Jack And The Giant Private Eyes

By Brian Cecil

We all know the story of Jack and the beanstalk. But did you know that Jack grew up? Yup, Jack Vine, Vine is his last name by the way, also became a private investigator. Teamed up with the giant’s son of all people. His name is Tiny, Tiny Giant.

These cases and personal experiences are just a few of the events, which followed that fateful day, when a foolish boy sold his family’s cow for an handful of beans.

Our hero, so-to-speak, resides in a town located somewhere in the land of make-believe. Where fairytales are real and anything imaginable is fair game for a case.

Join Jack and Tiny as they change the lives of many beloved characters in literature. Heck, you may even learn something. I can’t guarantee that last part though, that’s strictly up to you. Enjoy one and all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Cecil
• Release date: Jul 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513013428

Book preview

Copyright 2015 by Brian Cecil

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First Edition

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Dedication Page

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This book is dedicated mostly to the creative writers of our times. Without the imagination of the millions of my predecessors this work would not have been possible. Writers are a breed all their own. They are a rare gift to humanity, giving 100% of themselves in their works. I am glad to have become, in my own way, a part of them.

Secondly, and on a more personal level, I’d like to dedicate this book to the memory of my mother, Ellen Cecil, who recently past away from her battle with Dementia. Memories are a sad thing to watch vanish in a loved one.

And thirdly, I’d like to dedicate this work to all those which helped and inspired me at ‘The Den of Amateur Writing.’ Especially Routh, Astarte, MzHyper, MissDartit, Nexus, Don and so many more, I can’t count them all. I cherish every moment we had together.

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Preface

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We all know the story of Jack and the beanstalk. But did you know that Jack grew up? Yup, Jack Vine, Vine is his last name by the way, also became a private investigator. Teamed up with the giant’s son of all people. His name is Tiny, Tiny Giant.

These cases and personal experiences are just a few of the events, which followed that fateful day, when a foolish boy sold his family’s cow for an handful of beans.

Our hero, so-to-speak, resides in a town located somewhere in the land of make-believe. Where fairytales are real and anything imaginable is fair game for a case.

Join Jack and Tiny as they change the lives of many beloved characters in literature. Heck, you may even learn something. I can’t guarantee that last part though, that’s strictly up to you. Enjoy one and all.

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Jack And The Giant

Private Eyes

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Table Of Content

Copyright Page

Dedication Page

Preface

Table Of Content

Mary’s Lost Little Lamb

Case Of The Missing Candlestick Maker

The Great Muffet Caper

The Farmer And The Troll

Somewhere This Side Of The Rainbow

The Gingerbread House Caper

Hickory, Dickory, Doc Case Of The Missing Mouse

A Wolf’s Tale

A Child Out Of Time (a prologue poem to The Three Fate’s Saga)

Curse Of The Golden Harp (part 1 to the Three Fate’s Saga)

The Case Of The Three Fate’s (part 2 to the Three Fate’s Saga)

The Added Soul (part 3 to the Three Fate’s Saga)

The Dream (epilogue to The Three Fate’s saga)

Somewhere Over The Rainbow Again

Tiny Tim’s Big Question (Personal file)

Mary’s Big Surprise (Personal file)

Annette And Arthur’s Plan (Personal File)

The Case Of The Missing Car

Rocci’s Big Problem (Personal file)

Epilogue, Letter to mother

A Jack Vine Rhyme

A Cracked Case Solved (A Rocci Raccoon Case File)

Biography Page

Illustrator Page

* Other Stand Alone Stories

included in book

** Coming soon

A Party For Big Jake *

Gator Tails *

Frank And The Monster  **

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From The Files

Of

Jack Vine

A Jack And The Giant

P I Case File

Mary’s Lost Little Lamb

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Mary had a little lamb; its fleece was white as snow. And everywhere that Mary went that lamb was sure to go.

