AuthorsDen.com  Join Free! | Login 

 
   Popular! Books, Stories, Articles, Poetry
Where Authors and Readers come together!

Signed Bookstore | Authors | eBooks | Books | Stories | Articles | Poetry | Blogs | News | Events | Reviews | Videos | Success | Gold Members | Testimonials

Featured Authors: John Herlihy, iMike Hartner, iDebby & Gordon Rosenberg, iAnthony Dalton, iP. G. Shriver, iLisa DAnnolfo Levey, iJanice Scott, i
  Home > Crime > Stories
Popular: Books, Stories, Articles, Poetry     

Jay Dubya

  + Follow Me   

· 114 titles
· 115 Reviews
· Share with Friends!
· Save to My Library
·
Member Since: Jun, 2001

   Sitemap
   My Blog
   Success Story
   Contact Author
   Message Board
   Read Reviews

Books
· The Wholly Book of Doo-Doo-Rot-on-Me

· Thirteen Sick Tasteless Classics, Part V

· The Psychic Dimension, Part II

· The Psychic Dimension

· The FBI Inspector

· Prime-Time Crime Time

· Ninety-Nine Novellas, Part II

· Ninety-Nine Novellas

· Shakespeare Salaciously Satirized

· Modern Mythology


Short Stories
· Kandu's Great Discovery

· It's in the Cards

· Doing Bristol

· Growing Young

· The Tadpole and the Caterpillar

· The Music Portal

· Young Goodman Brown (Adult Lit)

· Popular Fairy Tales with a Twist (Adult Lit)

· Lost Identity

· Rich Man, Poor Soul


Articles
· A Self-Analysis (Jay Dubya)

· Being Gay Versus Being A Practicing Gay

· Why Mitt Romney Pays Only 13% and Not 35% Income Taxes

· Public School Socialism

· Wall Street Protesters Don't Value American Capitalism

· Darwin, Einstein and John Dewey

· Environmental Greenies Are Very Dangerous People

· Anti-Health Care Reform Town Hall Protesters

· Oil, Savings and American Politics

· Refrigerators and Vats Can Save Schools Money


News
· Jay Dubya #1 in Hardcover Short Stories

· #1 Humor Book: Jay Dubya (16,091 titles)

· Brazil: Jay Dubya Satires Most Popular

· Jay Dubya: #1 Humor Book (16,144 titles)

· India: Jay Dubya Books Now Popular at Shimply.com

· 6 Jay Dubya Books in Buy.com (Rakuten) Top 100

· Jay Dubya #1 and #2 in Hardcover Action/Adventure

Jay Dubya, click here to update your web pages on AuthorsDen.



Books by Jay Dubya
The Chain Store Solution
By Jay Dubya
Posted: Saturday, June 20, 2015
Last edited: Monday, July 20, 2015
This short story is rated "G" by the Author.
Share    Print   Save   Become a Fan
Recent stories by Jay Dubya
· Life on the Blueberry Farm
· A Young James Bertino Takes A Ride With John Wiessner
· Kandu's Great Discovery
· The Tadpole and the Caterpillar
· It's in the Cards
· Doing Bristol
· Young Goodman Brown (Adult Lit)
           >> View all 35
"The Chain Store Solution" is 1 of 24 Inspector Joe Giralo stories that will appear in the future hardcover book The FBI Inspector.
“The Chain Store Solution”

FBI Inspector Joe Giralo was quietly sitting upon his captain’s chair at his Orchard Street kitchen nook table in downtown Hammonton New Jersey and passively sipping his cup of Maxwell House coffee early on Wednesday morning, June 17, 2015. Wife Gina was already out grocery shopping at the local ShopRite up on Route 30, and FBI agents Arthur Orsi and Dan Blachford were away with their spouses wandering-about on separate much-needed vacations. Agent Orsi was spending the week with wife Carol exploring a rustic Virginia Skyline Drive itinerary while relaxing and staying in the vicinity of Luray Caverns. Meanwhile, hard-working Agent Blachford and his wife Bing were in Massachusetts traveling around upon the Cape Cod Peninsula while staying at an attractive motel in Hyannis.

