The Case of the Missing Wiener

The sun beat down on San Fran like a corrupt copper beats an innocent man, and heat rose from the baked avenues in visible wavy lines. Over on Hill street, a battered window AC, picked up from the Big Bill's Appliance Repair for two bits and a sad song, spit the last of its cold breath into a sparsely decorated office where a sign on the outer door read, “Casey McSlick – Discreet Inquiries.” Removing a smoke from the top drawer of his pock-marked desk, McSlick thirstily eyed the half-empty bottle of Old Crow. He had been smoking too much and drinking too little. What the hell. He took a quick slug from the bottle and returned it. Cases had been harder to come by than a nun in a bordello, and money was tighter than her chastity belt.

McSlick looked around the poor excuse for an office. Overflowing ashtrays were growing harvests of butts and empty packs littered the floor. The lone file cabinet appeared to have upchucked its contents with manilla folders haphazardly strewn about. He jabbed the cig in his mouth and his hand shook as he struck a match and placed it to the tip, inhaling deeply, then blowing out a cloud which only added to the thick smoke that smothered the space like a blanket of despair.

Looking out the grimy window, through the dirty panes smudged with the filthy fingerprints of the city, McSlick studied San Francisco. His kind of town. There were a million stories out there. Were there a million? Maybe it was two million. If you knew how many people lived here you'd know how many stories there were. Of course, some of those stories would be boring and you wouldn't want to hear them. Anyway, there were a lot. A lot of stories.

Effie Laymore, McSlick's devoted and underpaid secretary entered the inner office. “Hi handsome.“ Effie sniffed about. “Cocktail hour yet?”

“Now, Effie darling, you know I never touch the stuff til 5:00,” McSlick said.

“Yeah, but it usually touches you by noon. There's a lady outside who wants to see you.”

“Client?”

“I don't know, but you'll want to see this one...she's a knockout.”

McSlick's face brightened. “Well, send her in, Effie dear, send her in.” McSlick quickly opened his desk drawer and took a slug from a bottle of Rexall Mouthwash, then returned it just as the woman entered.

McSlick had seen a lot of good looking dames in his time, dames that could spin your head like a whirling dervish, but he wasn't prepared for the broad who entered his office. She was as tall as the Chrysler building and twice as streamlined. A knockout? Joe Lewis would have gone down for the count. Her face was a round puckish affair with a kisser that sported plump lips as red as candied cherries, and those deep blue eyes invited McSlick in for a skinny dip. Her whole beautiful mug was punctuated with a button nose that Frosty would've stolen with a cold heart, and her pert breasts announced their presence with a soft, throaty whisper of strained fabric. Her hips must've coined the phrase “put a wiggle on,” and if her whole package made the news, her gams stopped the presses. This was the scoop: Longer than the Mississippi and just as curvy, those legs made you want to dry hump her leg like a favorite pet, and her pulchritudinous posterior, that callipygian can, delectable derriere, was enough to make a writer have a fit of alliteration. McSlick slowly rose as she entered.

“Mr. McSlick?” she asked.

“Pleased to meet you. And you are?”

“Ivana Wonderbuns.”

“Of course you are,” McSlick said, admiringly. “Have a seat, Miss Wonderbuns,” he continued, gesturing towards the moderately comfortable chair on the other side of his desk. He was sure the chair wouldn't mind. She looked at the chair with distaste. McSlick walked around and wiped some sticky glob from the seat with his handkerchief. Wonderbuns sat demurely in the chair, further stretching the fabric of her burgundy dress which already clung to her figure eight like a wet sweater. She waved her hand before her face to clear the smoke as she coughed demurely. McSlick opened the window behind his desk and then sat down. “What is it I can do for you, Miss Wonderbuns?” McSlick said.

“You're a dick, right?”

“That's right, Casey McSlick, Private Dick,” McSlick answered. “What seems to be the problem?”

