Bozo Investigates Pt 1, a short story by KiwiDreamer. Date added: 2012-07-04. Times viewed: 477.
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- Intro: Returning from India to England as a wealthy young man, Branson who considers himself irrelevant and redundant and can laugh at himself, decides to get some fun out of life but also to achieve some success.
Following the death of his solo mother, Branson Zoss returned to England after serving eight years as gate-keeper for a commune of lesbian European women established and maintained (at great profit) by his mum in an eastern province in India.
With £2,837,000 prudently invested in England, Branson or Bozo as the women at the commune used to call him, knew he could live comfortably on investment income without having to work again. Two-thirds of that income had come from the sixty-three women (one’s lover had recently died) residing at Jarcor of Eden at the time of his mum’s death. The women had expected him to clear off and leave the estate to them but Bozo hadn’t come down in the last shower. He told them to make an offer.
The teeth-gnashing committee representing the community made him a paltry offer that he rejected and he fronted up with three Indian businessmen who wished to establish a brothel on the estate and the women would be invited to work for the right to stay in residence. A bidding war erupted and the lesbians finally triumphed by selling off assets back home.
At thirty-nine, Bozo thought he was far too young to retire and when lazing away days in the air-conditioned guardhouse at Jarcor of Eden he’d often thought what would it be like doing something stupid as a job (apart from gatekeeping). He’d dreamed up a number of proposals and selected one to see how far he could get with it.
Several weeks later in England a recently vacated lingerie shop in the centre of the principal shopping street in the city of 150,000 people opened one morning amid great curiosity, the signage stating, ‘Hire Bozo for Solutions’.
Annie Wench and a photographer from the Morning Echo newspaper arrived as a result of a news tip entered the premises and Annie asked the guy carving a piece of wood, “Mr Bozo?”
“Yes but just Bozo will do.”
She introduced herself and the female photographer with a natty moustache and eyed the bronzed and blonde guy who appeared a little over-fed and wearing dark floral-framed sunglasses and said, “How odd… er I mean the name of your business.”
“Do you think so,” he said, looking at Annie’s chest thinking they were better tits than any pair back at Jarcor of Eden. “That disappoints me because I thought as a reporter you’d be asking me to explain succinctly what I am about.”
“And what are you about?”
“I try to find solutions for people for a fee ranging from £10 to £1100 a day or part-of, depending on my perception of their means.”
“Oh that suggests services ranging from philanthropic to … well extortion?”
“You have outstayed your welcome young lady, off you go.”
“You can’t eject me, we are the media.”
“Fuck the media, off you go.”
The photographer said, “Oh I suggest you have misunderstood Miss Wench. She was just posing a question, not making an allegation, and her attempted apology was less than satisfactory.”
“Ah yes you Bozo, I mean yes Bozo, I failed to make my apology emphatic but do so now.”
“Very well you may stay although I heard no emphatic apology.”
“You need a woman?”
Bozo stroked the front of his pants lightly and asked, “And how were you able to determine that?”
“All professional business people have a woman receptionist.”
“Oh that. Well there’s a desk and chair, phone and computer out the back for her.”
“Ah so you are seeking a female receptionist.”
“No she’ll seek me.”
“Pardon I fail to understand.”
“Have you been out to India Miss Wench?”
“No and I can’t see the relevance of that comment.”
“I’ve just returned from India after eight years there and have taken on board a different way of thinking about things.”
“Aha the Mysterious East.”
“Let me challenge your thinking Miss Wench. If you went from here to India via America, say because you were eccentric, would you say India lay in the East?”
“Oh god, I always got these dumb questions at school and university.”
“I rather like you Miss Wench despite your aggressiveness. You have great tits and speak frankly.”
“I pretend I didn’t hear you mention my breasts.”
Bozo shouted, “You have great tits!”
A woman who’d just entered the office said, “Should I come back later?”
“No it’s okay,” called Bozo. “What do you want?”
“I’m wondering if you want to hire me as a receptionist.”
“Please allow me to deal with the media first and then I’ll be right with you Miss or Madam.”
On the way out after completing an interview that she thought bordered on producing nothing but crap, Annie stopped to talk to the four women now sitting just inside the entrance of the three person sofa.
“May I ask why you all are here?”
They all said they wished to find if the new owner requires a receptionist.
The first woman to have entered then said, “Yes I agree Miss, you have a great rack.”
Still laughing when they reached the footpath, Annie said to Gwen the photographer, “That was unbelievable and if I didn’t know better I would have thought that whole thing was a set-up. It was one of the most challenging and certainly the weirdest interview I’ve ever done.”