With the normal departure of two of his trusted assistants, Chief Giralo figured he would casually occupy himself at home performing routine-but-tedious government bureaucratic paperwork while still having the time and pleasure of occasionally conversing with his third trusty associate, Agent Salvatore Velardi. All was evolving in a copesectic manner until the wall phone rang and the shrill ring automatically disturbed the Inspector’s intense scrutiny of the Op/Ed page of the Atlantic City Press. Giralo was reluctant to pick-up the phone from its wall fixture, but after studying the distinguished name “Salvatore Velardi” appearing upon the caller ID readout, the eminent Inspector decided to break the monotony of silence and cordially engage in regular human communication.

“Boss, there’s something urgent I have to tell you about!” Agent Velardi nervously exclaimed. “This morning I…”

“Sal, did you see that atrocious Phillies-Orioles game last night at Camden Yards down there in Baltimore?” Chief Giralo angrily mentioned, momentarily distracting the principal concern of his anxious caller. “It was absolutely abominable. The Phils lost by an incredible score of 19-3. Their amateurish performance was totally disgraceful and shameful. To tell you the truth, I think I’m gonna’ start rooting for the Mets!”

“Boss, I know you like the Phillies even though the club’s having a truly horrible season,” Agent Velardi eagerly interrupted, “but this morning I had the shock of my life. I was…”

“And Sal,” Chief Giralo calmly uttered, completely ignoring his underling’s rather neurotic and mercurial tone of voice, “guess what? The ugly game was so lopsided and so out-of-control that the Phillies manager deviated from standard procedure and brought-in outfielder Jeff Francoeur to pitch the seventh and eighth innings. The entire scenario was more than embarrassing! It was a catastrophic fiasco! I only hope that Ryne Sandberg’s job isn’t in jeopardy. As they sometimes say in the chaotic television world, being in Jeopardy is almost as bad as being in Wheel of Fortune, ha, ha, ha!”

“Boss! Stop changing my damned subject to the Phillies travesty and please listen to me!” Velardi defensively begged. “I was driving…”

“And Salvatore,” Joe Giralo nonchalantly resumed his typically annoying prattle, “the Orioles hit a club record eight home runs during the painful massacre. What a nasty sham that hideous contest was, if it can accurately be described as a contest!” Inspector Giralo vehemently complained. “And the Phils’ best players Chase Utley and Ryan Howard are having the worse years of their careers in terms of batting. Truthfully Sal, it’s all quite horrendous! I feel more than humiliated by last evening’s very sad rendition after being a dye-in-the-wool Phillies fan ever since I was a mere six years old!”

“Boss, excuse my rambunctious petulance but I need to tell you something very important that’s just happened!” Agent Velardi loudly vociferated in an evidently frustrated voice. “As I was explaining, this morning I had driven….”

“Now Sal,” Joe Giralo imperatively stated, re-establishing his notorious authority during the in-progress peculiar dialogue, “as you’re well-aware, Camden Yards is right down the street from Baltimore’s magnificent Inner Harbor, which features great seafood and also a terrific aquarium. Now I plan on taking Gina and the girls down there when I take some time off from the Bureau the second week in July,” Giralo elaborated. “And Salvatore, did you know that right this minute Dan and Bing are probably taking the ferry from Hyannis over to Nantucket Island to visit the Whaling Museum and that Arty and Carol are probably ready to wander around the Shenandoah Valley in search of some sublime tourist adventure. Now then Sal,” the Chief continued and then paused, attempting to catch his breath, “exactly why are you so motivated to buzz me on the horn at 8 a.m. on this lazy Wednesday morning. I told you yesterday that you could sleep late and then rendezvous with me for a noon lunch at the Silver Coin Diner. In fact,” the talkative Inspector pontificated, “I have a fairly brilliant idea and will convey it to you. Here’s a change in arrangements. Why don’t you meet me at the Silver Coin up on the Pike in fifteen minutes and then you can reveal to me this vital matter that seems to be dominating your erratic emotions? And then afterwards, we’ll discuss the possibility of Dan and Bing taking noteworthy photos’ of the Kennedy Compound up in Hyannis!”

