to boast before the two split up over who got to de-worm the cats.
     Nevertheless, life for awhile had been good for Gurrey and Grime and now Grime remembered that it was all down to his friend. He began to regret some of the things he had said about him. It was all true of course, but he regretted it nonetheless.

    The ferry ride to Westport seemed to take forever and the talk turned to their former wives and children. "How are the kids, Gurrey?" said Grime. "Well, Peter is in detox. Rita runs a convenience store with Norris. Tracey just got out of prison and is sleeping around. Chesney got his girlfriend pregnant and Sally is thinking of getting back with her husband Kevin who had a baby with another woman who died in a trolley crash. How about your family Grimsey?"

     The inane conversation was cut short by the scow thumping the wharf as it slid onto the Westport ferry slip, causing the Shaggin' Wagon to rock and jostling Grime back into the present. Grime noticed that he always zoned out on the ferry, he put it down to the radar interfering with the plate in his head; he found that his mind wandered a lot recently and it seemed to take him longer than usual to find it and bring it back.

    A few short minutes later the two dicks were cruising the gritty streets of downtown Westport.
"These streets sure are gritty." observed Grime.
"It's all the rain," replied Gurrey, "washing the gravel from the driveways onto the street."
"Too bad we're tied up with this case," Grime responded, "we could be up to the gravelpit right now, loading up the Dickmobile. At five dollars a load, we could be making some sweet bread mister man."
    By now the detectives had left the Lowertown part of the Westport metropolis and were wending their way up the majestic peak known as The High Knoll. Presently they pulled up in front of The Briar Island Lodge, and after checking that their undercover disguises were still intact, walked up to the reception desk.
    "Hi, guys", Virginia said, eyeing Grime's moth-eaten tuxedo and Gurrey's Christian Dior gown and flowing yellow polypropylene hair, "if you're looking for a room, I'm sorry, but we're all booked up."
    "No,no", said Grimes, " my lovely fiancee and myself are planning on tying the knot, a bit of a shotgun wedding affair, if you catch my drift, and we're checking out places to hold the reception. Could you show us the features offered by your fine establishment?"
    "O. K.," said Virginia, "I'll play along. Just step this way and you'll notice our dining room with its large picture windows and magnificent view. The architect that designed this building positioned it in such a way that every seat has a wonderful panoramic view of the harbour and a perfect vantage point from which to appreciate the many glorious features of the village of Westport while at the same time being shielded from any direct view of Freeport. That is one of our most popular features here, we have patrons who come back year after year just to enjoy the view, many of them from Long Island."
    "Fine, fine," harrumphed Grime, "but this will be one of the biggest social events of the year, second only to the Super Seniors Annual Skip-Bo Tournament, I'd like to see if your kitchen can handle that."
    "We're just starting to prepare this evening's meal," replied Virginia, "but I suppose we can take a quick look."
    Stepping through the double swinging doors, Gurrey noticed a familiar figure preparing to dump something into a large pot. Suddenly, Grime roared out, "DROP THAT MEAT." Over in the corner by the sink, a pimply-faced teenager looked up and in an embarrassed voice whined, "I wasn't doing anything, honest, I was just jigging around in my pocket looking for a breath mint!"
    "I didn't mean you," said Grime turning from the dishwasher to the figure at the pot, "I meant you, Rubella!" At the sound of her name, Rubella Perry-Outhouse-Thurber-Cann, for indeed it was she, dropped the package of lobster meat and ran for the door. Thinking quickly for a change, Grime used the walking stick he was carrying as part of his disguise to trip her as she dashed by. Rubella went sprawling across the floor and ended up under the sink, almost knocking over the dishwasher who apparently was still busy looking for that breath mint.
    "Rubella?", gasped Virginia, "she told me her name was Rosacea Titus-Welch-McDormand-Graham."
    "Yes, well, she's a master of disguise and impersonation. I wouldn't have recognized her myself if I didn't have such intimate knowledge of her earlobes, her damned tiny, perfect, irrisistable earlobes."