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Now we’ve all heard this nursery rhyme before but have you ever wondered what it all meant? I mean who was this Mary dame and what was it about her that this lamb found so infatuating?

I’m Jack, Jack Vine private eye. I use to be in the beanstalk racket in my early days, that is, until my misunderstanding with a giant over a harp and a goose. Now his son and me have our own slice of the American dream and a stash of golden eggs to back it up. Tiny and me, that’s the giants sons name by the way, teamed up and opened our own private investigating business. Now we nose around in other people’s affaires and get paid for our troubles.

You may even have heard about us recently, having foiled Eddy the Rabbits plot to move in on the Easter Bunny’s territory last spring? No! Well it was in all of the papers. Tiny and me spent a good three weeks shadowing our client, the hopping little egg toter, waiting for that sap Eddy to make his move. Now he’s doing time in an eight by ten cell and we’re looking for another case to crack.

It had been slow for weeks now, not much going on in our neck of the woods you see, that is until she came stumbling into our office crying her little heart out. Her name was Mary, a looker to be sure. She stood all of five feet tall with golden blonde hair and blue eyes a man could drown in. Her lips were red, red as the blood dripping from a hole made by a 45, her figure that of a goddess. Yes, she had all the right parts in all the right places and I found myself slipping into a fantasy where I was the doctor and she was the nurse.

Boo-hoo, boo-hoo! she cried, pulling me back to the real world. I tossed her a box of Kleenex and glanced over at my partner, Tiny. He was checking her out too and when he noticed me looking his way, grinned knowingly; I nodded and turned back to the sobbing dame.

What’s the story Toots? I asked, popping a Tootsie pop in my mouth. It was grape by the way. The gorgeous babe emptied her nose loudly and handed the used tissue back to me. No thanks, I told her, keep it as a souvenir. Your story, I repeated, wanting to move things along a bit more quickly.

My lamb, she chocked out, a tear rolling down her soft white cheek. He’s missing.

A lamb, I inquired. What lamb is that? Tiny, I saw, was now looking the skirt over with a suspicious eye. That or just looking her over, I wasn’t sure which but I had an idea.

My little lamb, she tried to explain. I’m Mary.

Her tears really started to flow forcing Tiny and me to grab towels and mop up the pools forming on our desks. Look doll-face, I said compassionately. Could you put a cork in your water pipes until you get outside. My cloths aren’t drip-dry you know. The dame blinked and rubbed her sleeve across her nose taking with it a trail of mucus. Tiny drew back and shuddered.

Let’s take it from the top, I said leaning back and sucking on my Tootsie pop. Mmm, it was good. You’re Mary, I repeated that bit of useless information, and you’re missing a lamb. So far so good but could you fill us in a bit more on your background some; just what is your interest with lambs?

Not lambs, she corrected, her big blue eyes gazing at me. Lamb, as in singular, my little lamb. The others are sheep and still up in the pasture. They’re not missing, so it’s lamb not lambs.

I looked over to Tiny who shrugged his shoulders. Ok Mary, I said, rephrasing my statement of facts in hopes of move things along yet again; you lost a lamb then, is that right?

Yes. His fleece was white as snow.

Uh, come again, I asked, a bit confused.

She tilted her head and repeated, His fleece was white as snow. Don’t you need a description of him? She looked from me to Tiny then back to me again. Isn’t that what you’re going to need me to tell you?

Uh, well yes; that is always helpful, I told her. I nodded at Tiny who promptly took out a pad of paper, a pencil and started to write. Ok blue eyes, why don’t you take it from the top.

Top of what? she asked, looking around the room.

The beginning, I rephrased yet again. Just tell us what happened, from the beginning. I said it slowly pronouncing each consonant and vowel so it could sink in. Clearly, this skirt had spent way too much time out in the pastures.