“Okay Boss, but you must be a relative of the late Frank Sinatra! As usual, you win and have it your way! And I think it’s too bad that you’re a century or so too late for being a ludicrous and mediocre Vaudeville stage comedian!” the fully distraught agent speaking on the other end of the line undiplomatically asserted. “As you’ve just constructively suggested Chief, I’ll meet you in the diner’s parking lot at precisely 8:30. And frankly, I must confess that I’ve never been so miserable in all my life! Now Boss, here’s my basic problem. I’ll be driving my wife’s black Nissan Altima simply because my new silver Nissan Murano has just been maliciously stolen!”

“Sal, do you have remote control garage doors?”

“You know that I do!” bellowed back Agent Velardi. “What’s that simple reality got to do with the price or olive oil in Sicily or the amount of exportable tea in China? My SUV was not snatched from my garage! It was taken from...!”

“We’ll meet in fifteen minutes at the Silver Coin!” the Inspector’s terse-but-vague voice insisted. “I hope you still have an appetite.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Inspector Giralo guided his Chevy Suburban into the Route 30 1950s art deco-styled Silver Coin Diner, the Boss immediately spotted impatient Sal Velardi parked in his wife’s black Nissan Altima. The pair simultaneously emerged from their respective vehicles, shook hands and true -to-habit, the Chief initiated the discussion, his bothersome drivel again concentrating on minor irrelevant details.

“Back in the ‘60s, this building was then the Scaffidi Diner and conversely, the Midway Diner, which is now the Midway Medical Building down the highway, well anyway Salvatore,” the Inspector proceeded to recollect and communicate his specific immaterial, trivial jargon, “the new owner Gus really jazzed-up this landmark edifice, especially the bathrooms, adorning them with fancy tile and exquisite marble.”

“Gus the Greek really did a splendid job renovating the place for us Italians, all done in a very Italian town,” Agent Velardi keenly quipped. “Kathy and I either eat here or, when we want great Italian cuisine, we go down the road to the Maplewood.”

“Yes,” Inspector Giralo pleasantly concurred with his still-upset companion. “Both the Silver Coin Diner and the Maplewood Restaurant highly benefit from the heavy traffic coming south from 206; of course the hungry motorists and their thirsty passengers are eager to get to the Atlantic City casinos. Now let’s step inside this popular establishment so that you can tell me all about your recent automobile purloining conundrum! Say Sal, did I ever tell you that the last time I had vacationed in Hyannis was on Gina’s and my second wedding anniversary. We ate at a place called the Priscilla Mullins. I forgot to recommend it to Dan before he ventured north. On second thought, the restaurant might no longer be in business.”

The two government officials entered the well-designed retro’ building and were promptly escorted by the cute hostess to a remote booth in the diner’s rear room. A newly hired brunette waitress, who politely introduced herself as Bianca, quickly poured two cups of freshly-brewed coffee and enthusiastically jotted-down the men’s orders of burgers and French fries. After the ambitious waitress departed their booth, the anticipated verbal exchange between the newly-arrived Silver Coin patrons ensued.

“Sal,” Inspector Giralo began his non-sensational preamble, “why didn’t you inform me right away this morning that your precious car had been so expertly pilfered. Instead you preferred engaging in impertinent small-talk about the Phillies debacle suffered at the hands of the Orioles down at Camden Yards last night.”

“Well Boss,” Agent Velardi disappointedly answered, cleverly feigning a courteous apology, “I suppose I had experienced trouble getting to the crux of the matter, which is a rather poor practice that I must ardently learn to correct.”