“That guy is genuine Annie, I can feel it in my water. Also for a male it was remarkable that he recognised me as a lesbian.”
“What are you a lesbian?”
“Yes but you don’t have to shout it out. Bozo acknowledged me as being of no threat to him whereas he supressed the desire as men do to suck your tits and knew you’d attempt to dominated him and probably try to put him down.”
“My god, I can’t believe what I’m hearing this morning,” said Annie, appearing slightly shell-shocked.
Bozo hired a 50-year old woman called… um… something as his receptionist and the interview published next morning in the newspaper with a photo of him eyeing Annie’s tits was accurate, whacky and very well-written.
At 9:15 a white Rolls Royce parked outside the premises in a no parking zone and a council meter warden scuttled away to avoid having to deal with the situation. The driver remained seated and a slim woman in grey got herself out and came in, ignored the receptionist, and said cordially, “Mr Bozo.”
“Just Bozo will suffice. Please sit and allow me to finish my mini-meditation.”
She said and said she was Lady Hand and waited.
Finally Bozo asked what she wanted.
“Well I thought you might acknowledge my status.””
“Yes of course. How did you gain your title?”
“I married Lord Hand.”
“Well there’s nothing in your social status to your credit is there?”
“God that stands as my biggest put down of the year. Mitzi is missing.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“Mitzi is twelve but she’s a bitch.”
“I understand most daughters are unless they want something from their mother but I guess Mitzi is a dog.”
“You are very intelligent even though I read your degree was only a mere Bachelor of Science.”
Bozo said solemnly he guessed that made them even.
Lady Hand giggled and told him to call her Astrid.
“How much do you wish to charge me?”
“What for finding Mitzi or for sex?”
“Um well for the moment finding Mitzi.”
“Fifty quid an hour.”
“How long will it take?”
“Until people lead me to Mitzi, possibly four hours.”
“But I advertised a reward of five hundred guineas.”
“Nothing apart from a woman calling to say she’d found a lost Greyhound and would that qualify for her to collect the reward.”
“Yes will this is England. Obviously the people in the village don’t look up to the Hands or have the faintest idea what guineas are.”
“No and actually we are below them, in a valley but I acknowledged there’s an underlying arrogance with my family that makes us unpopular and I’m probably the worst. Off you go and find my dog and don’t come back without her.”
“Oh god did I just say that. Now because of that rudeness you won’t have sex with me.”
“No ma’am,” Bozo said, took down brief details and then picked up his keys and walked off arrogantly without saying goodbye. He then went to the chauffer’s window and motioned him to wind it down.”
“Move this car off now.”
“You’re not the law.”
“No but if you don’t move I’ll kick this door in and you can try explaining that incompetence to Lord Hand.”
The car moved off before Lady Hand could grasp the door handle.
“What did you say to him?” she said belligerently.
“I told him what he wanted to know which where was the nearest public lavatory. He complained you guys are never sold fresh fish.”
Bozo drove his pre-owned Rav4 into the village that overlooked the Hand Estate and when into the news agency. The woman behind the counter took in the square-framed floral sun glasses (although it was raining outside) and cried, “Omigod, it’s you.”
Bozo checked behind him to ensure no one had followed him in and said yes.
“Are you here to find a solution?”
“Yes,” he said surprised, not expecting to find an intelligent woman in any village in all of England and especially Wales. A client has stupidly lost one of those small shit-faced dogs and it has been seen in this village. Do you have a call out system you guys unleash to get everyone out on the street?”
“Yes to use in the event of fire, flood or robberies should the Queen arrive unannounced.”
“Well call them out for me. Come on, time is money for me. Hold up the photo of me in the newspaper when you go out to introduce me to your people and announce I’m here on my initial solution mission.”
“Omigod, I’ll be famous.”
“Well that sure would beat being bawled out for triggering the call-out network. How does it work?”
“I call two people and they each call two more shops and so on.”
“God who needs Government when people have the likes of you guys?”
The woman proudly made her two calls and in seven minutes all shop operators were out on the street. Mrs Joyce held out the newspaper and announced, “This is Bono featured in the newspaper this morning and he’s here to achieve his first solution and you all can help. I introduce you to Bono.”
“Hi guys my name actually is Bozo. This won’t take long because I have no wish to unduly disrupt trade in what undoubtedly is the prettiest village in England.”
“Oooh,” chorused the shopkeepers who’d never heard anyone praise their village before.
