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A Comically Chaotic Christmas Chronicle

A Comically Chaotic Christmas Chronicle

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A Comically Chaotic Christmas Chronicle

390 Seiten
5 Stunden
Dec 24, 2020


A comically chaotic Christmas is taking place during a heat wave in the town of Dursville, Florida. It’s up to the local detective hero Richard Bennett to save the day when he’s hired to find a stolen container of cocaine. Only he’s got his own problems including some amorous attention from men and women that’s just adding to his confusion during a supposedly joyous season where surprises abound.

Dec 24, 2020

Über den Autor

Gerald was called to write at various times in his life. When he was young, the writing consisted of plays and short stories. Then he explored the fine arts and literature, earning a bachelor’s degree in the latter while minoring in art history. In his studies he was fascinated by and enjoyed analyzing characters, their personalities and motivations. To him it’s always been the characters who make a story special. Once again writing has taken hold of him. In the past it was just an amusement, but now—for Gerald—writing is a passion to live, eat, and breathe.

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A Comically Chaotic Christmas Chronicle - Gerald Lopez


Copyright © 2020 by Gerald Lopez

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Wherever possible, the syntax and spelling in this book follows guidelines set forth in The Chicago Manual of Style, 14th Edition, and in the Merriam-Webster online dictionary.

Cover Art Copyright © 2020 by Gerald Lopez


My special thanks go to the following:

To John for his helpful comments and suggestions.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Contact the author

About the author

Other books by Gerald Lopez

A Comically Chaotic

Christmas Chronicle

Gerald Lopez

Chapter 1

Screw Christmas

IT WAS ALREADY December in Florida but still hot as hell. My air-conditioning unit was busted and there wasn’t so much as a hint of a breeze outside. I slammed down the window I had opened and ended up cracking the glass.

That was smart, you dumb bastard, there was no one to hear me but Bugsly my Irish Setter puppy, who was resting comfortably on his pillow in the corner behind my desk. I should’ve stayed in bed like you, buddy. Our client’s late… we need the money too… at least I do. With your good looks someone would take pity on you and give you a bite to eat.

Bugsly stared at me blankly, then tilted his head and gave me his best confused look. He was cute and I couldn’t help but grin.

Screw this, I said. Ten more minutes, then we get in the pool, alright, buddy.

Bugsly barked. The pup knew what the word pool meant and he loved getting in the cool water. Ten minutes came and went, so I kicked off my shoes then yanked off my socks and tossed them in the corner.

You’re a kinky, boy, you know that, I said to Bugsly as I watched him sniffing my socks and wagging his tail. I swear it gets hotter here every Christmas. It is Florida, but… damn. Bugsly turned to me as if he were going to speak. That really would’ve driven me nuts. Although a talking puppy, especially a cute one like him, would bring in more bucks than being a detective. Hell, Bugsly, this will be your first Christmas on the planet so you’ve got nothing to compare it to, buddy.

After unbuckling my belt I slipped out of my pants without even unbuttoning them. I’d been losing weight and everything was loose on me these days, including my white briefs. My sleeve cuffs were already rolled up, so I just pulled my plaid dress shirt off over my head—I could be a lazy bastard sometimes, especially when I was hot and sweaty. My clothes were in a pile in the corner and had Bugsly occupied, so I went to the bathroom to pee. Christ, I’d been holding it in for so long while waiting for the no-show I had forgotten I had to go. That was pretty pathetic but then hey, so were my present circumstances. The damn toilet wobbled on its base when I pushed the handle down to flush—just one more thing that needed replacing in my three bedroom office slash home slash dump.

I washed my hands, splashed water in my face then took a long look at myself in the mirror over the sink. Damn it all, I had just gotten a haircut and was having a good hair day. My brown hair was cut short on the sides and left long on top, so I was able to brush it to the side. It would still sweep down and over one eye if I didn’t keep it brushed or slicked back. One look at my tight abs put a smile on my face. The washboard stomach I now possessed was no easy feat to achieve. Exercise and hours at the gym were well worth the trouble. Not that my new physique was getting me lucky in the sack lately. I hadn’t gotten laid in ages. Bugsly barked and I responded.

I’ll be right there, boy. Just let me put this mirror straight first.

