Two Birds, One Stone

By DeAnne D.

This bird ain't singing sister, so you better start.

It was raining; the kind of rain that you’d hope would just clean the filth right off the streets. I stopped off at Charlie’s and ordered a double Shirley Temple. “Keep ‘em coming.” I growled at Charlie as I polished off my drink and slid the glass across the plank back towards him.

“Gee, Steele,” he said “Isn’t a little early for you to hit the seltzer this hard?”

“Nobody asked you.” I replied. “And don’t be so stingy with the cherries.”

Charlie sighed as he dropped a handful of crimson sweet jewels into my drink. “You wanna tell me about her?” he asked.

“What makes you think it’s about a her?” I replied without looking up from my glass.

“I’ve been around enough to tell when you’ve had your heart broken by another dame.” Charlie shook his head as he slid a fresh glass across the bar. “I keep telling you, you want companionship, get a dog. Girls are nothing but trouble.”

I nodded. I couldn’t argue with truth like that. Dames were my downfall. Always had been. “I thought this one was different, Charlie. She seemed so innocent.”

Charlie nodded and wiped the bar with his cloth, the universal bartender signal that they’re waiting for you to say something else.

“Lovey L’Amour,” I muttered, “I was born when she kissed me, I died when she left me, I lived a few hours while she loved me.” I stared down into my drink, my thoughts forming a deep cloud of silence around me. Charlie clucked sympathetically, topped off my drink, threw in a handful of cherries, and retreated to a happier end of the bar.

#####

It had started like any other day. I was in my office; temporary digs behind the monkey bars, when in sidled a big kid. He looked familiar, but I didn’t know why. This wasn’t his turf, and he was obviously nervous, looking around like he wasn’t sure he should be there.

“What’s up, bub?” I asked him. He jumped like a frog on a griddle.

“Are you Steele Stone?” he asked.

“Depends on who wants to know.” I replied, putting down the case file I was reviewing.

“I’m Cody,” he said, “Cody Cottee.”

Now I knew why his mug looked familiar, it was on posters all over the junior high. He was running for eight grade class president.

“What can I do for you, Mr. President?” I asked. “If it’s about your name, I can’t help you. I got a mouthpiece that works pretty cheap though.”

“What?” he asked, baffled. I decided that he was not very bright.

“Why are you here, Cody?” I asked slowly, in case he was as dumb as advertised.

“I’ve got a missing bird, and you’ve just got to find her!” he said. “My entire political career hangs in the balance.”

“Ah,” I said, “A dame had you hitting on all eight, and now she’s missing, eh?”

“Do you speak English?” he asked. “I’ve got no idea what you’re saying. There is a parrot that’s gone missing, and I’m being blamed. I need you to find the bird, and find out who took it.”

“Yeah, mac,” I said, “I can look around, see who’s making you the fall guy. But I don’t work cheap. Three dollars a day, plus expenses.”

“Expenses? What expenses?” Cody asked.

“You know. Expenses. Sometimes you gotta slide a little cabbage to the hall monitor, if you get my drift.” I said.

“I have no idea.” Cody responded. “But here’s ten dollars, see what you can find, and make it quick. The election is next Tuesday.”

I picked up the sawbuck. “Ok,” I said, picking up a notebook and a pencil, “start from the top. Who’s bird is it?”

“Lacy L’Amour” he said. He handed me a folded up campaign poster. Smoothing it open, I saw a gorgeous blonde dish. The kind of girl who could kill you with a smile, and you’d be happy to be the target. She had a parrot on her shoulder, and the text “Poughkeepsie wants a vote for Lacy.”

“She carried that stuffed parrot around everywhere. It had a recorded message that would say ‘Poughkeepsie wants a vote for Lacy’. I thought it would be funny to change the recording. She always left the bird in the homeroom during recess, so I figured I could do it then. But when I got to the room, I saw Lacy in there. She was by the teacher’s desk. So, I didn’t go in.”

“Did she have the parrot when you saw her by the desk?” I asked.

