Bozo Investigates Pt 6, a short story by KiwiDreamer. Date added: 2012-07-11. Times viewed: 514.
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- Intro: Bozo the ace private investigator and his live-in girlfriend Annie begin talks to find if they both believe implicity they should enter a business relationship and decide if they wish to marry.
Newspaper investigative reporter Annie Wench rolled away from her lover Bozo on Saturday morning to leave the weary guy feeling drained.
“Be ready to go again in two hours,” she yawned.
“What’s this rush to have me get you pregnant?” asked the ace public investigator, unable to figure out this one.
Annie told Bozo about seeing a flash of possible change in her father’s unacceptable and incomprehensible aggression towards Bozo.
“His behaviour is quite acceptable and comprehensible,” Bozo intoned. “I began fucking you without his prior approval.”
“But that’s ridiculous, this is the 21st Century and even daddy knows everyone is immoral these days and that mothers now rule families, not fathers who are showing increasing signs of being redundant although it must be said they do have some potential for being trained as domestic slaves.”
Bozo yawned and was too exhausted to listen to any more such nonsense. He fell asleep and one hour and fifty minutes later scrambled out of bed and that stirred Annie who checked her alarm clock to see the 2-hour deadline was almost up.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
The hounded man, who for the first time in his adult life now thought sex should be for other people, mounted a brilliant diversion.
“I’m off to cook you a breakfast of scrambled eggs with potatoes and folates (green vegetables such as spinach) and topped with folic acid to increase your conception chances.”
“Oh darling,” Annie purred.
She opened up immediately she finished breakfast for another hour’s romp and then said, “It’s Saturday and I’m willing to cut a deal: you have the opportunity of increasing the gap between sex from two hours to six hours if you now talk business with me.”
“Business, it has to be business,” called Bozo, swaying on his skinny legs.
Bozo sat with a beer and Annie a glass of warm milk as she related her conversation the previous night with her father when she’d told him she’d marry Bozo as soon as she became pregnant.
“Marry?” Bozo said in surprise. “You only said you wished to become pregnant. There were no strings attached.”
“Well I’ve change my mind. It’s either sex, pregnancy and then marriage or you can sleep in the guest room.”
“And what would I do alone in there?”
“Do what men all over the world do when alone; they become warmer and feel wanted by caressing their first and greatest love.”
“And who’s that?” Bono said sounding puzzled.
“Oh,” he grinned and blushed.
His colour returned to pasty white and he negotiated a compromise: they’d talk business in return to having sex like all couples around the world do and that was limiting sex for ten minutes every eight hours or so.
Annie was about to reject that idiotic restrictive timetable when Bozo said cutely, “With a return to our normal rhythm after a three-month trial.”
Annie’s mother had told her it could take him from six months to two years to become pregnant for the first time and thereafter she was liable to conceive every time she opened her legs unless she were protected. Annie would also increase her chances of conception if she put on more weight.
She’d complained to her mum, “But how can I put on more weight when I already eat whatever and whenever I like and often drink beer and yet my weight never fluctuates?”
Amelia said she knew of two proven methods.
“The first is to stop moving your bowels regularly and the second is to go on a slimming diet.”
“A slimming diet, are you crazy?”
“Darling I watch women on late afternoon TV every week bawling when confessing they are still putting on weight because none of the diets, including those pushed by high profile dieticians, really work.”
Annie, despite being highly educated and known for her calmness and rational thinking, looked at her mother, eyes shining like a disciple, and she cooed, “Oh mummy, that’s ingenious thinking: ‘go on a diet to stack on weight’.
She later began to doubt the veracity of such philosophy but when she told Bozo about her mother’s claim, her commitment to follow such a regime locked into place when Bozo cocked his head and said, “Yes I see substance in your mum’s theory. Fat women are always complaining diets never work.”
A day after Annie began her chosen diet she jumped on to the floor scales and couldn’t believe she’d stacked on seven pounds in just 22 hours but then she remembered she had forgotten to remove her overcoat before weighing.
At their business meeting, Annie told Bozo that her dad had suggested a way to break the impasse of which of them should be the managing-director of Bozo’s business.
Bozo said suspiciously that her father didn’t like him.
“Oh you bozo, don’t you see it? If you succeed in business then I succeed and that will elevate you to a new height with daddy.”
Bozo frowned and scratched under his left armpit and said he saw nothing although Annie, who usually was accurate in things, had said ‘don’t you see?’
She tried again. “Theoretically do you gain the concept of what daddy is getting at?”
Bozo’s mind was great on theory and he said triumphantly, “Yes I see clearly. You father knows when I admit you into the business and you are richly rewarded financially, then he can hit you for loans that he’ll never repay.”
Annie sighed and said her father was an honourable man, theoretically.
