Sometimes that sweet tooth can really make you the wrong type of enemies.

I hate messes. I dislike parasites like Howard Hughes was afraid of germs. I have to clean up after people. I can’t just let it stay there and f—k things up.

Peter Simpson had popped up on my radar screen in a big and obnoxious way. He was a living, breathing S—t Blossom who I intended to flush once and for all.

Simpson went on and off the grid. He couldn’t seem to make both ends meet because one stayed too busy drinking to pull this off. He also took things the pharmacies don’t carry and law doesn’t allow. He reminded me of a lot guys I hung out with in High School.

I got started on his case the same way I get started on any freak show’s case. I was just doing my part to beautify Los Angeles.

I do repair work for people. I get them out of scrapes and fix things that aren’t right. One day Hu Du Kwong the Donut Man came to me about a problem child. This bum kept breaking in his donut shop on Western and was raiding his kitchen and stealing the icing. He’d broken in four times and had poisoned the old man’s dog with strychnine.

This wasn’t the type of thing I could just let happen in my neck of the woods. Especially if Kwong was willing to part with free donuts and coffee to make it go away.

So I wait there for about three nights. Nothing much happens and I’m getting bored. Pulling the wings off of flies and eating their bodies, only passes the time for so long. Then it gets boring on stakeout. I needed some good luck on this one.

On night four, I got my break. I see this man wearing black sweats and a ski mask; real subtlety on an 80 degree night. He was looking around to make sure he wasn’t scene being painfully obvious. He kept licking his fingers, like he was a dope nose or had a nervous tic.

Then he does some weird gesturing and just like that, he throws the whammy on Hu Du’s deadbolt lock. He wasn’t just a thief with a sweet tooth. He was tuned to the wrong frequency. Another creep job, who needed to be slugged.

I didn’t used to buy into the whammy. It was like the tooth-fairy or Santa Claus. It just didn’t exist. At least until it got put on one of my old boys, Muddy Chambers. That, however, is a story for another day and a different six-pack.

So I sneak up on the donut shop. I’m being quiet and professional; taking my time like I know I should. I didn’t even know this Simpson cat’s name, but I could tell already he was just your run-of-the-mill thief. He had mojo, and that made him a bad, bad thing.

I slip in through the same door he whammied. He’s bent over this package of jelly and he’s stuffing it in some sort of a box or bag. I move in slow to get the drop on this prick and win my free donuts.

Then I hear this humming noise and have about 15 bees all over me. They’re swarming and trying to sting. I take one on the cheek and another on my shoulder. Two more are down my shirt and buzzing like German WWII fighter planes.

Simpson turns and closes his jelly container. He hauls it out of the store like a bolt of lightning. I’m still swatting these darn bees and have gotten stung five times. It took me a good five minutes to beat them off. I took eleven hits in total. If I’d been allergic, you wouldn’t be hearing this stuff, I’d have been chucked in the dirt.

I go see Old Lenny Hopkins in C-Town. He reached Compton via Aruba and knows a few things about the whammy. He tells them bees weren’t natural bees and I had to stay indoors and drink this gawd-awful f—king chicken blood cocktails for three days. What really sucked; was having to buy Lenny the chickens.

Lenny takes one of the dead bees and a few chicken guts. He starts in with his voodoo stuff and tells me a few things:

Pete Simpson was breaking into the shop because two people told him to. The Hive Queen, whoever that b—ch is, and some cat named Huggy Bear. He tells me Simpson’s got a dump of a place on Catalina and 3rd Street. The whole building’s got a bee problem and should probably be condemned.

The upside to this whole mess is that Kwong’s isn’t being messed with anymore. He makes a really good crueler. I can’t beat the price anywhere.

After breakfast, I have an address in East Hollywood to report to the building inspector. After that, I’ll find out where Simpson goes to ground. I’ve got something for him at Home Despot last night. About 15 cans of bug spray.