“Well now,” Chief Giralo continued his unspectacular oratory, weakly disguised in a subdued and soft narrative, “things could have been much worse. Always perceive the glass as being half-full, that’s what I staunchly maintain! For instance, instead of sulking about your car being hijacked, be happy your house didn’t burn-down!”

“You’re right about that salient observation Boss,” the still-upset federal agent bluntly acknowledged, abruptly shrugging his’ broad shoulders. “While you were preoccupied watching the Orioles trouncing the Phillies last night, Kathy and I had journeyed east to Harrahs Casino to spend the night. We had planned to do a little gambling and to see a show. When we eventually returned to Hammonton at 7:30 this morning, we vigilantly stopped at A.T. Auto Clinic on Fairview Avenue and we were instantly met by the owner Louie who…”

“Who had just discovered that your newly serviced SUV had been successfully swiped by some downright greedy crooks,” the alert listener concluded and declared. “And of course Salvatore,” Joe Giralo stressed while slowly scratching his right eyebrow, “Louie had already notified the Hammonton Police about the audacious and inexplicable grand theft auto episode.”

Agent Velardi then further revealed that honest and reliable Louis Tedeschi had sworn that he had never before had a car stolen from (or ever vandalized inside) his open asphalt parking lot in over thirty years of doing business in Hammonton, and the outspoken mechanic wished that the thieves responsible for the illicit heist ought to spend at least twenty years of solitary confinement in austere penitentiary cells as deserved punishment atoning for their brazen felony.

“From your graphic description Sal,” Joe Giralo assessed and commented, “this’ rather bold-faced crime you’ve just described sounds like a professional Mafia larceny operation to me. Here comes Bianca with our fast food lunch orders. After we consume our meals, I want to accompany you over to your residence and closely examine your garage door along with your remote control access.”

The men eagerly ate their delicious early lunches and then drove their respective vehicles over to Salvatore and Kathy Velardi’s Peach Street home where the black Altima driver soon raised the second garage door by touching the convenient button situated directly below his rear-view mirror. The government men exited their cars and then entered the half-empty garage, now devoid of the much-valued and highly-cherished silver Nissan Murano.

After carefully examining the remote control mechanism upon the back wall, Inspector Giralo delivered a quite surprising oral statement to his loyal subordinate. “Well Salvatore, everything seems to be in order. I’ve developed a unique hypothesis about what probably happened and how your expensive car had been snatched, but I’ll reserve my making any plausible evaluation until the appropriate time; that is, when I’m thoroughly certain of the general extenuating circumstances. Until then,” Inspector Giralo related to his bewildered and puzzled associate, “I’ll prudently reserve judgment and keep my off-the-beaten-track theory all to myself. What has appeared to you my dear Salvatore as being a remarkable theft might in actuality only really have been several perceptive felons taking advantage of a tempting opportunity and therefore, daringly enacting a slightly bizarre crime that only required a rather fundamental knowledge of a certain electronic operating device.”

“As usual, I’m entirely baffled by your all-too-confident, nebulous sagacity,” an astounded Agent Velardi lividly replied. “Sometimes Boss, your rambling language makes both me and my intelligence feel totally inadequate and inferior!”

“Your current dilemma Sal is plagued by the fact that you’re being too subjective about your regrettable loss,” Giralo determined and garrulously shared, “and obviously, in your mental condition you can’t be objective, and quite candidly, you aren’t thinking in a true detective mode because you’re personally involved in your car loss, and you’re thinking emotionally instead of rationally.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

For the next several days Chief Giralo assiduously applied his time doing meticulous Internet and FBI computer work in a dedicated effort to sagely solve Agent Velardi’s mysterious car theft. On Saturday at ten o’clock the now-paranoid larceny victim received a call on his cell phone from his enigmatic superior.