Oh, Ok, she said, finally understanding. She took a deep breath stretching the white material of her blouse until the buttons along with my eyes, nearly popped, and related her tale. As I said, I’m Mary; I guess you could say I’m a shepherdess. I take care of sheep up in the pastures in the hills for my father. They’re still up there, as I said earlier, being watched by Terri, she’s my younger sister.

Hmm, I said, thinking we were finally making progress. So you’re Mary and your sister is Terri; you’re both shepherdesses and hang out with a bunch of sheep in the hills, is that it so far?

And lambs, she added.

Yes, of course. All right blue-eyes please continue.

Well I have this white lamb that is always with me, she went on wiping the tears off her cheeks. He’s very special to me.

How so? I asked curiously.

He helps me to fall asleep at night, she replied with a smile. When I lie down and cover up he’d run around in a circle leaping over me.

Say that again Toots, I inquired, unsure what she meant. You mean to say this lamb of yours, after you’ve laid down, runs around in circles jumping over you each time; and he does this all night long? What is he stupid?

Why no! Mary exclaimed in shock. He helps me to fall asleep; you see?

No Blondie, I don’t see. How does a lamb jumping over you help you fall asleep?

I count out loud each time he jumps, she replied, eventually my eyes get heavy and I fall asleep. So really, he doesn’t jump over me all night; at least I don’t think so. I’m asleep by then you understand, so I can’t be positive on that. I suppose he could be jumping all night though. Is that important? she asked.

Hmm, I thought. Well it doesn’t seem very relevant so let’s just set that bit of trivia aside for the moment, Ok sister. Now this little lamb who’s fleece was white as snow; he jumps over you at night so you can count each jump tiring you out and you fall asleep, is that the general idea? Is that what makes him special to you?

Um, yes. That and he plays the banjo with the three little pigs in their band every Friday down at The Meadows Club.

I looked at Mary who gazed back at me; I was unsure just how to take her. I then turned to Tiny to get his assessment of the dame. He was holding up a foil wrapped snack cake and pointing to it. It was a Ding Dong and I instantly got the message.

Look here kitten, I said a bit annoyed. Are you for-real or is this some kind of game?

Game? she repeated looking around confused.

I rubbed my hand down my face then opened up my desk drawer; I knew what I needed and needed bad. Reaching in I pulled out a bottle of scotch, filled a small shot glass and downed it in one gulp. Mary, I saw, was watching me with her big blue eyes and frowning. If she thought for a moment I was going to offer her a slug, she was in for a rude disappointment.

Let’s move on shall we Miss Mary.

Just call me Mary, she answered brightly; everyone else does.

Ok Mary, when was the last time you saw this white little lamb of yours?

About half an hour ago, she informed me.

Let me get this straight, up until thirty minutes ago you and this lamb were still together?

Yes, she confirmed. We were walking along on the side of the road you see.

What I saw was a straight jacket and a padded room with no windows but I kept quiet anyways. Did anything unusual happen, about then? I asked instead.

Well, a big truck almost splashed me, she replied. It was a furniture truck and the driver was very rude.

That’s all that happened; you almost got splashed?

Yes, almost. Fortunately, I had just past the puddle of muddy water when the rude truck driver went by.

And your lamb? I inquired.

What about him? she said confused.

I took a deep breath and looked back down at the bottle of scotch in my drawer wondering if another slug was going to be needed. Where, I said slowly, was your white little lamb, Ma’am?

I thought he was still right behind me, she continued, but when I turned around my white little lamb was nowhere in sight.

There was a knock on the door and Tiny got up to see who it was.

Could your lamb have been snatched by this irate driver as he past you? I speculated.

I don’t see how, Mary said. I would have seen him as he went by wouldn’t I?

Well, I suppose, I relented. That had been the first thing she said that was based on logic and it kind of threw me for a moment.

Uh Jack, Tiny said, drawing my attention from the daffy dame over to him. In the doorway, standing next to my partner was a dark little lamb. On his back was a dirty banjo. I looked at the lamb then at Mary. Mary, I said calmly, pointing to the lamb in the door.