Her face filled with a fearful panic, and McSlick fought the urge to go to her and hold her tight and comfort her...and maybe cop a feel. She had that effect on him. Inhaling in short gasps, struggling for air, she said, “It's...someone's...My wiener is missing!”

Let the waterworks begin. Tears flowed freely down the gentle terrain of her cheeks, each one a salty delicacy from a violent sea.

McSlick's face, normally stoic, showed shock and distaste. “Your....excuse me?”

“MY WIENER HAS BEEN STOLEN!” she said between gasps.

McSlick remained silent. His gaze went to the window and beyond, off into the distance of the mean streets. How best to handle her missing wiener? San Francisco was a magnet for the alternatively minded. It took all kinds, he knew, but this was beyond his brain. This was one long jump his noodle just couldn't make. Finally he said, “I'm sorry. You don't look as though you would have a...uh...wiener, and if you did have one, that it would be missing.” And then McSlick added gently, hopefully, “Maybe you're confused, Miss Wonderbuns. Maybe you never had one and that's why it's missing. You follow?”

She looked up, a flash of anger in her rice paddy eyes. “And why shouldn't I have a wiener, Mr. McSlick?”

“Because you're a dame.”

“And why shouldn't a lady have a Dachshund?”

“A Dachsu...” McSlicks face went from dark to dawn. “A dog! You're talking about a dog?”

Wonderbuns snapped at him, “Not just a dog, Mr. McSlick. A show dog. A world champion! What on earth did you think I was talking about?'

“Well, I thought...it sounds silly but....it's just you didn't mention a missing dog till now.”

“Of course I did,” she said, daring him to contradict her. “That's why I'm here.”

“Didn't,” McSlick said, “All you said was you were missing a wiener.”

“I did no such thing. I'm a lady, Mr. McSlick, I wouldn't walk into a strange man's office and start talking about wieners...unless...” her voice trailed off.

“My mistake,” McSlick said, though he knew it wasn't. He'd bet she talked about wieners and talked about 'em plenty. “Tell me about your wiener,” he prodded.

“Dachshund.”

“That too.”

Willie was the most beautiful wiener. As I said, Mr. McSlick, a world champion. Winner of Best In Show at the AKC Grand Championships.”

“What did he win? A week with you in the Caribbean?”

“Excuse me?

“Nothing. So, you named your wiener Willie?”

“Yes. Willie the Wiener.”

“And was there anything else that would have been attractive to a dog napper? Any enemies? Anyone holding something against you?” McSlick inquired, his eyes eating her alive.

“His collar. They may have been after his collar.”

“Something special about his collar?”

Wonderbuns took a deep breath while her breasts took two. “I am from a very wealthy family, Mr. McSlick. When my mother passed, the family's priceless jewelry came to me. After Willie won his first championship, I had his collar encrusted with those jewels, Mr. McSlick. It's priceless.”

“I see. That could be motivation enough. How would you describe your Willie?” McSlick asked.

“He's not a big wiener.”

“It's not the size that matters,” McSlick objected, peeved.

“Well, he is the cutest little Willie...about this long...” she held out her soft hands, palms facing each other about two feet apart, “and about this big around,” she said, making a large circle with her fingers pressed tip to tip.

“McSlick whistled. That big?”

“Oh yes. My wiener has quite a nice circumference. Girth is very important...when showing him, I mean.”

McSlick looked worried. “So, let me get this straight. We're looking for a long, thick wiener with the family jewels attached. Willie may have been taken because he's a world champion and somebody is jealous, or he may have been snatched because of his family jewels, or we could be looking at a coincidence, just your common dog napper, or even a guy who wants to give his little girl a dog with a pretty collar.

“Oh, Mr. McSlick! Can you help me? Can you find my Willie?”