Even though I had barely touched the mirror it popped off the wall into my hands. At least it didn’t break. The last thing I needed was seven years bad luck. There was no way I could deal with the thing now, so I put it down on the floor, leaned it against the wall, then turned off the light switch which was loose and headed out.

Bugsly practically jumped in my arms when I went to pick him up. I grabbed several clean towels from the top of the dryer when we went by the utility room then exited using the back door.

The backyard had a nice privacy fence all around it. There was a small deck and across from it was a grill beside which was a basic square wooden pavilion over four plastic chairs and a rusty metal and glass round table. The pièce de résistance was the inflatable Rugrats pool. It wasn’t fancy but I’d filled it up earlier and the water would be just perfect about now. At six-foot-two I couldn’t get all of me inside the pool but enough to cool off. I leaned back against one side and hung my feet off the other careful not to put all my weight on the edge of the pool and cause the water to spill out. Using my hands to cup some water I poured the refreshing liquid over my head.

We’d been resting and playing in the water a while when I heard the gate to my backyard open.

Who’s there? I said, not particularly concerned since I was too damn hot.

Saint Nick, a man said. Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas and all that holly jolly crap.

Screw Christmas, I said. If you’re Branson Hart you’re more than an hour late, pal.

My apologies, Detective Bennett.

The man was now in my sight line. He was tall… at least six-two and handsome in a classy gentlemanly sort of way. His thick but short hair was salt and pepper in color and matched his neatly kept beard and mustache. And the man took care of himself, as was evidenced by his solid and muscular build. Although he was fully dressed, the snug, short-sleeved Polo shirt showed off his buff chest, and his shorts revealed that he didn’t skip leg day on his workouts.

Nice of you to dress up for our meeting, Mr. Hart, I said.

It’s hot out. I guess you were waiting in a three piece suit.

Not quite—I had a long sleeved shirt on and slacks. Looking down I noticed that he wore slip on shoes sans socks. "Hell, I even wore my best socks and shoes for you."

My car got on a flat on the way here and it took a while for AAA to get someone out to me. I’m never late for an appointment. And to be precise, I am an hour and forty minutes late, and I intend to fully compensate you for your time.

That would be most appreciated, I said.

I thought it might be.

Hey, this place may not be the Taj Mahal, I said, before being interrupted.

But it’s not bad for an inheritance from your grandmother. It enabled you to set up your own detective agency in this Podunk town. And heck you have your own pool with a cute puppy and everything.

Yeah I do, I said with my back up now.

Calm down, I told myself. I need the money to fix the house, don’t blow the deal Rich. Taking a deep breath I decided to change my disposition and smiled.

Mr. Hart, I’d invite you to join us in the pool but you’re probably used to something a bit grander.

The name’s Branson and it’s hot as hell out here. I noticed none of your air-conditioning units are running, we’ve got things to talk about, and I’m already sweating. I don’t like to sweat and your pool looks nice and cool.

Funny—I don’t like to sweat either and the water is just right.

Good, Branson said, then kicked off his shoes and pulled off his shirt.

I have one rule, I said. No pissing in the pool so if you gotta go then do it before you get in.

Branson smiled and looked my way. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously as he walked toward the fence, took off his shorts and boxers then pissed all the while looking at me.

Damn, the man had a huge cock. I had to try hard not to stare at the piece of meat. He turned to show me his ass which was just as perfect. Then he strutted my way, monster cock, bull balls, and all. Everything was smooth too, like the man himself.

With all the hours I put in at the gym I still don’t have a perky ass like yours, I said. What’s the secret?

You’ve got to do those pain in the ass squats, Branson said as he got in the pool. I’ve got to put my boxers back on before I leave so I didn’t want to get them wet. We’re all guys here—even the dog—so no big deal, right?

It’s cool, I said. "And actually yours is a pretty big deal and you know it."

One has to know one’s good points and bad, Branson said as he splashed water on his beefy chest. Who complained about your ass? Someone must’ve for you to be so concerned about it.

Just some waitress I hit on. She said she didn’t like men with no asses.

I’ll have to check yours out when you leave the pool to see if she had a point or not.

I was about to say something but was momentarily mesmerized by the thick, steel rings on his nipples.

Did those hurt?

Like hell, Branson said, then smiled. I noticed you have no jewelry of any sort or tattoos.

It’s expensive to get rid of a tattoo when you get tired of it, and I’ve got no piercings of any kind. Damn, even your toenails look nice and neat.