Bozo appeared unimpressed by that disclosure but he was impressed when Annie said her father had suggested they take the titles of joint managing-director.
Astonished, he asked why they hadn’t thought of that.
“I was wearing that white dress that almost shows my nipples that day, remember.”
He grinned and said, “Yeah the one I call you best negotiating dress.”
They reached agreement that Annie would come into the business as joint managing-directors.
Moving on to the next question to resolve, Bozo said, taking on the appearance of studying a ceiling fan in India, “Let’s discuss how to incorporate you within the business should I approve of you admission?”
“I manage Mrs Irons, install a proper system of admin because you have stuff in shoe boxes scattered everywhere and I raise the profile of our business expeditiously.”
“Who needs a profile when the Daily Mail journalist who interviewed me, informed their billions of readers that in person I appear as a cardboard cut-out. Don’t you understand Annie, every top investigator desires to be a cardboard cut-out so he or she can flit in and out of everywhere practically unnoticed and then within minutes anyone who did focus on them can’t remember seeing them?”
“God is there any investigator that good?”
Actions are said to speak louder than words. Bozo puffed out his chest a little and Annie groaned, “Oh god, I should have known the answer to my question.”
Then Annie turned Bozo, master sleuth, into a quivering mass of jelly when she told him of her dad’s suggestions of forming the investigation business into a public company or alternatively into a franchising company with the prospect of making millions.
“You look less than happy about those great ideas,” she said.
Bozo practically sobbed when he said his business was really not a business but a hobby to keep him occupied with more than a touch of philanthropy involved.
“I already have several million quid and need to redistribute some of it.”
“You what?” Annie said, he mouth forming into a big O.
“Yeah I have more money that I can sensible spend in a lifetime. But I choose not to take the route of flitting from place to place with a good looking babe on each arm.”
“Thank god for that,” said Annie. “Am I likely to see any of this money?”
“You are already living with me in comfortable laid-back style.”
“Ah yes. Is there any chance we could buy a new broom and tray shovel to pick up crumbs in the kitchen?”
“No I consider my mother’s old ones that she purchased before I was born are family heirlooms and are best used. But I suppose I could splash out on a new Bentley Continental GT for you.”
“No thanks, how revolting. I love my old car.”
“What about a new bejewelled dress that actually hangs off the nipples?”
“Hmmm. Okay providing I only wear it at home.”
“Done deal. The other deal I’m offering is you can come into the business as joint managing-director and take over from Deedi or whatever her name is and help me on investigations.”
“But Dechtire is an abandoned mother of four children between the ages of eight and fourteen. You can’t sack her just to give me a job.”
“Well how about I set you up in a business of your choice?”
Annie asked suspiciously, “What sort of business?”
“How should I know when it’s your choice?”
“Oh. May I have time to think about it?
He nodded and she looked at the clock and sighed that she had another five hour to wait.
“Our agreement said nothing that prevents us to agreeing to extra bouts of sex.”
“Oh darling, you’re the best bozo in the entire world,” Annie said, throwing the skirt of her loose housedress over her head and falling back on to the table to be balled.
Annie set off for the office on Monday morning trying to think as running a business in which she’d be competent.
Prostitution or rather running the business could not be considered because her mum, who lied only to her husband, would be embarrassed when asked by her friends, especially at church, what was lovely Annie working at these days.
She spotted a cop sending her a friendly wave and waved back and smiled and wondered could she win a job in cop shop PR without having to go through the humiliation of training that probably involved mass showering with other recruits, some of whom were bound to be sexually loose.
Becoming a tax consultancy business owner was out because she could never get her own tax right and similarly running a TV repair business would unsuitable because like all females her age and older, she didn’t have a clue how to operate a video recorder even when TV guys had repeatedly coached her, speaking as if speaking to a child.
Annie was passing the Farthing Bank on High Street when the bank’s alarm system burst into life and two men, one lugging a big bag, ran from the bank and jumped into a white Land Rover that stalled in two unsuccessful take-off attempts and then roaring away on the third try clipped and trashed a passing police car.
Annie called Bozo and reported what she’d seen and asked, “What will be the robbers’ getaway route?”
“It would help if you told me which direction they took.”
“Oh yes, I suppose you need to know that. North.”
“They’ll turn off left at the Drake Street intersection to avoid passing the Central Police Station and turn right into William Street and left into Shakespeare to get on to the M66 and probably head north because most cops are based south. That’s the best I can do.”
“Thanks and bye darling.”
Annie called the cops and delivered that information and the operations controller sounded excited when Annie said the info had come from Bozo. She then called her newspaper office and reported the heist and logical get-away route.
“Charlie call for the nearest photographer we have out in the field to drop what he or she is doing and get to that interchange to take footage of the car chase. The cops will probably shoot out the Land Rover’s tires just before the Shakespeare motorway entrance at the Sonnet Interchange. Go!”