She turned and looked at the lamb in the doorway then refaced me. What? she inquired with eyes as vacant as I was sure her head was.

Isn’t that your lost little lamb right there? I asked.

She looked at me as if I was a moron. Um, that’s a black lamb not a white one, she stated matter-of-fact. He started following me after my white little lamb disappeared.

Tiny looked over at me and shook his head. Wow, he mouthed silently.

I could now feel a dull throbbing behind my right eye and massaged my temple in hopes of alleviating the pain. Clearly, this chick’s motor wasn’t running on all eight cylinders and I was temped just to put her in park and turn off the engine. If only life was that easy.

Do you think, I said now rubbing the back of my neck, that this could be your lost little lamb that was splashed by muddy water?

Huh? she answered, confusion clearly in her big blue, empty eyes.

I could see I was up against a brick wall with this ditzy dame and decided to try a different course of action. Wait here a moment Miss Mary, I told her.

Mary, she corrected me.

Yes, that’s what I meant to say; please have a seat. I believe I can find your lost little lamb, I told her as I stood up. But I’m going to have to have a word with this black lamb out back. Ok?

You’re not going to rough him up are you? she asked a bit alarmed. He doesn’t look dangerous or anything. Please don’t hurt him.

No, No, sister, I assured her. I’m just going to ask him a few questions in private.

My partner I noticed was still shaking his head in utter disgust. Tiny, could you keep Mary here entertained while I go out back? He nodded and I led the black lamb out the rear door. Off to the side was a spigot and hose, which I turned on. Holding onto the four-legged ball of cotton, I proceeded to douse him several times, rubbing his fleece gently with my hand. Nice banjo, I commented, as I bathed the little flee bag.

#BAA#, it responded in a very harmonic tone. I believe it was in B minor.

After ten minutes or so, I reentered my office trailing a very white little lamb with a gleaming banjo strapped to his back.

Sparky! Mary exclaimed with joy. Where have you been?

Sparky? I mumbled. The lambs name is Sparky?

Yes, she answered, on the verge of either laughing or crying. I’m so happy I could just cry. Unfortunately, she proceeded to do the latter letting tears flow everywhere.

Tiny tossed me another towel, which I put on the floor at Mary’s feet. So beautiful, I said with a grin, have we found your special lost little lamb?

Oh yes, yes! How can I ever repay you?

I had a few ideas of course, all of them involving Jell-O, a bed and our naked bodies intertwined; but knowing where that would lead I just asked for a couple tickets to Sparky’s next gig that Friday at the Meadows Club with the three little pigs.

As Mary and her white little lamb were leaving, she turned to me, and with a glowing smile, said; Maybe I’ll introduce you guys to my sister Terri. We’ll both be there.

Maybe. I replied, reaching once more for my bottle of scotch. Maybe.

*THE END*

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From The Files

Of

Jack Vine

A Jack And The Giant

P I Case File

Case Of The Missing Candlestick Maker

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Jack be nimble Jack be quick, Jack jumped over the candle stick.

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It had been a couple months since Tiny and me cracked the caper of The Lost Little Lamb, and yes I was sort of seeing Mary on the side now. Her sister Terri, also a knock out, had fiery red hair, an hourglass figure and surprisingly a PhD in physical education. Now, for the life of me, I’ve never heard of anyone, even a dame, having a PhD in PE, yet Terri proudly showed Tiny and me her diploma. I wondered just what she had to learn to get that degree. Hmm.

My partner Tiny was smitten right off by the dazzling young wench and promptly asked her out that night. I understand they went and saw a Humphrey Bogart flick, her being a diehard Bogey fan. Then they hit one of the dives down in the Meadow district afterwards for drinks. Still hung over from his PE lesson, Tiny had slept in late, so I was holding down the fort with the help of my other two companions Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson.