Yours are too long. When you talk to the woman at the nail salon tomorrow, she’ll take care of you. You’ve got an appointment for a pedicure and manicure

So you’ve already decided I’m taking your case, have you?

You’ve got no air-conditioning in Florida, there’s a hole in your front porch, and a busted step to get on the damn porch. Let’s not play games, Son. You’d probably blow me if I offered to buy you a new air-conditioner on top of your fee.

"Let’s not get crazy now, Branson. I might let you blow me for a new air-conditioning unit. It’s not normally my thing, but heck we all experimented at least a little when we were young."

We both laughed, then I spotted Branson staring at the top of my nose where it went slightly crooked.

An on the job injury? Branson said while holding his hand out to Bugsly to sniff.

A mean cousin when we were in middle school together, I said, watching Bugsly slowly respond to Branson and let him pet him.

What’s his name?

Bugsly, I said. More importantly, what’s the case you want me to take on for you? And why did you come to me?

Chapter 2

A Handsome Dick

You’re a handsome guy despite the nose, Branson said. In fact, it adds character to your face.

Do you need someone handsome for this case?

It definitely helps to have a handsome dick on the job, Branson said, and smiled.

You haven’t even seen my equipment, I said, and smiled back.

Your briefs are completely transparent, I didn’t even have to strain to see anything.

Well we wouldn’t want you straining anything.

I felt mischievous so I stood, pulled down my briefs, threw them to the side, then sat back down.

Not bad.

It’s pretty damn nice actually, and can hold its own when not in King Dong’s company, I said.

We both laughed.

This heat can make people crazy, Branson said. It was a hot day when I met Vincent Carney.

Is he someone you want me to find?

Yes, but not for the reason that might immediately come to mind.

And what reason would that be, Branson? He was silent so I changed the subject for the moment. I saw what you did with that ‘handsome dick’ comment, being that I’m a detective, but it’s also funny for one other reason. My first name is actually Richard. But I go by Rich not Dick.

That is funny, Branson said, then chuckled. "Vincent is in his early twenties, a real looker, and yeah I screwed him right before he screwed me over big time."

Oh, I said. Things are becoming clearer now. What did he take from you—money, a fancy trinket?

A case full of cocaine my idiot of a brother hid in my house without my knowing it—the little bastard! And now to answer your earlier question about why I came to you.

I’m too small a fish for anyone to care about or even notice, I said.


How much time do we have?

Luck is on our side there—we’ve got at least a week to find the stuff and get it dealt with however you feel fit. We can give it back to my idiot brother so he can get it to his people—whoever they are—or see it gets to the police.

Damn, I said.

Can you handle it?

Not a problem, I said, then closed my eyes for a moment. I’ll need a picture of Vincent, and one of your brother.

I brought some photos.

Do you know any of Vincent’s friends or where he hangs out?

Yes, Branson said. I’ve got names and places. And before you ask I can’t go snooping around myself because Vincent will find out and get spooked.

Understood, I said. I’m not in the mood just yet to get out of this pool, and the house is hot as Hades. You hungry?

I will be soon.

I’ll grill us some hot dogs out here while we look through what you’ve brought. You look like the kind of man that could go for a tasty wiener. I chuckled, but Branson was not amused.

Not your best joke, Rich.

I thought it was pretty good myself, I said, and it did kind of fall into my lap. I’m serious about the hot dogs by the way. It’s either them or grilled cheese sandwiches.

Hot dogs are fine. It’s not like I was expecting to be fed. But I do need to go out to my car to get what I brought you.

Just wrap one of the towels around your waist—no need to get dressed. You could probably walk out there stark naked and folks around here would just think you were another streetwalker.

Do you have male prostitutes around here?

Y’up. You’re a little old to be one, but you’re in shape and you’ve got that big ole’ piece of meat. I laughed. Sorry, that was a bit unprofessional of me to say.

Then again we are both sitting naked with your puppy in a blow up pool.

There is that, I said. Something about Branson looked familiar to me, but what popped into my mind couldn’t possibly be true so I shrugged it off. Still, the resemblance was amazing.