“Yeah, she did. It was laying on top of the desk. Anyway, I was on the way to social studies when I was called to the principal’s office. He told me that Poughkeepsie and the field trip money from Mrs. Sassenheimer’s desk had been stolen, and that witnesses said they’d seen me near the classroom at recess.” Cody took a deep breath. “I told him that I had seen Lacy actually in the room, by the teacher’s desk, but I don’t think he believed me. Now, if we can’t find the money, our field trip will be canceled, and everyone will think I’m a thief.”

I scratched my head while I was thinking. “So, you think the doll stuffed the dough in the bird, and then took it on the lam? I asked.

He looked as puzzled as a dog staring at a phonograph before he said “Wait. What?”

“You think Lacy stole the field trip money, stuffed it in the parrot, and then hid the parrot?” I said, speaking slowly again.

“I think it’s a distinct possibility, yes.” Cody replied. “I want you to find that parrot.”

                #####

I started the investigation that afternoon by paying a social call to the L’Amour household. That’s where I met her. Lacy’s younger sister. Lovey L’Amour. She answered the door and took my card. Then she looked me up and down and said “What have we here? A private dick? What can I do for you, snooper?” It was love at first sight.

“I hear your sister has a missing bird.” I said.

“I heard that too.” Lovey replied. “It was a nice bird. Shame that something happened to it.”

“You mind if I talk to your sister?” I asked.

“I don’t mind.” Lovey said. “But she’s not here.”

“When is she gonna be back?” I asked.

“You’re tooting the wrong ringer, mister.” she purred. “She doesn’t clear her plans with me.”

“I don’t suppose you know anything about the missing parrot?” I asked.

“She probably left it on the desk, and it got thrown away by the cleaning crew. But other than that guess, I got nothing for you. Not a thing. You made this trip for biscuits, flatfoot.” She replied.

This dame was cool as a cucumber, I had to give her that.

“Thanks for your time, sister. It’s been swell.” I said, tipping my hat.

“Back atcha, you big palooka.” She smiled and batted those big baby blues, and I was zotzed. Head over heels, dizzy with the dame.

As she closed the door, I turned slowly and started walking down the street. I’d only gotten as far as Old Man Johnson’s house, when I felt a sharp poke in my rib, and a voice behind me said “Come on. Big Mike wants to see you.”

I went quietly, following the lug back to a clubhouse beside an alley. There Big Mike waited.

“Ah, Mr. Stone. So nice of you to come by.” he said. “I hope you weren’t too inconvenienced?”

“Na, Bruno here made a convincing argument.” I said.

“Ha. I do like a man with a sense of humor.” Big Mike said. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. Word on the street is that you’re looking for a bird. The Pooghkeepsie Parrot, to be exact.”

“There’s a lot of words on the street.” I replied.

“Again with the humor. Very amusing. What if I were to tell you that the bird is more valuable to me than to your client?” he said.

“I’m listening.” I replied.

“Bring me the bird, and I’ll give you forty, no, fifty dollars.” Big Mike said.

“That’s a lot of scratch for a stuffed parrot.” I said. “You could buy a new one for that price.”

“Ah, true. But I don’t want a new one. I want Poughkeepsie. As a reminder of the girl I once loved. I’m a bit of a sentimentalist.”

“Mmmhmmm.” I replied. “I’d love to help you out, Big Mike, but I don’t have a bead on the bird. First I heard of it was this afternoon. I was just leaving the L’Amour house when your goon here extended your invitation.”

“What did Lacy have to say?” Big Mike inquired.

“She wasn’t there. I talked to her little sister.”

“Ah,” Big Mike said. “Lovey L’Amour. Mean as a viper, that one. Not to be trusted.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I said. “Are we done here?”

“Of course, of course.” Big Mike said expansively. “Just remember my offer.”

I found my own way back to the street, leaving Big Mike and his goon behind. This case was starting to get complicated. I decided I’d pay Cody a visit to find out how much money this bird was supposedly holding. As I turned the corner, I saw a flash of white crinoline under a camel coat. I knew what I’d find when I reached Cody’s porch, and I was right. There was Poughkeepsie, pretty as a picture, all tied up in a gilded cage.

“Alright sister, come on out of there.” I said to the quivering bush beside the porch.