It was around ten o’clock and I was kicked back in my chair, my hat pulled down, and my eyes closed, when in burst a little old lady with a cane. Now I know what you’re thinking, little old ladies don’t burst into rooms, especially ones toting a walking stick. Well this was no ordinary little old lady let me tell you.

Are you Jack? the old biddy demanded to know.

She stood all of four feet and some leftover change yet she hit me as a woman that usually got what she wanted. She was dressed elegantly in a turn of the century sort of way wearing a powder blue silk dress with a white shawl to accentuate her duds. Her jewelry looked handcrafted and probably, like the style of the gown, was very old. But it was the walking cane that got my attention.

I said young man, are you Jack? she reiterated in that quiet old way southern relics her age used back in the Civil War era. She slammed her cane down across my desktop standing as untouchable as Mary Magdalene holding a .357 Magnum. It got my attention all right, though I wasn’t impressed and politely told her so.

Look sister, I growled, you do that again and I’ll put that stick of yours where the sun doesn’t shine and only your proctologist will venture to retrieve it. See?

Startled she backed off somewhat to reassess her strategy; clearly, I wasn’t responding, as she was use to. I tilted my hat back and gazed into her four eyes, two of them green, the other two glasses. The lenses of her spectacles looked more like the bottoms of coke bottles magnifying her orbs three times their normal size. It sort of creped me out; like a mouse being considered as an appetizer by a hungry cat.

What’s eating you Gamms? I asked pointedly. We’d gotten off on the wrong foot, something that seemed to happen quite often when it came to pushy dames and me but I wouldn’t let it interfere with a case.

Well I never, she stuttered in mock shock. This doll could really play her part I thought but I wasn’t fooled.

I doubt that sister, I told her honestly. She was old as dirt for sure; still, she had the signs of once being a hot looking gal in her time. Probably when Pharaohs ruled Egypt but signs never the less. She did set her cane against the side of my desk however, a fact I took to be a good omen. An unarmed old bitty was a safe old bitty in my book.

Why don’t you park it sister? I offered graciously, pointing to the antique chair against the wall; the same chair that had been in the joint when Tiny and me first started. It was covered with an inch of dust and was probably manufactured the same time the old gal was.

She turned and looked to where I pointed, spotted the rickety old chair, pulled it in front of my desk and seated herself as told. You’re not what I expected in a private investigator, she said with just a hint of a grin on her lips. Tilting her head she checked me out with those telescopes on her nose. I shivered involuntarily. Was she playing me like a fiddle? I wondered.

Mr. Rodgers is in another neighborhood sweetheart, I answered. I’m the real McCoy on this block, so if you’ve got a job for me I suggest you cough up the facts and let me do my job; that ok with you grandma?

Hmm, she grunted as unimpressed with me as I currently was with her. Just then, my partner stepped through the door and headed over to his desk. Actually staggered over in a comatose state would be more accurate. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot from, I assumed, one wild night of PE lessons. He didn’t notice the fossil sitting in front of me and promptly relieved himself of some excess gas. It’s a habit giants have, sort of like a dog marking a tree in its territory but I digress.

Morning, he mumbled incoherent. He held a large mug of coffee in his hand; giants were partial to strong brews, almost sludge in fact so beware. He downed several gulps of the thick dark liquid and sighed contentedly.

Morning Tiny, I replied with as straight a face as I could. I pulled out my handkerchief and tossed it to the old relic, indicating for her to put it over her nose and mouth as quickly as possible. She did so with surprising speed for someone as old as she looked. I upped my opinion of her one notch.

How’s Terri? I asked the oblivious giant.

As he gazed my way he finally realized there was a client sitting in front of me; his face promptly turned several shades of red with embarrassment. I uh, I uh, he stuttered foolishly; the noxious fumes forming a cloud layer above our heads and spreading out like a virus crackling the ceiling paint above.

How’s Terri. I repeated again for his benefit.

He refaced me and for a brief moment, I saw he had one heck of a story he wanted desperately to tell me.

