| A humid nocturnal gloom held the City of Angels in its clutches. A palpable tension gnawed at my gut. Everyone lived and died as usual under the inky night sky, but outside my third-story window the neon signs and streetlights seemed subdued, almost unwilling to cut into the blackness. Maybe it was just that chalupa I had for lunch. |
| I was in this state of meditation when a pair of legs walked into my office. I heaved my eyes from the stack of tinker toys on my desk. |
| The architecture supported by those two columns of womanhood took my breath away. Her colonnade and flying buttresses were wrapped in a torch blue dress that raised the temperature in the room by about 20 degrees. She leaned back against my open door. The words "Jake Spear, P.I." on the glass framed her auburn tresses in a black halo. I raised a brow in approval. Her honey-brown eyes scanned me like they'd found a particularly colorful slime mold. |
| Velvet poured from her lips: "Are you Jake Spear?" |
| "That's what they'll put on my gravestone." |
| "Headed for the grave so soon, Mr. Spear?" |
| "With scotch, cigarettes, and women like you dragging me to it, I am. Call me Jake." |
| "All right 'Jake'. Call me 'Maureen'... Tinker toys? I'm impressed," she deadpanned, looking at my desk. |
| "They pass the time. Besides, there are worse things I could be doing." |
| "Care to suggest a few?" |
| She inhaled and a button popped off her blouse, flew over my shoulder, and landed with a rattle in a dark corner. |
| "More than a few, but never mind lady. What's your business?" |
| She slid up to my desk. The scenery was even more breathtaking close-up. |
| "I have a friend..." |
| "I'll bet." |
| "...a good friend. He's in trouble. I need you to help him." |
| Trouble sticks to girls like her like cat hair to a fine black suit. I wasn't sure I wanted to get tangled in this spider's web. |
| "Why should I?" |
| "You were the only private detective in the yellow pages open 24 hours. I'm desperate." |
| Her sincerity crumbled my already feeble resolve. Dames always manage to find a weak spot in a guy. |
| "OK honey, what's his trouble?" I asked, resigned to my fate. |
| "He's dead." |
| "I'd say he's a little past helping. Forget it. I'll give you the number of a good fortune teller. You know, phone calls from beyond and all that garbage. As genuine as a kosher pork chop but she gives a good show." |
| "Mr. Spear, I don't think you understand. It was death by broccoli!" |
|
*** |
| Her friend, a Doctor Smedley, rented a dive on the wrong side of town. Hungry eyes followed us as we drove through the barrio streets. For reassurance, Maureen reached over and stroked the bulge in my pants. Boy I was glad I was packing heat that day. |
| When we finally reached the building, I parked my ride on the street. I knew the local scum wouldn't touch a Yugo. The building itself was a real charmer. Striking city trashmen had left piles garbage bags rotting against it. Swarms of flies glittered on graffitied walls. The smell inside wasn't much better. We walked through a deserted reception and took a shuddering elevator to the tenth floor. By the time we stood outside the doctor's door, I could feel the urine stench dripping from my clothes. |
| My well-engineered companion extracted a key from her cleavage and worked the lock. She pushed the door open. We recoiled reflexively when a blast of sulphur-laden decay washed over us. I wiped at the tears streaming from my eyes. |
| The scene that met us came straight out of the senior Bush's nightmares. Green muck plastered the walls, sloping to a thick soup covering the floor. The only recognizable furniture was a pair of long tables. A weak chartreuse light filtered in through the windows. Equipment lay smashed and buried in the vegetable slop. My eyes continued to water from the aroma. Silently cursing a P.I.'s lot, I steeled myself and stepped inside. My battleworn wingtip disappeared into the noxious mush with a thick slurp. |
| Maureen nodded towards one of the tables. I slogged through the mire and noticed a man-shaped mound. Maureen sloshed up next to me. With nothing else available, I handed my coat to Maureen, rolled up my sleeves, and shovelled with my bare hands. Within a few minutes I had uncovered the body of a man in his late sixties, white hair and mustache stained green like some expired citizen of Oz. A quick examination revealed nothing but a rather risqué tattoo on his left buttock. The apparent cause of death was asphyxia. The murder weapon was spread all over the room. I knew of only one source of so much broccoli, but I couldn't confront the Big Guy until I knew more. It could wait until morning. |
|
*** |
| Despite everything, the night's work had left us both ravenous. We stopped by my office just long enough to clean up and air out. I introduced her to Ly Kim's Chinese Smorgasbord. Not exactly an Oriental Four Seasons, but it's busy 24 hours a day and it gave us a chance to talk. We both skipped the broccoli beef. |
| We started in on small talk. Her honey eyes lost their chill as one topic led to another: where we grew up, living in L.A., how to de-musk ferrets... the usual. But like the well worn shibboleth about "all good things," our friendly conversation inevitably led to our succotashed pal. |
| "So...what exactly do you need me to do?" I asked. |
| "Find the doctor's killers, of course. I was a close associate of his so there's quite a bit of self preservation involved." |
| "Got it. You don't want to find yourself at the bottom of a heap of cauliflower." |
| My bad taste won a grin and a groan. |
| "But seriously, who would want Smedley dead?" |
| "Well, the doctor told me that he was sure someone was trying to either sabotage or steal his work..." |
| "Did he tell you who that 'someone' was?" |
| "No, but I got the impression that he wasn't very intimidated by whomever it was." |
| I speared a chunk of tripe in frustration. We weren't getting anywhere. |
| "Then can you tell me what was worth killing the doctor over?" |
| After a moment's hesitation she answered, rummaging in her purse. |
| "I was hoping I wouldn't have to..." |
| She let out a short cough and looked up at me, surprised. A drop seemed to melt from the corner her ruby lips and run down her chin. I started from my chair and she toppled against me, a scarlet streak slashing down my shirt. I barely heard the screams of the people around us as I eased her to the floor. I reached for her hand and felt something hard and smooth: a film canister. She looked up at me, features twisted with pain, gasped "I'm sorry," and died in my arms. |
...sometime, maybe soon...
Pakeha