“Sure, we'll feel things out and try to find it,” McSlick said, but he thought it would be like finding love in all the wrong places. His gaze again drifted to the window and out to the expansive, pulsing, throbbing, purple-veined city. It was a big world out there, full of cut-throats, swindlers, thieves, embezzlers, cheats, murderers, and other up-standing citizens. That purloined pup was probably long gone, the collar sold on the black market, it's precious jewels castrated and passed along to the highest mystery bidder. Miss Wonderbuns didn't stand a chance of ever seeing either again, but he wasn't gong to tell her that and risk the taps being turned on again. His flood insurance wasn't paid up. No, she wouldn't see that dog unless some miracle, some freak happening put the wiener and the family jewels right in front of their faces. It occurred to McSlick if he spent half as much time looking for work as he did staring out the window, he's be wealthy. He put on his game face and looked back at Wonderbuns.

“Where was the pup when it went missing?” McSlick asked.

Just then there was a whisper of sound, a soft scraping noise softer than Miss Wonder's buns. They both looked to the outer door, not the outer office door where Effie Laymore painted her toenails pink or whatever the hell she did out there all day, but the door that led directly to the hallway, unmarked, providing McSlick with a quick exit from the inner sanctum.

An envelope sat on the floor, having been slid under the door. McSlick waked to it cautiously and picked it up. He smelled it then held it up to the late afternoon light filtering in through the grimy window. He opened it and read from the paper contained therein.

'You'll never see your wiener again,' McSlick read, and then looked up at Miss Wonderbuns.

“What does it mean, Mr. McSlick?”

“Hmmm,” McSlick mumbled, “It may mean somebody has your Willie in their hands and is setting you up for a ransom.”

Just then another note was slipped under the door. McSlick bent down again and picked it up. He read from the contents. 'I'll choke your Willie to death!'

Miss Wonderbuns broke down. This was just too much for her to take, this unspeakable cruelty, a punishment inflicted by some diabolical, wiener wanking mastermind. “Oh, God,” she wept, “Who could be so cruel, so...evil!

If she was the waterworks before, now she became Niagara, water gushing over the rims of dark lashes like a breached dam. McSlick moved to her and gave her a handkerchief. She wiped her mascara-stained eyes and face, then McSlick took her gently in her arms. “Here, here, Miss Wonderbuns. I'm not going to let anything happen to your wiener. I'll get it back for you. I promise. Now, now.” He patted her back and gently moved some strands of her shimmering auburn hair from her beautiful, vulnerable face. “I'll return your Willie or my name isn't Casey McSlick. I am a private dick, after all. That's my job.”

Another note was slid under the door. “What the...” McSlick said, and then he moved, grabbed it, and read aloud, 'No you wont, McSlick. You'll never find Willie.'

“Wait a second,” McSlick whispered, and he held his finger to his lips to indicate to Ivana Wonderbuns that she should keep quiet. He moved silently to the door and quietly grasping the knob, suddenly jerked it open. He was confronted by a short squat man, balding, sweating, and breathing heavily to overcome his roly poly stature. He was holding a gun, pointed directly at McSlick. McSlick slowly raised his arms as a smile formed on his lips. He began calmly backing into the office as the fat man advanced.

“Took you long enough to open the door, McSlick. It's burning up out there.”

“Mr. Cornholer!” Wonderbuns gasped.

“Hello, Miss Wonderbuns,” the fat man spat, spittle flying from his porky mouth.

“You? But...why?” she said.

“Why?” Cornholer yelped. “Why??? Because my Longfellow is a much finer wiener than your Willie. My wiener should have won best of show at the AKC! And all the tournaments before. But no, always second place for my Longfellow. Second is for losers. Your Willie didn't deserve all those trophies, those ribbons, the thrilled masses of people gathered around admiring your wiener. You shouldn't even have a wiener! What gives you the right??? Obviously, you persuaded the judges with your feminine wiles. Sticking your chest out and wiggling your big bottom. Winking at them and the endless flirtation!”

“Why, Mr. Cornholer, I assure you....”

“Shut up! And god knows what went on behind closed doors, how you must have used your pretty mouth to please them!”

