Little Red Private Eye

by Brendon Cook

It was a boring day. No one seemed to need what I had to offer. I had a headache from all that eggnog I had drunk last night. My armpit was aching, but I had to deal with it. My CCS-20 (candy cane shooter 20) that was strapped under my hood and cloak was digging into my ribs. I had to wear it. I’m a private eye. At least, that’s what it says on my door. To be specific, it says Little Red Riding Hood Private Eye P.H.D. Of course, the PHD stands for Post Hood Days but everyone else thinks it means I got a doctorate degree in college. I’m not old enough, but no one cares about that anymore. Anyway, after granny got swallowed by the wolf, I decided that I should toughen up. Just look at me now.

A knock came from the door. I slipped my hand under my trademark cape, and grabbed the CCS and loosened it in its holster. The door opened, and in stepped a little girl. I recognized her from Arachnophobias Anonymous. I hang out at all the anonymous clubs, just so I can blackmail ‘em later. But this is a client, so I can’t have my fun, yet. It was little Miss Muffet. Without her curds and whey.

I knew exactly what had happened and who had done it. “The spider took your curds and whey. Pay my secretary on the way out.” As you can tell, I’m good at this.

“I already ate the curds!” Miss Muffet argued, “I just came here to collect your rent. It’s three days late!”

Well, maybe I’m not that good. “My secretary will pay you on the way out.”

Like I said; it was a boring day. Just as my new landlord walked out, another person walked in. He was tall and had excessive body hair. “I have a job for you.” He said in a gruff, doglike, voice. “Your granny has recently disappeared. All that I could find was her hat.”

I had a strange suspicion about this guy.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m the woodcutter. I was checking up on you granny.”

“Take me there” I said, resolutely.

He dragged me to granny’s cottage. I looked around. Everything looked normal, except for the pair of dentures lying on the floor. Granny only lost them if she was absolutely terrified, or if she sneezed after taking in unworldly amounts of alcohol. The later happened almost every night.

As I was examining the dentures in the pool of saliva, I heard a click behind me. I whirled around, putting my hands out of sight in my cape. The woodcutter was standing there with a CCS-1. They fired some of the biggest candy canes known to man.

“My employer with be very happy with my latest catch little red,” he said gleefully.

My CCS uses the most potent candy canes on the black market, so I wasn’t afraid. He continued his ranting. I slowly wrapped my fingers around the butt of the gun. I saw the muzzle of his gun drop ever so slightly. I leaped to the side and fired three shots, right in the mouth. He stiffened, and slumped to the floor, a pool of saliva forming around his mouth.

I noticed that he had a wolf’s face. He must work for the Big Bad Wolf, the most notorious criminal ever. He had blown down houses, eaten grannies, and goats alike. I had him after me. I looked back down at the “wood cutter”. He wouldn’t wake up for awhile. It’s dangerous to consume that much peppermint at once. I left granny’s house and went back to my office. It was coffee time.

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