Annie then jumped out and went to the assistance of the two female cops, probably lesbians, who were trapped in their mangled car while people stood and watched without attempting to go to their aid, presumably because cops were supposed to be trained to take care of themselves.
She signalled to the sergeant who wound down the window.
“Out on a driving lesson are you sergeant?” she purred.
The sergeant who recognised her said, “God don’t report that fact Miss Wench. Just write we were on routine patrol.”
“Right you are. You both will have to climb out of windows because the doors on this heap of shit are jammed. Get your constable to climb out arse first because I can see she’s in a skirt and that will gain absolute attention. That will allow you to make a dignified exit virtually unnoticed serg. Are you on as diet?”
“Yes but all it’s doing is stacking beef on to me.”
The cops had their radio on and routine communications were suspended to keep the channel open exclusively for the effort to apprehend the bank robbers. As Annie assisted the fat-arse sergeant through her window they heard the voice of an excited cop at the scene yell, “Bingo we shot out the rear tires of the Land Rover and as it slewed Car 23 rammed it and is a write off but the Land Rover is not driveable and the three hoods in the vehicle have surrendered without a fight although they appear armed. We don’t think any civilians were hurt but there are two fucking photographers from the Morning Echo here photographing and filming everything. Those newspapers bastards must be tapping our phones.”
“Keep to strict radio operation procedure Constable Owens,” said the communications officer sternly. “For your information Annie Wench of the Echo witnessed the heist getaway and informed us that the gang was most likely heading for the Sonnet Interchange.”
“Gee that bird is awesome? And has great tits.”
“Keep to strict radio operation procedure Constable Owens but city police will agree with your improper observation.”
Annie giggled and patted a tit affectionately.
“Yes indeed, great tits,” said the sergeant, red-faced from her exertion.
Annie said, “Here’s a police vehicle repossession unit to clear your deceased car. Come on, I’ll take you and little honey back to the cop shop.”
* * *
Bozo watched in pleasure Annie being interviewed on Midday TV News about the significant part she’d played in the apprehension of the robbers who’s taken a sizeable haul of money, reputably half a million quid, from the Farthing Bank.
Her account was pretty straightforward as she avoided giving all the good bits to rival media. As Bozo had instructed, she kept him out of it and when the interviewer asked where he was Annie lied blissfully and said, “Oh this is his meditation day.”
“You are making a real name for yourself as being a crime buster Annie.”
“Oh really? My newspaper so under-appreciates me that I think I’ll look for a position elsewhere.”
“Gosh any frontline media organisation would pay big money to recruit you with Bozo on your tail.”
“Miss Franks, Bozo and I don’t talk publicly about anal sex.”
That comment left the TV interviewer embarrassed and confused.
Bozo, watching the telecast from his back porch while exposing his over-stressed dick to the weak but health beneficial rays of the early spring sun, eyed Annie as her interview was abruptly terminated. He confirmed his earlier opinion that her tits looked great on TV even though hidden by sensible loosely tailored business navy blue. He chortled when in great embarrassment the CEO of the bank told Amanda Franks the interviewer he was unable to state how much money had been snatched.
“We never know with any accuracy how much money we have on the premises at any one time.”
“Could you give me an estimate?”
“Because it could be about a million pounds in a slack day to upwards of twenty million quid on a busy transaction day like the last banking day of the month.”
“So these hoods chose a punk day to make their hit?”
“Oh no, our senior teller was under orders of a gunman to produce more cash or else people would get a bullet up their arse, starting with him. Our senior teller broke his key in the lock of the tellers’ reserve cache holding a bag containing seven million quid ready for paying out as it was Pension Payment Day.”
“How big a reward will you offer Miss Wench?”
“For guessing the route the escaping robbers would take and she fed that information to the police who successfully apprehended the gang. You virtually unknown bank will get huge publicity over this because the public don’t like banks that are successfully robbed even if the money is insured.”
“Oh I suppose 50 quid. What’s wrong, don’t you think that’s generous enough?”
The disgusted interview said, “I think 100,000 quid would be more appropriate.”
“That’s too much,” he frowned. “Let’s see, Miss Wench will be offered £50,000, take it or leave it.”
“Oh I’m sure she’ll take it Mr Thrift.”
Bozo fell off his stool he was laughing so much but survived the fall without spilling any beer from the glass he was holding.
Annie called Bozo from the bank where she’d just been handed her big cheque.
“I’ve received eleven emails of job offers including tutoring on anal sex at the Bachelor’s Collective, becoming a non-commission training office with the police, becoming chief of news at the TV station that interviewed me at noon and listen to this, my own newspaper has offered me the position of associate editor in charge of feature pages but I replied it had to be deputy editor in charge of local news and features reporting or it was goodbye Echo. The editor has just replied saying yes, that the incumbent has agreed to take early retirement and the position is mine.”