Bozo held up the photo of the missing domestic canine and people had to file past to see it because it was so small. Finally a young woman with massive tits said, “My neighbour Mrs Young, an old widow, has just purchased a dog exactly like that from a gypsy. She lives at 14 Fosters that’s two along that way and turn left. She’s up four on the right.”
The crowd cheered and Bozo marched forth and half the crowd followed as if he were the Pied Piper.
Mrs Young answered the door and yes said she’d purchased the dog for ten quid. She held out the ugly brute and sure enough the name on the silver studded collar said Mitzi.
“Didn’t the gypsy see the collar,” he asked, thinking it was probably worth 300 quid.
“Probably they didn’t because the little yapper was in a sack.”
“Will you release the dog into my care so that I can return her to her rightful owner?”
“God man I only look dumb.”
“Um fifty quid.”
The woman fetched the sack and tied Mitzi in and accepted the fifty quid and everyone standing in the street cheered.
Even Bozo was quite excited by the successful outcome.
Three cheers for Bozo someone called and even Mitzi yapped to that.
Bozo returned Mitzi to Lady Hand but as he got out of the car the chauffer came running up ready to take a swing at him.
“Stop that nonsense or I’ll tell Lord Hand you’re shagging his wife.”
“Who told you?”
“I’m a fucking investigator you idiot. I’m paid to know these things,” Bozo said, pleased he’d made a lucky guess.
He left after being kissed by Lady Hand and having his genitals grabbed before he had time to twist away. She handed him 500 quid cash and when he tried to hand a bunch of notes back to her she told him to fuck off.
And so he returned to the office and it was not yet noon. Not bad as a cash-productive morning, Bozo thought.
“Hi,” he said to the woman sitting just inside the entrance. “How may I help you?”
“You employed me three hours ago and then just left me sitting here. I’m Dechtire (pronounced deck + tir + ra) Irons. May I have my desk, my chair, my computer and my phone and will you please sign me on.”
“Well you take care of the paperwork; that’s your job. Just give me something to check and sign and Bob’s your Uncle.”
“God you are slack. Give me any money you made for your toil this morning to account for.”
“It was a cash transaction. I don’t account for them, only traceable payments.”
“God you are slippery,” she sighed.
“Um your first name, it’s Welsh isn’t it?”
Sounding deeply offended she said it was Irish.
“Um to avoid making a hash of it every time I try to say your first name, may I call you Decki?”
“That’s what I said. You English always misunderstand the Irish.”
Bozo couldn’t argue with that.
Bozo got Decki set up behind a desk and glancing at her wondered where she kept her tits and then his phone went.
“Do you ball?” asked the female caller.
He smiled and replied, “Yes but only young women who have a slippery… well you know what I mean.”
“Oh good. Would you like to drop around tonight for dinner and then ball me? My flatmate is out of town.”
“Yes sure. Oh who’s speaking?”
Annie Wench sighed.
Bozo arrived without wearing dark glasses. He kissed Annie and followed her in, turning his head to one side to get a good look at her ass sway and he ignored what she was saying as she bounced along.
They entered the living room and he spun her around, pushed her against the wall and dropped to his knees and told her to get her tits out while he pulled down her panties and dunked a couple of fingers.
“Bozo,” Annie bleated.
He looked up at Annie’s alarmed expression and he rose and looked over at the sofa and saw a middle-aged couple who appeared to have been cast in stone.
Annie gurgled, “My parents… unexpectedly.”
“Oh Jesus,” Bozo wailed, and then catching himself smiled and said, “It’s a lovely evening Mr and Mrs Wench.”
They eyed him stonily.
“Annie told me to make sure I acted on my best behaviour to impress you but I decided to act like a real bozo and thereafter you’d see remarkable improvement in me over time and be duly impressed.”
“Get out, leave at once or I’ll throw you out,” Mr Wench said. “You are totally and utterly unsuitable for my daughter.”
“Go to hell.”
“Oh gawd, no daddy, stay seated,” Annie yelled.
“Yes Gareth, stay put,” commanded his wife. “Annie has been complaining she’s not getting enough sex and I’m sure this fine-looking man will keep her filled to the gunnel.”
“He will?” Annie gurgled and Bozo said disbelievingly, “I will?”
“Yes my dears. Annie ensure he gets plenty of red meat cooked rare if he won’t eat it raw.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing such a weird conversation,” Gareth muttered and his daughter said, “Get used to it daddy.”