Ten minutes or so later we got out of the pool and dried off, then Branson wrapped a towel around his waist to head out to his car, while I got the grill fired up. Once I had it ready to go, I went inside to get the hot dogs, leaving Bugsly outside. I couldn’t help walking to the front window and peeking outside. To my surprise, Branson had arrived in a Kia Soul. Before going back to the grill, I grabbed a pair of stretchy shorts and put them on. When Branson returned with a large shopping bag I was busy tending to the hot dogs and buns on the grill.

No fair, Branson said, then removed his towel. I thought it was going to be a naked cookout.

You wouldn’t want me to be a tease, would you?

Is that all it would be—just a tease?

‘fraid so buddy. You could hurt a man with that lethal weapon of yours.

Some guys think it’s worth it. The waitress was right, you don’t have much of an ass.

If you want to see it again that badly, I don’t have a problem with nudity. I took off my shorts and threw them on the grass.

Bugsly ran up to the shorts, put them in his mouth and took off.

My fault, Branson said, I’ll get your shorts back.

Don’t worry about it, I said. Tell me where this Vincent guy hangs out.

He’ll be at The Burlesque Club tomorrow night as usual, I’m sure. His best friend works there—she has brunette hair and is usually dressed in a skimpy outfit. He also knows the guy who sweeps floors at Rosie’s Nail Salon. That’s where your appointment is tomorrow for a prepaid pedicure and manicure at ten.

Well, that’s a start. I need to ask you some personal questions, Branson.

And what better time then when we’re both standing in front of each other naked, Branson said, then smiled.

You’re not as old as I originally thought, I said, taking a better look at his face.

I turned fifty this year. The beard and salt and pepper hair make me look older. People tell me I should dye my hair but it’s too much work.

Why dye your hair when it looks good?

You noticed.

Don’t get any ideas. The hair color makes you look distinguished. Actually, you kind of look a little familiar to me. Should I know you from somewhere?

I modeled and posed nude for some gay magazines. Plus I did some muscle man fitness shots with a few pretty girls.

That’s it! I said. I didn’t think it could possibly be true—despite the name being the same. You of all people—here at my place. The girls were pretty in those pictures with you were pretty, but your muscles were more impressive. I tried, but I don’t have the build to gain mass like you.

But you have a tight build and that works for you. All you need to do is work on that ass, so you can go back and strut in that waitress’ face.

If I work that much on my, ass the waitress wouldn’t deserve to see my strut.

That’s probably true. Rich, ask what questions you have to, and I’ll answer honestly.

Did you love Vincent? Were you two an item or just a quickie?

I’d known him a while, but we had only recently started the physical side of things. No, I didn’t love him but I did feel sorry for him. He’d had a tough life, done porn to survive and some hustling on the side, so I tried to help.

I hope you played safe for your sake.


Could he possibly be working for the guys your brother was handing the coke over to?

No. Vincent couldn’t stand my brother, and the feeling was mutual.

The feelings could’ve been faked in your presence. Does your gut tell you Vincent got the drugs for himself, or for someone else?"

I’m guessing the idiot thinks he can sell the stuff himself.

I turned the hot dogs over on the grill while thinking.

Be careful not to burn anything you might need at a later date, Branson said.

I’m always careful, I said, then smiled. The Kia’s not your regular vehicle, is it? Are you already being followed?

Not yet but my brother will try to follow me. I was careful not to let anyone see me coming here. The Kia Soul is a rental. My regular car is a Jaguar.

Of course.

Why ‘of course’? Branson said.

What else would a classy and distinguished guy like yourself drive? A Jaguar’s a nice car.

Very nice.

We sat on the plastic chairs by the glass and metal table, and ate while I looked at the photographs Branson handed me from the bag.

Did Vincent take your smartphone? I said, then took a bite of my hot dog.

No, but I thought you’d prefer photos that you could hang onto.

Before responding, I broke of a piece of a hot dog I had cooked especially for Bugsly, and gave it to him. He greedily ate it up.

Branson, your brother’s not as handsome as you. I was looking down at a photo he’d labeled ‘brother’. He’s chunky with a goatee.

That he is, Bronson said. But the other photos in there will probably be more to your liking for obvious reasons. One is of the girl Vincent knows and she’s a looker.

We were interrupted by a loud noise by the gate, and someone cursing loudly.

Chapter 3


WE TURNED IN time to see a pale, skinny young man with soft, curly black hair and green eyes enter the backyard. He wore a cropped, silvery mesh top over tiny, low-slung, lime green stretch shorts that emphasized his bulge and went up his ass. His look was finished of by flip-flops and a red with white faux fur trim Santa hat.