    Gurrey noticed a certain plaintive tone in Grime's quavering voice and a far-away look start to creep into his rheumy eyes. Recognizing that his partner was about to slip into one of his all-too-frequent reminiscences, Gurrey slapped Grime briskly across the face. "Shape up here buddy, you're on a case; not parked at the end of Lover's Lane." Coming back with a start, Grime looked around the room to orient himself, and then fixed his glaucoma-blurred gaze upon Rubella.
    "O.K. girl, you've got some explaining to do."
    "Oh Grimey, can't we go out back and discuss this just between the two of us?"
    "You fooled me once...no wait, you fooled me twice...actually, you fooled me three times with that ploy, but you won't fool me again."
With what Gurrey took to be a pout, Rubella began her long, tedious tale.
    "I used to be so happy, I was born to be an entertainer and I had found my niche in the world of show business. With my unusual combination of the opposing disciplines of mime and mimicry, I had carved out a career that saw me selling out halls from one end of Long Island to the other. If only I could have been satisfied with that, but no, I had to reach for that impossible dream that all in this business desire; to appear on Westport's Great White Way. A venue was booked; the venerable and highly reguarded Firehall, tickets were sold, it was a sell-out, and my big night finally arrived, now I was really on my way.
    The whole thing turned out to be an unmitigated disaster, the more sophisticated audience of Brier Island, unlike the hayseed Long Islanders, unfortunatly knew the difference between a mime and a mimic. Half the audience didn't want to see a mime who spoke, even if it was in the voices of long-dead or near-dead celebrities, and the other half didn't want to see a mimic in whiteface and white gloves pretending to be trapped in an invisible box. To make matters worse, the Actor's Union heard about my act and the mimes sent two guys over to pantomime kicking me out of the group, and the mimics left me a phone message in the voice of Jack Nicholson telling me I couldn't handle the truth about being expelled.
    Left with no other option, I turned my talents to crime and ended up being sent up the river. While I was inside the big house I decided to turn my life around by becoming a writer, I figured it can't be that hard, any idiot can write a book, right? Anyway, I managed to publish several books under the pen-name of Margaret Aintwood. They were fairly successful, but I wanted more, I missed the adulation that I had gotten on stage so I entered every literary competition I could find. I tried for The Giller Prize, The Booker Prize, The Stephen Leacock Medal for Humor, even the Pulitzer Prize, but with no luck, I was rejected by them all. I did manage to get a book on CBC Radio's Canada Reads competition, but it was read on the air by Don Cherry, I knew I didn't have a chance when Don assured me that he would do a good job and pay close attention to the pronunciation "an' everythink like dat".
    I was feeling dejected, rejected and and even a tiny bit neglected when it was brought to my attention that I could reduce my time in the pokey by taking a retraining course. I decided to take cooking and found that I had a talent for it and loved being in front of the stove even more than on the stage. I started winning awards for my culinary masterpieces, I took the Griller Prize and the Cooker Prize, I won the Stephen Leacock-a-doodle-do award for my roast rooster, and a chicken dish I created, Pullet Surprise, came in first at the Canada Feeds Competition. I was feeling appreciated for my talents again, the only problem was that the kitchen at the hoosegow for some reason only served fowl."
    "Are you saying the food was foul?", asked Grime.
    "Yes, that's what I said, it was all fowl."
    "They fed you foul food?"
    "Exactly! We were fed fowl frequently."
    "So you were forced to feed on foul food?"
    "I wouldn't say forced, in fact I found I favoured fowl."
"Wow," said Grime, "doing time in the slammer is worse than I thought."
    With a confused look in response to Grime's last comment, Rubella continued her story. "The day I was freed from my unfortunate incarceration, I determined that I would follow my new calling by opening my own restaurant. Since all I had learned to cook during my time in the jug was various bird dishes, I decided to name the place 'The Perch' and thought an appropriate location for such a bird-based bistro would be on Gull Rock. In retrospect, this might have been a less than astute business decision. It was bad enough that my restaurant was located on a ledge that was under water for twenty hours a day, but the real problem was that most of the tourists that come to these islands are looking for authentic down-home seafood, the kind served by Lavena's and at The Lodge. Faced with the prospect of losing my chance at a new start, I decided the only way to improve my prospects was to drive my competition out of business."   