Annie looked at Bozo and said, “I do declare, you have blue eyes.”
“What you’ve allowed this scumbag to fill you with sperm and yet until know you haven’t noticed he has blue eyes?” asked her disbelieving father.
“Bozo has not had a piece of me yet and for your information he wears dark glasses his late mother gave from her collection during daylight hours because his eyes were unduly strained by more harsh light that he was used to during the eight years he spent in India.”
“I didn’t know we still shipped convicts to India,” said his father. “What were you incarcerated there Bozo? God I never have felt so comfortable using a person’s name that that is so appropriate for him.”
“Oh I’m sorry, was my comment was out of order? But hey could I please have some loyalty here family.”
Bozo said, “I worked for my mother working to keep her large estate secure from ragamuffins and guys out to hit on some of the more than sixty females on the property.”
“Wow that sounds like a big property,” Gareth said. “But they do tend to crowd people together. Did the plantation produce Indian rubber?”
“No the inhabitants specialize in making all kinds of upper-end Indian artefacts that sell as a rip-off of tourists visiting that part of India.”
“What part of India was that?”
“One of the smaller parts. Anyway my mother died of sunstroke. The estate was heavily mortgaged but I had the estate made over to the inhabitants none of whom wished to return to their own countries, all were European, and I sold the interest I’d inherited to the new company that had been formed. And when everything was ticking over well I found a new head of security and came home.”
“Practically penniless and near demented by the Indian sun judging by the nature of the business you have started up.”
“Yes Mr Wench.”
“No Bozo,” Annie cried. “Don’t you dare admit to that. You have devised a wonderful concept and you’ll pick up all the work from people who are rebuffed by Government agencies, the police, private investigators and assorted professions.”
Her mother said, “Will he?”
The surprised Bozo said, “Will I?”
“Yes Bozo, I believe in you.”
Annie’s mum said, “And if you propose to keep my daughter sexually replete I’m prepared to believe in you.”
“Well I’m not. What a fucking charlatan and with the dumbest name in the land. Bozo what? You don’t even have a surname.”
“Sir my name is a utilitarian name and therefore is Bozo as my first name and as my second name. It makes a name like Gareth Wench sound rather prissy and affected.”
“Why you little twerp…”
Bozo stood and cracked his knuckles.
“Come on you over-weight bully. I’ll allow you to hit me just the once and then it’s good night nurse for you.”
“I um feel rather comfortable sitting where I am thank you. Now just to illustrate to you how lousy your work is, Annie said you had your first job today. How much an hour did you make?”
“Well that’s not fair because I’m still setting up and am relying on passing foot traffic and word of mouth to generate custom.”
“Come on, how many hours did you work for how much gross? I’ll work it out for you.”
“Oh this is embarrassing because I only had one job. Very well, I worked three hours and received £700.”
“Crap me stupid!”
Amelia crooned, “Oooh” and his daughter goaded, “That’s my man speaking daddy. Bozo intends to charge international corporations up to £1100 a day or part thereof.”
“Water,” squeaked the insurance company regional manager, his throat running dry.
The parents left as soon as the meal was cleared away.
“Good night Bozo,” Amelia said, kissing him and she whispered, “Give Annie a really good bang.”
Gareth offered a limp hank shake and he whispered, “You may cuddle my daughter but all insertions are prohibited.”
“Yeah and you get fucked too Gareth,” Bozo whispered, and administered a hearty backslap that sent Gareth staggering over to his wife.
They waved off the parents and as Annie closed the front door, Bozo held out his erection and smiled, “What do you wish to do with this.”
“Omigod, is all this for me,” Annie cried, falling to her knees and commenced to gobble her hero, well that part of her hero.
Bozo wondered what the fuss was about. He thought she was thirty-two and must have seen a few decent dicks in her time. Perhaps it was just the tension of her parents being in the way and perhaps she’d though with a name like Bozo he’d have a little dick.
Annie’s flatmate Glenn Mace and boyfriend entered the hallway three hours later and she looked at the nude sleeping couple, sweaty and smelly and four used condoms to the side of them.
“It appears darling Annie had found herself a decent boyfriend at last,” Glenn said.
Ian said, “Annie would have to be big to take all that?”
“Oh I don’t know. I hope to let you know how I manage to take it in due course Ian.”
“Nah just joking love. I want to be able to walk next day. Annie has ridden since she was seven and we all know what horsewomen are like.”
“No?” Ian said, sneaking a second look at Annie’s swollen pussy.
(Series to Continue)
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