It was one of those Classic Hollywood houses from back when themes had class, and close enough to a time when drinks at the nightclub actually did something besides siphon profits to Zynga. It was the residence of one Mr. Lott, a dealer in rares, a fella who had the foresight to buy thousands of 2009 animated Halloween items, and the hindsight to see the dame he married was there because of his foresight. His friends, if he had any, called him Carr, and his wife, Mona. I called him a client. He’d called me that afternoon asking me to tail his wife, figured she was cheating on him. I told him I don’t do that sort of work. He told me he would pay me a hundred million coins for three days work. I told him I do that sort of work. The housekeeper tried to give me the brush off, figuring I was there selling something. I told her I wanted to speak to Mrs. Lott and was firmly told that she was unavailable. But then the dame showed up at the rails at the top of the stairs and she looked plenty available to me. She was only wearing a pair of sunglasses, a towel, and a coy smile. “Who is it, Paige?” she purred, before she saw I had already managed to get past the stout hired help. “The name is Spade. I represent a lawyer. We have something for your husband.” “And nothing for little old me?” “Perhaps we can find something for you as well... we... ahem... cover all sorts of things.” She smiled, non plussed by my inept inuendo. “I was sun bathing on our widow’s walk when I heard your car pull up. It sounded like the 2009 accidental release Black Movie Mogul Sedan.” The dame knew her rares. “Yes ma’am,” I said. I thought I would play this one soft. “Just a moment while I slip into something less comfortable. Miss Turner, please show Mr. Spade to the study.” “This way, mister.” She took me to a room close by, and as she left said: “We keep the liquor cabinet locked.” “That’s fine, I have a set of universal keys.” She scowled and left. The scowl improved her looks. I pulled out my flask filled with Old Noob Kentucky Bourbon and took a pull as I surveyed the room. There were two framed pictures of the lord and lady of the house. They were set so each was turned away from the other. I sensed trouble in this digital slice of heaven. Money may not buy happiness, and from the looks of Mr. Lott’s investment in good feelings he can’t even rent it. To be continued...
Posted on: Sun, 13 Apr 2014 01:08:48 +0000
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