Lovey stepped out of the foliage. “Hello, snooper.” she said with a smile. “I see you found what you were looking for.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” I replied

“My, I am impressed. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“You’re not going anywhere, dollface. That bird ain’t gonna sing, so you better start.”

“It’s a funny story Steele. See, Cody played mean politics. He spread rumors about Lacy that made her cry. I don’t like it when people make my sister cry.”

“I’m with you so far. Go on.” I said.

“So, he told his little brother that he was going to change Poughkeepsie to say something really rude, and his little brother told me. So, I was going to fill the bird with the field trip money, and then call the principal while Cody was changing the recording. He’d get caught with the evidence, and teach him a lesson.”

“Go on.” I said.

“Except, while I was stuffing the envelope in the bird, I saw his reflection in the mirror on Mrs. Sassenheimer’s desk. He ran off, and I panicked. I stuffed the bird in my backpack, and ran.”

“What made you bring the bird back here?” I asked.

“I figured if you found the bird, it would all go away. You can make it all go away, can’t you Steele?” She looked up at me with pleading blue eyes, her voice quavering, her eyes brimming with tears. “I did it so you wouldn’t fall for a jailbird.”

“Oh, you’re good. I’ll give you that.” I said. “We’re two of a kind, you and I. You should look me up when you get out of Sing-Sing.”

“But Steele, you can’t send me to the big house! I’ll never survive it.” she cried.

“I’m afraid I have no choice, baby. I’m afraid I have no choice.”

                #####

That was two long days ago. Lovey had been sent to the slammer for 3 days. Two if she behaved.  Still, detention changed a person. Would she forgive me? Did I want to be forgiven?  Charlie had just returned to freshen up my drink when the door opened, splashing light into the gloomy clubhouse. A silhouette stood there, framed in the doorway. A silhouette I’d know anywhere, from the uncontrollable hair to the droopy socks. Lovey.

The clubhouse grew silent; the sign said No Girls, but nobody seemed to eager to try and enforce it. I stood.

“Hello, Snoop.” her voice rolled across the room like wind through wheat.

“Hello, baby.” I said. “Buy you a drink?”

The Challenge was:

• Your initial setting: A laundromat.

• Must include: (at least) One character from the Tom Gauld print: “Characters for an Epic Tale“

• Bonus words: Dwarf, peanut butter, contretemps, embrocation, and zeitgeist.

Enchanted

I have to wonder, as I lean over this damnable washing board, how different things would have been if I had just gone to my grandmother’s house instead of coming home. I’m almost certain I wouldn’t have ended up in a prison laundry. Vassar girls seldom go to prison. Or do laundry, come to think of it. Yet, here I am, scrubbing dwarf underwear to repay my debt to society. In the name of all that is short, fuzzy, and musical, I do hope that stain is peanut butter.

“Everelda!” A jab from my tubmate Belsante brought me back from my reveries. “The matron is coming, and it looks like she has your crown!”

I looked up to see that Queen Drucilla was indeed coming straight for me. Queen Drucilla was a large woman who moved with great speed once she was launched; but her ability to stop without causing casualties was often the subject of small wagers. Having her bear down upon you was like being charged by a bejeweled rhinoceros.

Today the queen had fairy guards flying in formation behind her holding silken tassels attached to her gown. As she approached us, the fairies did an about-face, and starting flying the other way down the hall, the premise being that their velocity would slow her momentum. It almost worked. She barely tapped the washtub this time and Belsante and I were able to sidestep the sloshing water.

“Everelda!” Queen Drucilla barked. “You have a visitor. Come!” she said as she spun suddenly, whipping the fairies around like very surprised maypole ribbons. There was a brief shuffling sound, and then the queen shot off down the hall. I trotted behind her, wondering who could have come to visit. As we traveled, I waved into the rooms of other princesses and queens. “Hey, Dru has Ever’s crown!” Queen Mindy called as we passed. “Hey Dru! I want my crown!” Calls from up and down the corridor “Oh, me too please!” “Oh yes, and a scepter!” “Ermine cape for me, please!” called another.