“Hi Boss,” the perplexed agent answered. “Are you going to remind me how disgusted you feel ever since the Orioles almost swept the Phillies in the Citizens Park home game series and how infuriated you are that the Phils have now lost fifteen of their last twenty games? I’ll drive you over to the drug store for some aspirins if you ask me to render that errand for you. Don’t feel isolated! I think I need a few miraculous pharmacy tablets to swallow-down too!”

“Don’t forget Salvatore, tomorrow is Sunday, June 28th. You, Arty, Dan and I are scheduled to work the Lions Club charity tent at the annual town Blueberry Festival. Rest-up so that you can sell all those delectable muffins, strudel, pies and turnovers!”

“Is that why you’ve called me?” peevishly protested Velardi. “Here I’m anguishing about my missing SUV and now you have the unsolicited audacity to remind me of something that’s presently totally irrelevant to me that I already know!”

“Salvatore, I believe I have this new-found stolen SUV case cracked. Meet me at Casciano’s Coffee Bar and Sweetery in half an hour. Linda makes the most scrumptious bacon and scrambled egg on warm Italian bread sandwiches I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting. In fact,” Joe Giralo articulated in his inimitable parlance, “I’m in such an ecstatic mood right now that I’ll gladly treat you to lunch!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

FBI Agent Sal Velardi and Inspector Joe Giralo greeted each other in the town’s Vine Street parking lot opposite the historic Eagle Theater and with an on-a-mission cadence entered Casciano’s Coffee Bar and Sweetery via the eatery’s glass back door. Linda Cashan, the business’s entrepreneurial proprietor, intercepted her friend the Chief Inspector before he and his agent could ever approach the main counter, and then after a few perfunctory complimentary salutations, the well-mannered lady swiftly escorted the federal patrons to the only table and two accompanying chairs situated outside the front window of the 212 Bellevue Avenue coffee shop. After taking two duplicate orders of the famous bacon and scrambled eggs on warm Italian rolls entrees, the suave owner reentered her place of business to personally prepare the selected coffee and dual food items.

“Really nice with us detective gurus sitting out here on Route 54 and breathing-in all of the toxic carbon monoxide fumes coming from the eighteen wheelers, most of them originating from Vineland and Bridgeton, hauling freight up to New York,” bristled Velardi, just as a massive semi-truck motored by. “Aren’t there any better ways on this planet to get asphyxiated? We might as well be sitting inside Mt. Etna and enjoy inhaling the lethal fumes! Boss, you should’ve been more considerate and creative and should’ve brought along two vintage World War II gas masks with you?”

“Privacy does at times have its detrimental consequences,” introspectively admitted the Inspector. Seeing that his valued comrade was still distressed about his confiscated SUV, Giralo endeavored to change the subject from environmental fossil fuel pollution to Sal Velardi’s disastrous casino experience. “Did you have any good luck playing the slots and tables at Harrahs? I presume that you and Kathy had stayed overnight at the gaudy tourist trap and had driven back to Hammonton the following morning in the Altima while Louie Tedeschi was busy servicing your silver Murano that, if I recall, you had purchased back in early January.”

“That’s generally what happened, including our unbelievable bad luck on the casino floor,” promptly acknowledged the veteran agent. “Just like Arty down there in Luray and Dan up in Cape Cod, as you know Boss, I too have taken the week off. I figured Kathy and I would rest and take a couple of day trips down the shore to soothe our frazzled nerves. Then this wicked and detestable SUV dilemma occurred, and I gotta’ confess that it has really rattled my spirits in a negative manner!”

“Well, if it’ll alleviate your rampant apprehensions,” Inspector Giralo uttered just as Linda Cashan was delivering the men’s coffee and warm sandwiches, “I’ve adroitly performed some essential research and in the process, I’ve isolated the scoundrel organization along with the dastardly culprit who had committed the unfortunate crime at hand.”

Agent Velardi was staggered beyond belief upon hearing his erudite Boss’s rather startling revelation. The stunned FBI man purposely ceased his incessant chewing and then sternly demanded that his often-surreptitious Chief fully disclose what his extensive research had amazingly uncovered.