    “So I decided to undermine both restaurants,” she continued after what seemed an interminable pause. “You know, try to start a feud between them. With them out of business I'd have the most successful restaurant in the Tri-Island area - at low tide anyway. I placed those calls, it was Me, Me, I tell you, Me.” At this juncture, she broke down sobbing, perhaps realizing what she had done. “Thank god you stopped me before I grilled again!”

    As the unfortunate ex-con was being driven onto the ferry in the back seat of an RCMP cruiser, Gurrey and Grime sat on the wharf and watched in silence. After several minutes, Grime was the first to break the silence. And after the resoundingly flatulent outburst that caused small ripples on the water below, he spoke. “Well I guess we brought that case to a successful conclusion. In fact I guess you might say we put a lid on that stew…we cooked her goose…she got her just desserts…”

    Unable to understand the brilliant wordplay being tossed his way, Gurrey simply sat there, mesmerized by a piece of loose string he’d found on his skirt. Grime sighed loudly.

    “One thing is certain, Gurrey. It would be wrong for us to profit from solving this case.”

    Gurrey scratched his dandruff-laded head, obviously puzzled. “What do you mean Grimey?”

    “Well,” said Grime. “Some people might expectt some kind of thank-you gift from Lavena and Virginia next time they were in those fine eateries. That would be wrong. We solved this case, not to get a large slice of Lavena’s ridiculously delicious peanut butter pie or Virginia’s amazing cheesecake, but because we are good cops, dammitt! Damn good cops. Sure their food is incomparable – nothing like it in the Tri-Island area or anywhere in Nova Scotia, Canada or the world for that matter - and sure we saved their businesses at great risk to our own safety, but that doesn’t matter, dammit! We are cops and the only reward we need is justice – justice, dammit. Sure the fish and chips at both places is mouth-watering and sure the chowder is sublime, but taking a single morsel of those foods would be like taking a bribe – and that would be wrong, dammit!! Can’t you see Gurrey, you poor, simple, lovable, incontinent sap?! We’d be undermining all that is great about the Canadian judicial system to accept such largesse, dammit!!      Certainly they are grateful and let’s face it – they should be grateful – damn grateful dammit! But does that mean they have to treat us to what admittedly for them is just a small, even insignifican bit of their larder of delicious food while to us would mean so much?No dammit! As I said previously, we just can’t go there girlfriend, dammit!! Because as I have reiterated – and I hope forcefully - that would be wrong – wrong, damn it all to hell.”

    Gurrey, drooling uncontrolably and his stomach emitting sounds like those produced by a 1965 valiant with an underpowered slant six engine going up MacIntyre’s Hill in dead low gear, finally spoke, albeit weakly. “Wrong,” he muttered. “Right, it would be wrong Grimesey…even though we haven’t been paid for any of our last five cases, and I personally haven’t eaten in a week, it would be wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong."

    “I’m proud of you Gurrey. I just know those breathtakingly beautiful, generous, intelligent, talented women who own those establishments – well worthy of a sixth star from the Michelin Guide, if you ask me – will continue to produce fine dining for islanders and visitors alike – long after you and I have shucked off this mortal coil. And the way I’m feeling that won’t be long. I’m already faint from lack of food.”

    “But you still say that taking a piece of their pie would be wrong, Grimesey?” inquired Gurrey as he chewed on the bait bag that was protruding provocatively from his bodice.

    “So wrong Gurrey. So very wrong. Dammit.”
    Gurrey looked at his friend and added: "Perhaps some day some talented writers will write stories about our cases Grimesey. Maybe some day they'll go into Lavena's or the Lodge. Would it be ok for them to take this ...what did you call it Grimesey ...largesse?"
"Entirely different scenario, Gurrey my boy," said Grime. "That would be absolutely fine, dammit."