Umm, demanding, he supplied vaguely and grinned.

I put that subject on the backburner knowing I’d get the scoop on it at a more convenient time and turned back to the old lady in front of me. This is, I began to fill him in until I realized I never did get her name. I’m sorry Ma’am, I apologized. I didn’t catch your name."

Gladice, she supplied, between gasps of air. Her face had turned green and she looked as if she was going to hurl her breakfast so I leaned back and opened the window. A Sparrow perched just outside on a tree limb got a dose of the noxious fumes and hightailed it to a better smelling location; the city dump would probably qualify.

Gladice is it, I responded, trying to get back to the old woman’s story. Would you care to fill us in as to the reason for your little visit? I was being careful not to push her to hard; one good whiff of Tiny’s volatile fumes can have unusual side effects and I was starting to like the old gal.

Dabbing the water pooling in her eyes with the handkerchief, she filled her lungs with the fresher air coming in from the opened window next to us. As I said young man, (cough, cough) my name is Gladice, I live over by the big creek in a shoe.

Come again? I responded not believing what I had heard. It was my partner however, that filled me in.

Hey, Jack! he spoke up. She’s that little old lady everyone talks about; the one that lives in a shoe with all those kids. You know, been in all the papers and stuff.

Tiny was right of course, I had heard of her, everyone had. She was considered one of the social elites’ in her quest to help those less fortunate, in her case orphaned children. She was well known for taking in stray kids from dysfunctional families and raising them with outstanding morals and manners. Something you don’t see now days.

So, I said, you’re ‘The’ little old lady, are you? It was a dumb question of course and didn’t need to be answered.

Yes, I am, she replied none-the-less. Your gaseous friend over there has it right. Tiny blushed but remained quiet. I run a kind of orphanage for children, she said. Those in need of a place to stay you see. I’ve got so many right now that I had to buy several more pairs of shoes to house them all.

I was tempted to ask why she didn’t just build a house like everyone else but thought better of it, her cane still with-in easy reach and all.

I even took out insurance on them, she went on. You never know who’s going to try and swipe your shoes you know.

I see, I told her though I did not. Could you get to the point of your story Toots; the suns not going to stay up all day you know.

She looked at me with annoyance yet went on anyways. It’s Jack, she told me. My Jack that is; he’s missing.

I looked over to Tiny wondering if this was going to turn out to be another Mary’s lost little lamb case, and groaned.

Is there something wrong young man? the relic ask with those penetrating eyes.

No Ma’am, I told her as professionally as I knew how. So, you’re the little old lady who lives in a shoe and you’ve lost someone named Jack, is that right so far?

Yes, she said tossing my handkerchief onto the desktop and smoothing a wrinkle out of her dress, it was Armonty I noticed.

This Jack, I continued, is he one of you kids?

Oh no, Jack is the candlestick maker. She looked at me as if I should already have known that, though I didn’t see how that was possible.

I see, I lied once more. I wondered where this was going and if it would end anytime soon. I was starting to get that throbbing behind my right eye once more but hoped for the best. Who is this Jack to you then granny, I asked; a grandchild, a great grandchild maybe? It was a question that needed answering though I was thinking a few more grand’s needed to be added to the child.

He’s my lover, she said matter of fact.

I was shocked, but not as much as Tiny, who fell back in his chair knocking over the coat rack in the process. Embarrassed, he stood up, looked at me and darted out the room in a mad dash. The sound of his laughter was audible even though the giant had waited until he’d gotten outside. He obviously forgot I had opened the window moments before.

The old bitty was getting pissed off by the minute. I apologized for my partner’s behavior and with as straight a face as I could, asked her how old this candlestick maker named Jack was; I was thinking three digits?

He’s twenty-six, she supplied with eyes like daggers.

I could see I was walking on thin ice and wondered if I could come at this from a safer angle. As hard as I thought, it still came