“Well Salvatore,” Giralo shrewdly cloaked and prefaced his explanation, “it all happened when I was inside the Hammonton Wal-Mart standing in the outdoor garden department while looking for a comfortable summer porch chair, the same kind that Arty had bought for $35.00. I then overheard two Mexicans, apparently crewleaders in town for the June blueberry picking season, suddenly locating some insect repellent situated upon a high shelf. The first fellow said words to the second one, something like, ‘Mira! Aqui! Tu compras eso’!”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” sarcastically criticized the rattled stolen car victim. “I hate to sound too cynical, but your language is borderline insanity! I never studied Spanish in high school, so what in tarnation do those words mean in translation?”

“They mean ‘Look! Here! Buy this’!”
“What does a can of insect spray have to do with my pilfered Murano?” grieved Agent Velardi in a gruff, un-politically correct baritone. “In all honesty, I think you’re ready for a long incarceration at Ancora State Mental Hospital!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” volleyed-back a mildly insulted Joe Giralo. “I’m deeply serious about my on-the-money Spanish interpretation. Simply focus on the word ‘Aqui’, which incidentally is what inspired me to easily unravel your seemingly complicated felony. The nomenclature sounds very similar to the phrase ‘a key’ in English; in fact, my mind instantly focused on your Nissan ‘Smart Key’. Now then Salvatore, did you have any visitors or repairmen arriving at your domicile between Monday morning and Wednesday afternoon?”

“Why yes!” Agent Velardi reflexively verified. “My distant cousin Buster Branca, who now owns a small appliance store over in Egg Harbor, delivered and installed a new washer and dryer in my laundry room; that is, after gingerly removing the old appliances. Now just because Buster was once affiliated with the Philly’ Mafia twenty long years ago,” the FBI man adamantly stated, “my relative has done his required jail time and has solemnly promised to lead a straight life after being released by the merciful warden after doing half his sentence for exhibiting good prison behavior.”

Inspector Giralo then very deliberately divulged to his stubborn colleague that Louie Tedeschi was an honorable and reputable automobile mechanic and had been quickly eliminated as a prime suspect in the extraordinary car larceny caper. The Chief then reminded his competent agent that twenty years prior to that current June date Buster Branca needed money to pay-off colossal mob gambling debts and had savagely robbed a prominent blueberry baron of a twenty thousand dollar horde of cash taken from the family safe, the wealthy grower’s handsome sum being designated for a Friday afternoon farm worker payday.

“The scared-to-death husband and the wife were cruelly tied to the mansion’s staircase bannister; Buster and his fellow thugs had used thick telephone cords, and then the petrified couple’s mouths were gagged with dirty handkerchiefs, and next the victimized pair was subsequently threatened at gunpoint,” Giralo bluntly related. “My diligent computer research has proficiently detected that your unscrupulous and unethical distant cousin Buster Branca has again accumulated enormous gambling debts and as a result, has been specifically targeted to being snuffed-out by the ruthless Philly’ syndicate; that is to say, if those long-term, huge horse-race debts are not completely satisfied.”

“Well then, how did you ever narrow-down the list of potential suspects to good old Buster Branca?” Agent Velardi incredulously asked his mentor. “There still remain too many unidentified pieces to this fantastically mendacious theft cryptogram! And kindly divulge exactly how this matter of ‘a key’ directly fits into the whole un-majestic scheme of things.”

Inspector Giralo momentarily stared at his companion and next slowly communicated that seven other SUV heists had recently transpired inside other wealthy suburban communities in New Jersey, in Delaware and in the Pennsylvania, which would naturally bring the FBI into the crime-wave equation by virtue of the felons crossing state lines. But the real ‘key’ had occurred when the thorough-and-efficient Chief had carefully inspected the remote control buttons inside the two-car garage at 633 Peach Street.