“But you are scheduled, er pro forma to be joining me as my sidekick.”
“Sorry pal, a great offer but it must be no because newspapers are in my blood. You just pay me a big whack to remain on hand as your consultant and accept that I need to go back on to The Pill until I have settled into my new position on the Echo. Once I have everything ticking over my way I can come off The Pill and eventually take maternity leave providing you are not firing blanks. How does that sound to you?”
“Well as this allegedly is my meditation day I can say I’m happy with everything and go forth my child and do wondrous things.”
“Oh thanks Bozo. Now this is hush-hush. The mayor has just finished talking to me. She wants you and me to receive Barson City’s Annual Top Citizens Award to be presented next month. I accepted and asked could the award be presented at my wedding breakfast.”
“What wedding is that?”
“It will be a wedding where you have to marry me simply because no one else wants to marry you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Women know these things Bozo and you just have to accept that.”
“Actually what I was griping about was you said quote ‘My wedding’ unquote.”
“Omigod what a blooper. What I really meant to say was our wedding. I’ve decided to not be like modern brides and will become pregnant after the wedding.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“No Annie, you arrange the wedding, decide what you will wear, what you want me to wear, the format of the wedding, where we’ll go on our honeymoon, write my speech and oh yes, the most important decision, the betrothed has to decide on the eve of her wedding how many of the bridesmaids the groom can fuck on his wedding day.”
“Are you sure brides allow that sort of thing to occur?”
“Sure thing baby and it’s a wedding tradition, Scout’s honour,” said Bozo, who’d never been a sworn Scout.
After a wonderful wedding that was televised because of the awards presentation and a clip of that was screened on national TV, Bozo and Annie went to Queensland, Australia, for their honeymoon. To Annie’s relief, her Bozo did not catch the clap from any of her four bridesmaids.
They both thought their honeymoon was unbelievably good but even something better was to come for Bozo. No Annie wasn’t pregnant yet but would be soon. They had a stopover going home in India.
“I want to visit the compound of Jarcor of Eden out east,” she declared.
“It will be a piece of crap, run down and unloved,” he said. “You will be disappointed.”
“Something tells me you’ll be flabbergasted and will remember this return visit for the rest of your life.”
“Bollocks,” grinned her devoted husband.
Bozo couldn’t believe it when they stopped in their chauffeured limo waiting for the gates to open after a security check. The security fence around the compound was now electrified and the guard on duty wore a splendid khaki uniform with the rank insignia of captain. He saluted as they passed through.
The quarter-mile avenue leading to the commune living quarters was lined at spaced out intervals by the sixty-eight women living permanently in the commune and all were dressed in blue and black coloured saris except one, the leader now called Camp Mother who wore a white and gold sari and beside her stood a man. Excited that many of the women whom he’d recognised called him by his name and paid homage by holding their hands respectfully over their bosoms, the absolutely astonished Bozo said, “That bearded one is Swami Shiva, founder of the East Jhansi Colony.”
“Gee I knew about the welcome for you but nothing about the swami being here,” Annie said.
Why the swami had this association with the commune was not revealed to the visitors but the visit was memorable for them and included one section that neither of them would ever forget.
Camp Mother Elaine took Bozo to the site where he’d watched the burial of his mother. She’d said before her death she had no wish to return to England, that India was her home now.
Bozo was amazed to find a small temple had been erected over his revered mother’s grave.
“I’ll leave you with your mother for fifteen minutes,” Elaine said, “and then be prepared to be involved in a small ceremony.”
Bozo heard the hum and then it gradually rose in volume and he knew what it was, the humming of the ceremonial march of the women when they went to their non-denominational church on Sundays to give thanks for being allowed to live in India and to be given the freedoms they required in return for living responsibly.
He turned and saw two long lines of women in blue and black being led by Swami Shiva and immediate behind him was Camp Mother Elaine holding the hand of Annie who was in a traditional style wedding dress of the region.
Two women came from the temple with a Sherwani (a long coat-like embroidered garment) and dressed him in it over his existing clothes and one woman whispered, “This has been made with much love for you and for your mother to see you in it on this day. Please take the Sherwani home with you.”
When everyone was in position, Swami Shiva said in perfect English to the couple standing hand in hand in front of the temple over Amelia’s grave, I now confirm your marriage Bozo, in the presence of your mother, and for your Annie, in the presence of your mother-in-law.”
Yes, it was a highly emotional and dignified time Bozo and Annie would always remember.
Annie knows she’d pregnant and is waiting for the right moment to tell Bozo as soon as he returns from finding the Queen’s favourite soup spoon.
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