“Hey, hey, watch your tongue, fat boy, just close your head,” McSlick said with no small amount of menace.

“Mr. Cornholer!” Wonderbuns cried.

“Shut your trap, McSlick,” he said. “You're behind the eight ball now.” Then he turned back to Wonderbuns. “You...man eater...you vixen...chippy...you...WHORE!”

In one smooth motion McSlick grabbed the gun in Cornholer's hand and began slapping him with his right. He slapped open palmed, then backhanded, open, backhand, over and over, backing him up until the fat man hit the wall. McSlick then delivered one powerful fist to his abdomen and Cornholer went down whimpering. The gun remained in the possession of McSlick.

“Get up, fat boy,” McSlick said. Cornholer didn't move, but remained a mass of purple jelly on the floor. “I said get up you cheap, dime store hood,” and McSlick grabbed him by his left ear and pulled with great force. Cornholer followed, coming to a wobbly, standing position. “Now sit over by the window, gunsel,” McSlick gestured with the gun, and he pushed the quivering blob in the direction of the chair. The fat man plopped into it, then wiped his tears and snotty nose with his sleeve.

“I want some answers. Where's that wiener? Speak up!” McSlick said.

“I'll never tell,” Cornholer answered.

McSlick slapped him then gestured at him with the roscoe. “I want that wiener. Start flappin your yap or I'll fill you so full of hot lead you'll be pickin' it out of your belly for a week. Now where is it?”

The fat man spit on McSlick. McSlick slapped him repeatedly.

“Stop, stop,” Cornholer begged. “You don't have to be so rough.”

“When I slap you you'll take it and you'll like it. Now you listen to me, fat boy. I want Willie. I want to hold her wiener in my hands or there'll be hell to pay.” McSlick pressed the gat into fat boy's beezer. “Now give it up. Where is the wiener?”

“Please, Mr. Cornholer, please,” Wonderbuns pleaded, “I've got to have my Willie back! You've always loved dachshunds, Mr. Cornholer. You've raised some of the finest wieners anyone has ever seen. Surely you couldn't harm Willie. I know, deep down, you love Willie, almost as much as you love your own wiener. You could never be cruel to an animal, Mr. Cornholer. I've seen the way you are around them. You love to pet and hug wieners. I know. Now, please, please, Mr. Cornholer! Give me back my Willie!

“Over my dead body,” Cornholer said with contempt.

“Hey, wait a second,” McSlick said, his face lighting up as though the proverbial light bulb had just been turned on inside his melon. “That gives me an idea. Hey, Effie! Get in here, and make it snappy!

Effie came hurrying into McSlick's office. “What is it?” she said, and then she noticed Cornholer sitting in the chair. “What's with him?”

“Never mind him,” McSlick said, “Do you still have a pussy?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your cat,” McSlick said, “Do you still have a cat?”

“Sure,” Effie said.

“Do you have it with you?”

“I never go anywhere without it.”

“Quick. Get it and bring it in here. Hurry.” Effie hurried from the office as McSlick crossed and opened the door leading to the hallway. Effie came back in holding her black pussy cat. “Here, Ef, sit at the desk and put your pussy on it,” McSlick said. He then crossed behind the desk and turned on the fan, blowing directly on Effie's pussy cat, sending its animal scent out into the hall.

“What are you doing, Case?” Wonderbuns asked. “Wait and see,” McSlick said, “Okay, be quiet everybody and listen.” McSlick glanced at Cornholer and saw the look of horror on his face, and he knew he had him.

For the first minute there was nothing but the dead sound of a deserted hallway. And then there was a distant rustle...and then some whimpering. The noise grew louder. Soon, there was pounding coming from down the hall. Louder and louder, until the sound of a door crashing open echoed along enclosed space. The sound of four little feet, close together came nearer and nearer, the tippity tapping of tiny paws striking bare floorboards.