Ho, ho, ho, the newcomer to our gathering said. It’s just your friendly neighborhood male ho, Charlie.

Bugsly ran to Charlie, who bent down and petted him.

Charlie, this is Branson, I said. Branson, this is Charlie.

Nice to meet you, Charlie, Branson said, then stood.

Very nice to meet you, Charlie said. Richie, bro, since when do you meet with clients in the nude?

It’s a new thing I’m trying, I said.

I like it, Charlie said. It’s so damn hot I can’t even get my normally perky pink nipples to stand at attention. Anyone want to lend a helping hand… or mouth. Mmm, do I smell hot dogs? There aren’t too many things I like to have in my mouth besides hot dogs. Branson, care to guess what one of those other things is—and I’ll give you a hint. It’s that great big thing hanging between your legs, Daddy.

Jesus, Charlie, behave, I said. There’s a plate next to the grill with two hot dogs in buns for you, unless you want me to give them to the puppy.

Don’t go insane now, girl, Charlie said. You know how hungry I get.

How’s your grandma, I said.

She’s stuck in the nursing home for a while longer, and is in the dark about me as always, Charlie said. I did manage to go see her today, and even brought her a special treat of the frozen custard piña colada drink she loves so much.

Wow, I said, then broke off another piece of Bugsly’s hot dog and gave it to him, you must’ve had a good day yesterday.

I did—thank you for asking, hun, Charlie said while picking up his paper plate with hot dogs on it. Is there ketchup for these dogs anywhere? Unless one of you kind gentlemen would like to offer a more creamy alternative for me to lap up.

This really is business, Charlie, I said.

I’m sorry, Charlie said, I thought you was just joking. My apologies, Mr. Branson I truly hope I did not mess up your business deal with my silly white girl ways.

Charlie helps me sometimes, I said, he’s my eyes on the street so to speak.

I get it, Branson said. Charlie, you didn’t mess things up, and there’s a ketchup bottle here on the table. Be satisfied with that, because that’s all there is as far as condiments go.

I hear you, Daddy, Charlie said. I hope you don’t mind my saying you are very handsome, Daddy. So what’s the problem, fill me on things?

This stays between us, I said.

You know I can be trusted, Charlie said. Who or what are we keeping an eye out for?

Branson looked at me nervously, so I smiled then reassured him.

Charlie is one of the most trustworthy people you’ll ever meet, I said. We can confide in him. Plus he’ll know if Vincent is trying to move that stuff on the street.

Drugs or white slavery? Charlie said, while chewing on a bite of his hot dog.

Coke, I said.

Oh, that’s bad stuff, Charlie said. If that gets on these streets I’ll definitely know, and be sure to run and tell you.

We need to stop him before he starts selling, Branson said.

What’s his name? Charlie said.

Vincent Carney, Branson said.

Hang on a minute, Charlie said. Not the porn star wannabe?

Branson took a photo out of his bag and put it on the table. Charlie and I both peered at it. The guy looked like the boy next door with blond hair and blue eyes.

That’s him alright, Charlie said. He and I auditioned for the same amateur porn shoot this morning. He wouldn’t have had time to sell anything yet. And I heard Carney—that’s his stage name—is doing a solo jack off shoot tonight right before mine. Then there’s a group porn shoot late tomorrow afternoon, but it will probably be moved to tomorrow night, the film guy said. He’s a typical fat troll filmmaker who likes to get it on with his models. But he pays really well, so hey—ya know what I mean?

Yes, I said, I know what you mean. Vincent won’t have time to move his merchandise today or tomorrow unless he tries to sell it at the porn shoot.

He won’t sell there, Charlie said. The filmmaker is nervous filming here, and said absolutely no drugs allowed on set. Besides, none of those little sluts have money to buy coke. We wont get paid until right before the big shoot tomorrow.

"This all sounds good, right? Branson said.

I think so, Charlie said. Want to come see if you can join us on the porn shoot, Branson. You can get that big boy up, can’t you?

I can, but I’m probably older than the filmmaker is looking to cast, Branson said.

Daddies like you are in right now, Branson, Charlie said. "But you’re right, you probably wouldn’t be hired because you’d make the fat guy in charge look

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