“Stop it all of you!” roared Queen Drucilla. “Or there shall be no partridges for supper, and I shall put peas under all your mattresses!”

“Torturer!” the voice cried. “Bully!” cried others. “You’re a meanie-head!” called a tiny voice from the end. I recognized the voice and stopped.

“Gretel?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Probably five hard months.” the little tyke replied. “No sweets, no cavorting, flossing three times a day, vegetables with every meal…it’s horrible.”

“No, I meant, for what reason are you incarcerated in Princess Towers?”

“Oh. I’m sure you saw the news when Hansel and I were held for manslaughter?” I nodded. “Charges were dropped about pushing her in the oven, what with it being self defense and all, but her heirs had us arrested for vandalism. Hansel and I did eat a lot of the gum drop roof, and that let the rain in, and the icing windows dissolved and the gingerbread got all moldy.”

“But,” I started, but then was lifted into the air by a set of the tower guards. “I’ll try to come back later!” I called to Gretel, as the guards flew me down the hall and into Queen Drucilla’s office. My conversation with Gretel had caused me to miss the berthing of the queen at her desk; a site that must be seen to be believed. When I arrived, she was already seated on her throne, an array of minions with trays stacked high with paperwork, buzzed around her like worker bees.

Queen Drucilla watched as the guards deposited me gently upon a velvet tuffet. “You should learn to keep up, girl!” she said. “A woman gets nowhere by slowing down, I can tell you that!”

“Yes, your Majesty.” I replied. “May I ask who my visitor is?”

“We’re not sure who she is.” Drucilla replied. “We have never seen her before, but she swept through the gates as though she owned them, came straight to the Towers, and demanded to see you immediately. Normally We are not prone to giving in to demands, but this woman…to be quite honest with you dear, We think she’s a witch!”

“A witch? What makes you think that?” I asked

“The black dress, purple skin, red eyes, and the pointed hat is a bit of a giveaway.” Drucilla replied.

“But I don’t know any witches!” I said.

“Then, you are about to be introduced to one. Now, put on your crown, straighten up your gown, and I’ll have Geoffrey show you to the antechamber where the lady is waiting for you.”

I was trying to smooth down the steamed-in wrinkles of my dress when the queen’s assistant opened the door, pushed me through, and closed the door quickly behind me. I looked up, not sure what to expect. What I saw was an elegant older woman, gorgeously draped in a black Giorgio Armani suit and a resplendent black asymmetrical Philip Treacy hat.

“Grandmother!” I cried as I ran to her.

“Everelda!” she said, enfolding me in her perfumed arms, then holding me out at arms length to look me up and down. “What have they done to you? What is that horrible thing you’re wearing? It looks like a pastel cake topper. And why are you shimmering?”

I looked down and realized that I had gold dust up to my elbows. “Would you believe my new embrocation ritual involves gold dust?” I asked.

“No. But I can only imagine that the truth is something horrid that you are too traumatized to share.” she replied.

“You have no idea.” I said, thinking of the dwarf underwear. “But why did Drucilla think you were a witch?”

“Everyone sees through their own eyes.” Grandmother said cryptically.

“And what are you doing here? How did you know I was here?” I asked.

“It was in the newspaper.” Grandmother replied.

“The City paper?!” I cried.

“Oh heavens, no. I’ve had a subscription to the Enchanted Times for eons.” she said. “Don’t worry, your secret is still safe outside, should you choose to leave the Forest.”

I looked outside, to the towers soaring into the clouds, the ground a distant memory from where we were kept. Fairy guards were stationed every few hundred feet, to catch the princesses and queens who regularly threw themselves from their windows. Not in fits of ennui, as one might think, fairy jumping had become a competitive sport. A dangerous one, mind you, as it is possible that the fairies might not catch you before you became a splotch on the cobblestones below, but thus far there had only been a few minor mishaps.

“I do not think leaving the Forest is a real possibility, Grandmother.” I said. “To be fair, I did poison Beauregard.”

“Yes, I heard that you admitted it in court, and that you didn’t have an attorney. Two very stupid things, child. But, all is not lost. Come over here, and start at the beginning.”

