Jim Grime worked in the gritty, sometimes filthy world that is the life of a private dick. He was used to digging up the dirt on other people, but they say that crap flows downhill and right now it was just about to land on the balding head of one Jim Grime.
Grime and his partner Gurrey were working the lower east side of Brier Island. The shapely dame was leaning provocatively against the Joshua Slocum cairn, twirling her beaded handbag and smoking an unfiltered Export A. "Want me to take you boys around the world?" she hissed between her luscious, inviting lips. She was the kind of dame that men dreamed about while at sea - cheap and easy, like Kraft Dinner.
While frantically digging in his pocket for loose change, Grime approached the dame. Obviously he was about to take her up on her seductive offer. At the last minute Gurrey held back his naïve and unsophisticated partner, "That ain't no dame. And that ain't no beaded handbag, it's a baitbag full of rocks." The Southern Point seductress was in reality none other than a cleverly disguised P. Jack; the evil nemesis of the two brave detectives.
Grime took another look and realized that he should have picked up on the subtle clues. Sure she was wearing fishnet stockings - but the fish were still in them - and from the smell, had been there for some time. Grime recoiled. Gurrey retched. Hoping to take advantage of their weak stomachs, P advanced, swinging the bag of rocks at them.
As the two detectives slowly retreated with the deadly baitbag whistling over their heads and around their ears, they finally found themselves backed up to the very edge of a cliff; before them the dastardly P. Jack, determinedly advancing with his lethal weapon; behind them only a twenty-foot drop into the swiftly flowing and ice-cold waters of Grand Passage. Grime and Gurrey were assessing their chances of surviving a plunge into the salty deep when a piercing scream rent the air.
Suddenly, Jack disappeared in a swirling tornado of black and white feathers. The Peter's Island seagulls, attracted to the unusual activity on the rocks, had suddenly caught scent of the rotting sea life in Jack's fishnet stockings and had attacked en masse. In an instant, Jack switched focus from the detectives as he realized he was fighting for his life against a thousand sharp-beaked attackers. He took a few desperate but futile swings and then ran for his life. Unfortunately - his vision blocked by the vast cloud of birds - he ran straight off the cliff, bobbed once, and then disappeared forever under the frigid and unforgiving waves of Grand Passage.
Gurrey turned to Grime to check that he was alright. Over his shoulder he saw the majestic cliffs of Long Island and just beyond, the enchanting community of Freeport nestled snugly to her bosom. "If only I could get a transfer there," he thought to himself. "Like they say, 'If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.’" The resentment had been festering for some time. Grime had had the benefits of an education at the finest schools that Long Island could offer; furthermore, Grime had grown up in this cultural Mecca of Digby County. Gurrey let go a large sigh and said, barely audibly, "Someday....someday."
While frantically digging in his pocket for loose change, Grime approached the dame. Obviously he was about to take her up on her seductive offer. At the last minute Gurrey held back his naïve and unsophisticated partner, "That ain't no dame. And that ain't no beaded handbag, it's a baitbag full of rocks." The Southern Point seductress was in reality none other than a cleverly disguised P. Jack; the evil nemesis of the two brave detectives.
Grime took another look and realized that he should have picked up on the subtle clues. Sure she was wearing fishnet stockings - but the fish were still in them - and from the smell, had been there for some time. Grime recoiled. Gurrey retched. Hoping to take advantage of their weak stomachs, P advanced, swinging the bag of rocks at them.
As the two detectives slowly retreated with the deadly baitbag whistling over their heads and around their ears, they finally found themselves backed up to the very edge of a cliff; before them the dastardly P. Jack, determinedly advancing with his lethal weapon; behind them only a twenty-foot drop into the swiftly flowing and ice-cold waters of Grand Passage. Grime and Gurrey were assessing their chances of surviving a plunge into the salty deep when a piercing scream rent the air.
Suddenly, Jack disappeared in a swirling tornado of black and white feathers. The Peter's Island seagulls, attracted to the unusual activity on the rocks, had suddenly caught scent of the rotting sea life in Jack's fishnet stockings and had attacked en masse. In an instant, Jack switched focus from the detectives as he realized he was fighting for his life against a thousand sharp-beaked attackers. He took a few desperate but futile swings and then ran for his life. Unfortunately - his vision blocked by the vast cloud of birds - he ran straight off the cliff, bobbed once, and then disappeared forever under the frigid and unforgiving waves of Grand Passage.
Gurrey turned to Grime to check that he was alright. Over his shoulder he saw the majestic cliffs of Long Island and just beyond, the enchanting community of Freeport nestled snugly to her bosom. "If only I could get a transfer there," he thought to himself. "Like they say, 'If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.’" The resentment had been festering for some time. Grime had had the benefits of an education at the finest schools that Long Island could offer; furthermore, Grime had grown up in this cultural Mecca of Digby County. Gurrey let go a large sigh and said, barely audibly, "Someday....someday."
Oh my goodness the story is intriguing need more please...
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