“Salvatore,” Giralo attested after gulping-down the last savory bit of his bacon and egg sandwich, “when I had initiated my preliminary investigation inside your garage, I aptly noticed that you have the old-fashioned type of garage door buttons attached onto your composition-board wall. Your remote control doors can be opened outside by any decent electronic scanning device that runs a series of signals and then easily deciphers your home’s special code. Your obsolete operating system lacks the advanced security features of the newer models!”

“So according to your wholly sophisticated theory,” the suddenly enlightened agent determined and enunciated, “my undependable and devious cousin Buster Branca had coyly observed the second set of car keys hanging upon the laundry room wall when he had delivered the new washer and dryer. But how could the unpredictable maniac manage to borrow the reserve set of keys, steal my treasured Murano from Louie’s asphalt lot and then get the new keys back inside my house during my overnight absence at Harrahs Casino? Are you saying that Buster has one of these electronic scanning devices?”

“As you know Salvatore, if your car stays at A.T. Auto Clinic overnight, Louie keeps the original set of keys locked away inside his office safe,” Inspector Giralo convincingly revealed and indicated. “Now apparently, Buster Branca was knowledgeable of your mechanic’s precautionary ‘key’ practice too! So the slippery scoundrel used an advanced electronic scanner to open one of your non-modern garage doors. Branca entered your home and next, the non-reformed gambling addict temporarily acquired your second set of SUV keys. After doing that,” Inspector Giralo emphasized, “the cunning knave lowered your garage door with his’ special scanner and then driven by an anonymous friend, the duo traveled over to Louie’s mechanic shop to illegally obtain your SUV, which Buster probably had perceptively seen parked there earlier in the day. Then the misguided twosome drove from the A.T. Auto Clinic on the Pike and…”

“And my car was probably driven to a Mafia chop-shop over in Philly’, repainted and then sold at a bargain discount to a pernicious used car dealer, who would then legitimately or illegitimately get a new VIN and complementary auto’ registration for my Murano’s resale. And after again secretly using the electronic scanner, my corrupt cousin next furtively replaced the borrowed second set of keys back onto their hanging hook in my mudroom before swiftly abandoning the premises,” G-man Velardi logically comprehended and finally ascertained. “What a preposterously exasperating and reckless criminal enterprise!”

“That just about summarizes the ultimate fate of your lost Murano,” Inspector Giralo remarked before sipping the remainder of his flavorful coffee. “I trust you have sufficient gap-insurance to cover the balance of your expensive investment.”

“Has Buster been arrested anywhere in the Delaware Valley region?” Salvatore Velardi hesitantly inquired, instinctively gritting his teeth about being naïve when the Peach Street resident should have been more distrustful and vigilant. “The felonious jerk was so arrogant and so stupid that he probably has been involved in various car thefts in three different states and as a result of his previous on-file record, my questionable cousin was particularly vulnerable to astute FBI detection along with the fool being tracked by Tri-State police department surveillance.”

“It’s my pleasurable duty to inform you that your infamous cousin will be apprehended Monday afternoon at Philadelphia International Airport,” Inspector Giralo chuckled and then broadly grinned. “He’s returning home on U.S. Air, fully clueless about his inevitable fate, arriving as an unassuming passenger on a regular flight from Las Vegas, the renowned gambling mecca where the nefarious rogue also owed the West Coast mob some fairly significant debt obligations. It appears that your imbecile cousin keeps robbing Peter to pay Paul without ever figuring-out how to ever become Paul!”

“So Boss, you’re saying that I’ve allowed a dumb imbecile cousin of mine to steal my sacred SUV! To capsulate the whole weird story in a nutshell, my un-illustrious moronic cousin had treated my Home-Sweet-Home as if it was an unprotected computer, and the heartless villain had then diabolically hacked into my non-secure two-car garage. I can’t believe I had been so gullible!”