“Wait. Why do you have a subscription to the ET. How does it even get delivered?” I asked

“That’s not important now. What’s important is not letting my granddaughter become a cupcake-wearing laundry drudge. It’s not as though you killed him. One foppish prince with an upset tummy is hardly a reason for a manicure such as this.” she said, holding my hand up to the light. “So, tell Grandmother what happened.”

“It all started with Once Upon a Time. These sorts of stories always do. It’s the trite and true zeitgeist of the Enchanted Forest.” I started.

“Stop!” Grandmother said. “Let me rephrase. Start at the beginning of how you ended up here.”

“Can I still start with Once Upon A Time?” I asked.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” she answered.

“Fine. You know after I graduated, I wasn’t having any luck finding a job.” I said.

“Yes, although I do recall that I did offer to make a few calls.” Grandmother replied.

“And I almost agreed to it, until I got a letter from Father. He said that the Charmings, whom, you may remember live in the kingdom next to Father, wanted to start a school for girls that would be available for all citizens of the Forest, commoners, royal, and even anthropomorphic animals.”

“How noble.” Grandmother said dryly.

“I thought, and Emily and Jasmine agreed, that it was probably Ella’s idea. She and The Evil’s had been heavily involved in the Mouse Liberation movement, and supported equal rights for Anthros.”

“Who would have thought she’d turn out to be such a firebrand? How are your evil stepsisters, by the way?” Grandmother asked.

“Oh, they aren’t so evil, as sisters go.” I replied. “And they’re fine. Proud wimple-wearers of the Princess Academy. Majored in kingdom management and dispute resolution. Very practical, actually. But to get back to the story, I returned to Father’s kingdom, and the three of us reviewed the Charming School prospectus, and we applied to run the school. Naturally, we were accepted.”

“Naturally.” Grandmother said.

“But not long after the school opened, Prince Charming lost his wife.” I said.

“Being a first wife seems to carry a lot of risk in the Forest.” Grandmother muttered, perhaps thinking of my mother, who also died young of mysterious circumstances.

“Oh, she didn’t die.” I replied. “He actually forgot where he left her. They had a fight, she got out of the carriage and started to walk home, and he drove off without her. She’s never been seen again. Anyway, after Ella disappeared, Charming started acting very strange. One day he called for an assembly of students in the green, and after the girls were assembled, he brought out a unicorn.”

“Nasty vicious beasts, unicorns.” Grandmother said.

“I feel the same way. And so did most of the girls. They were terrified. Anyway, Charming was in a mood, so I appeased him by petting the pointy horse. He smiled and said he had a task for me. He handed me a tiny golden seed, and asked me to plant it. But not out in the fields or gardens where you would expect, but deep, deep underground, in a strange round cellar that was lit by glowing rocks.”

“How very mythic.” Grandmother said. “Do tell me there was a gnome. Those sorts of cellars really need a gnome.”

“No, gnome.” I replied.

“The Charmings have never had any sense of style. Go on.”

“After that, Charming stopped hanging around the school, and I’d pretty much forgotten about the seed, until one day when I was summoned to the throne room, and escorted back down to the grotto, where an enormous tree had grown.”

“Wait a minute!” Grandmother said. “Was it a tree with golden leaves and only produced a single golden apple?”

“Yes.” I said baffled. “How did you know?”

“And when you got down there, you found that no matter what ladder he used, or how many people he sent up the tree, nobody could get the apple?”

“Yes, but…”

“But when you showed up, the apple just dropped into your hand, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but…”

“And then suddenly you found that every single day, you had to make the trip down to the tree and get an apple?”

“Yes! And do you know how many flights of stairs that is? I have thighs like a Clydesdale!” I said. “So one day, I just couldn’t bear the thought of going up and down those stairs again, so I coated a regular apple with honey, and rolled it in some gold dust, and took it to Charming. It never occurred to me that he was eating the golden apples.”

“Well, the one bite it would have taken for him to know the difference couldn’t have hurt him too much.” Grandmother said.

“That’s what I thought too. But he keeps getting worse. I’m afraid he might actually die.”

“Have you been back to the apple grotto since the day he impetuously had you arrested for nefarious apple switching?” she asked.