And then, miracle of miracles, a wiener dog enthusiastically came bounding through the open door.

“Willie!” Wonderbuns yelled. Willie, seeing his master, ran to her. Wonderbuns picked up her wiener and kissed it all over. “Oh my sweet Willie,” she said. “Where did you go to, huh?” The dog licked her face as she hugged him tight. “Did the evil man take you?” she said, and then added in a baby voice, “Did the wicked wittle man take my snoogie uggams?” Willie's tail beat furiously, happy to be back in Wonderbuns smooth arms and pulled tightly into her welcoming breasts. McSlick wouldn't mind a little of that himself?

“How did you know the dog was here, Casey?” Effie asked.

It was Wonderbuns who aroused me. When she mentioned Cornholer's love for wiener dogs, I figured Cornholer would never leave Willie too far away. He'd keep him with him, where he could keep his eye on him. So I figured Willie was nearby, stashed somewhere so Cornholer could collect him on his way out. In spite of his actions, he really didn't want anything bad to happen to Willie. It was Miss Wonderbuns he wanted to hurt.

“But how did you get the idea? How did you know Willie would come?”

“Simple, Effie. No wiener could ever resist a sweet pussy!

“Oh, Casey,” Wonderbuns said, “You were magnificent!” and then she kissed him, deep and probing and loving. He choked on her tongue a little, but he wasn't complaining. His hand greedily explored her body and hers him. They were intertwined in the mystery of life, lost in the storm of lust, twin volcanoes rumbling from deep within their loins. McSlick held her tighter and she breathed softly in his ear.

“Hey, get a room, you two,” Effie said.

“Separate rooms,” Cornholer said. “Disgusting.”

“We'll go away together, Casey,” Wonderbuns said. “We'll have a June wedding and then sail around the world and visit all the great capitals of Europe. And we'll have beautiful children together, Casey. Oh, I'll be so good to you, Casey. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you. We'll be happy, happier than any two people have the right to be. Please say you will, Casey? Tell me you love me and you'll make me the happiest girl on earth. Tell me, Casey. Tell me?”

“Listen Sweetheart. I never had a dame like you and I don't figure I'll ever have another. We shared some beautiful times together; the laughter, the tears, the joy and the sorrow. Do you remember the first time we met, darling? It was like it was yesterday. I loved you more than anything then and I still do today. But we're all wrong for each other. Can't you see? You come from the right side of the tracks, I come from the wrong side. You were born with a silver spoon, I was born eating with my fingers. Your parents are dead, my parents are dead too. That means our kids won't have any grandparents and I can't do that to them. Don't you see?

“Stop, Casey, stop!” Wonderbuns wailed.

“You drink champagne, Ivana, I drink bourbon; you have class, I have style; you're a woman, I'm a man, oh, it'll never work, don't you see?

“I can't ever leave you, Casey!”

“You can, Ivana, you must. I'll never forget you, darling. Not ever. We had some swell times. Now, I want you to be brave. Take a deep breath, grab your wiener, and walk out that door with your head held high. Nobody can ever replace you in my broken heart. And never forget, we'll always have this day. The day when your Willie came home.”

Ivana Wonderbuns sniffled, then she stood tall and proud. “Okay, Casey. You're right. You're always right, always have been. I'll never forget you, Casey. And if you ever change your mind, just open the door and sit on your desk. Then turn on that fan and I'll be here.” She kissed McSlick once more on his lips, soft and gentle, and there were more words in that single kiss than could be spoken in a lifetime. “Goodbye, Casey. I'll always love you, ya big lug.” And Ivana Wonderbuns walked out the door tightly holding her wiener that she named Willie, gone forever.

Effie wiped a tear from her eye. “That was rough, Casey. You alright?”

“Oh...I'll get over her...someday.”

“So,” Effie said, “Is the bar open?”

A broad smile formed on McSlick's lips. “Set 'em up, Effie dear. Set 'em up.”

The Shapely End