“Yes Sal,” Giralo affirmed, clearing his throat, “and Buster’s sinister yet-to-be-identified accomplice foolishly followed Branca and your Murano into Philly’, dropped it off at a cooperative chop shop, and then the punk helper drove Buster back to your Peach Street home while you and Kathy were still in Atlantic City. Your hoodlum cousin guilefully entered the house by means of your’ targeted garage door, and after utilizing the electronic scanning device, the small-time crook deposited the second set of keys back upon the appropriate wall hook, and after accomplishing that simple task, then your unscrupulous kinsman sneakily lowered the garage door, the successful crime culminating with the craven pair merrily hopping into their get-away car and proudly and jubilantly departing your violated property.”

“I should’ve never told Buster that Kathy and I were going to spend the night at Harrahs Casino!” grumbled Velardi. “I should’ve known better. As is often said, a person can pick his friends but not his relatives!”

“Of course Sal, much of my narrative about Buster Branca’s activities is still predicated on conjecture,” Giralo confirmed, “but in the final analysis, I believe that most of my speculation will prove to be exactly what had occurred while you and Kathy were away thirty miles east in Atlantic City.”

Just then, right before the boss’s lips could formulate another reasonable anecdote to share, the FBI men’s ongoing dialogue was rudely interrupted with the loud rhythm of Inspector Giralo’s cell phone, which was soon answered on the second ring.

“Oh hi Arty. How was your little hiatus down there at Luray Caverns? Isn’t that scenic Blue Ridge Drive exceptionally panoramic this time of year? Did you take lots of pictures at the numerous mountain overlooks along the way? Tell me. Are you ready and rested enough to work the Lions Club concession at tomorrow’s hectic Blueberry Festival?”

“Forget the all-too-mundane sanctimonious small-talk,” objected an extremely mortified and agitated Agent Arthur Orsi. “I’ve just pulled into my driveway, raised the garage door with my remote control device and lo and behold, my wife’s new Toyota Camry is gone! Vanished! What a horrible nightmarish calamity!” the disgruntled caller yelled. “Don’t antagonize me Boss because right now I feel greatly devastated and completely exploited!”

“Mira! Aqui! Tu compras eso!” riddled-back the now-jovial Inspector Giralo in very poor Spanish. “Aqui!” the wily FBI Chief soon intentionally reiterated to his always-trustworthy but now-beleaguered phoning disciple, much to the total befuddlement of already excessively flustered Agent Arthur Orsi.

Jay Dubya

Google: Jay Dubya Book, Books

Other Inspector Joe Giralo stories are found in the Jay Dubya books: The Psychic Dimension, The Psychic Dimension Part II and in Prime-Time Crime Time.


       

Web Site: Jay Dubya Books  

Reader Reviews for "The Chain Store Solution"


Want to review or comment on this short story?
Click here to login!


Need a FREE Membership?
Click here to Join!


Reviewed by m j hollingshead

enjoyed the read
Reviewed by Ronald Hull
Once again as I read, your adjectives and adverbs remind me of comic books and their TV offshoot, Batman.

I checked out Casciano’s Coffee Bar & Sweetery. Should done that a long time ago. My publisher warned me not to put real businesses in my novels for fear of lawsuits. But I see that you use all of these landmarks to your advantage two ways: first is a way for your work to get Googled and second, if you are complementary about business establishments, getting them to buy your work. Good marketing strategy once again.

Ron

Popular Crime Stories
1. The Chain Store Solution
2. Chapter 9 as far as I have written
3. Dodgy Tackle
4. The Honor System for Parolees
5. The Perplexing Pie Picture Puzzle
6. Operation Valentine - A Short Story by She
7. FBI Interstate Interdiction
8. Crime Linger Chapter 2
9. Hater.
10. Dr. Gilmore's Wife, her death by Gary Ludw


Authors alphabetically: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Featured Authors | New to AuthorsDen? | Add AuthorsDen to your Site
Share AD with your friends | Need Help? | About us


Problem with this page?   Report it to AuthorsDen
© AuthorsDen, Inc. All rights reserved.