“No, I’ve been here in Princess Towers for the last week.” I replied.

“Ah.” Grandmother said, standing up and brushing off invisible lint. “Then we have many apples in our bargaining basket, to coin a phrase. I’ll just drop in on the Charmings for a little visit.” She straightened her hat. “But first, I’d like to have a word with Drucilla.”

Grandmother stalked to the door, and pulled it open, dragging Geoffrey across the floor in a sweeping arch, as he held on to the handle. “You!” Grandmother said, plucking Geoffrey off the door by his collar, “escort my granddaughter to her room. I emphasize the MY part of that sentence, you should pay attention to that.”

“Yes, absolutely, as you wish it!” Geoffrey groveled, his feet running in the air as though he were trying to obey before he even reached the floor.

“Good boy.” Grandmother said, putting him down and patting him on the head. “Run along while I speak to the queen.”

Geoffrey was behind me, and pushing me out the door as fast as his little legs could churn. “Goodbye Grandmother!” I called “It was lovely seeing you!”

Run, Rabbit, Run!

Brian: Hey.

Paul: Hey.

Brian: Whatcha in for?

Paul: Kicking a box.

Brian: Well, that doesn’t seem so bad.

Paul: Yeah. Except it startled the bunny.

Brian: You kicked a box with a bunny? You’re a bunny kicker?

Paul: No! I would never kick a box with a bunny. Amanda was holding the bunny. But I kicked the box, and the noise made the bunny jump. Then it hopped into the hall.

Brian: So you followed it?

Paul: Me, and everyone else. I think there were even kids from other classes. Everybody was going down the hall calling to the bunny, who hopped into the cafeteria.

Brian: No doubt trying to escape the horde. Then what?

Paul: You know that stuff the cafeteria ladies make that looks a lot like chili, but it never is? It. Never. Is?

Brian: Indeed. It is the glop of legends. What about it?

Paul: So, Mrs. Gemmata was stirring a cauldron of the stuff, when she started screaming about giant rats and climbed up on a counter. Only, when she climbed up, she moved faster than her hair, which fell in the pot. So she was fishing around, trying to get her wig out, and the weird part? The chili was fighting back.

Brian: There are some dark secrets which man is not meant to know. Mrs. Gemmata’s chili is one of them. Go on.

Paul: Meanwhile, Amanda and the rest of the kids were running all over the kitchen looking for the bunny. And one of them found a big barrel of flour and suggested that if they put flour all over the floor, then they could see the bunny tracks and know where the bunny was.

Brian: Well, that’s an interesting methodology, I’ll grant you.

Paul: Anyway, it didn’t take long for everybody to start throwing flour at each other. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except that when Mrs. Gemmata pulled her wig out of the chili’s grasp, it flew out of her hands and wrapped around the smoke alarm, which made it go all sparky. Henry saw the sparks and thought the flour dust was going to explode, so he grabbed a fire extinguisher and started spraying.

Brian: Oh, no. So, then what?

Paul: I’m not sure, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t really see much. Then, Miss Ester marched me to the office at eraser point and told me to sit here and wait to see the principal.

Brian: I see. So, how is it that you escaped the damp and foamy fate of your compatriots?

Paul: Oh, I stepped out of the kitchen as soon as I rescued the bunny. He’d been trapped by a puddle of chili.

Brian: If you had the bunny, why didn’t you stop everyone before your cafeteria was turned into a slip-n-slide and your lunch lady was dethatched by her chili?

Paul: .

Paul: ..

Paul: …

Paul: Mom? Are you sure he’s my real dad?

As a giggle, I wanted to try and write something in the style of hard-boiled noir fiction, which is a style I’ve never tried before, but turns out to be an absolute scream to write, especially if you’re shooting for over-the-top.   And so I give you

Rip Steele in the case of Charity Starts at Home

It all started with a dame. It always does. This particular dame, a redheaded vixen with a temper to match, stalked into my office like a tigress entering a Bengali orphanage. She said her name was Charity Honey. Of course it was.

“You are Ripling Steele, I presume?” she asked, tossing a long box on to my desk. I glanced at it as I stood up.

“My friends call me Rip.” I said, reaching out to shake her hand.

She looked at my hand quizzically before looking back at me and replying “Yes. I’m sure they do.” She looked around the office, her eyes scanning the clutter, the shirtsleeves and trouser cuffs visible from under a couch, the empty bottles of rye tucked around the room, the pile of red collections envelopes, before turning back to me.

“You are a detective, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Licensed gumshoe, Doll. But you know that if you’re here.” I replied.

“Chen Fat sent me.” She said, raising her ice blue eyes to mine.

I whistled under my breath. Chen Fat controlled most of the dockside of the city. We knew each other once, a long time ago. Before The Incident. “So, how is Big Rat?”

“Missing.” She pointed at the box. “That machete was beside his desk this morning, covered with blood. Nobody can find him. He wouldn’t just disappear, especially not this week.”

“Why especially this week?” I asked.

She tilted her head and looked at me like I was as sharp as a cue ball. She walked past my desk to the window and raised the blinds and a cloud of dust. When she stopped coughing, and the dust cloud had settled enough for me to see through the grimy window, I could see a billboard on the roof of the building across the boulevard which had been pasted with eleven foot tall nudes, their interesting bits costumed by judicious grammar.

Chen Fat Welcomes You to Chilport Arena!!!

A Spectacle For The Ages!!!

Warriors VS Monsters, in a Game of Life and Death!!!

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!!!

She watched me read with the amused expression of someone watching a schnauzer try to do algebra. “Are you sure you’re really a detective?”

“Sure Doll, one of the best. So, you think the Rat got cheesed because of this hootenanny he’s got swinging?”

“Do you speak English?” she asked. “And stop calling me Doll. What is wrong with you? I only came here because your name and address was on a note in Chen’s desk. I thought maybe you knew something. However, I doubt now that you are capable of knowing anything.” She spun around so fast her spike heels almost drilled through the carpet, or would have if they hadn’t picked up scraps of paper from the Johnson case. “Ugh.” she said, looking down.

“Just a minute, Miss Honey.” I said, crossing the room, as she leaned against the door, trying to remove the notes from her shoes. “I want to help you find Big Rat before somebody fits him for a wooden kimono, for old times sake. Besides I like the palooka. Pipe me the lay, dollface.”

“No. Because you are obviously a crazy person. And if you call me Doll one more time, I promise you a childless future.”

Like I said, she was a fiery one. Life with her would be a roller-coaster. Lots of screaming. “Alright, alright, no need to have made this trip for biscuits, just tell me what you know.”

She pressed her hands against her face, rubbing her temples. “Ok, fine. He was last seen this morning before breakfast. His valet, Roland, said breakfast had been delivered, but had been untouched. It was Roland who alerted me to the bloodstained machete beside the desk.”

“So, why not call the coppers?” I asked.

“Because I’d rather not give them permission to search the grounds.” she replied evenly.

I crossed back to my desk and opened the box. Inside was a polished and seemingly unused machete. “Where’s the blood?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”, she said coming over to look inside the box. “Oh dear. Chen has such well trained staff. So efficient of them to clean it before boxing it.”

I picked up the machete and examined it. The blade appeared to be factory honed, with no chips or dents. Holding it by the handle, I looked down the length of it, but again it was as flat and straight as though it had been made yesterday. Even the screws in the handle appeared to be brightly polished and new.

“This machete has never been used.” I said. “I don’t know what was on it, but it wasn’t coffin squeezings.” As I put the chopper back in the box, Charity appeared next to me with a glass of rye from a fresh bottle.

“Here,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your morning ritual.”

“You’re all right, Charity.” I laughed as I tossed back the drink, then thought “How would she know what I do in the morning?”

That was the last thought I had for a long time. When I came to, I was face to face with my old friend Chen Fat. Too bad the rest of him was across the room. And down the hall. And maybe on the ceiling. And a lot of him seemed to be on me and the machete that dropped from my hand.

Charity was a thing of the past, and as the sirens collided at the bottom of my building, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t see Liberty anytime soon either.

Via Metafilter