I’d been stalking the blue-bottle fly for five minutes, waiting for it to sit down, but it just kept doing circle eights in the light streaming through the dirty window. I knew it would eventually land where the light hit the corner of my desk... a warm spot, a miniature helipad with a nice circle imprint left by a bottle of Old Noob Kentucky bourbon. Suddenly the buzzing stopped and there it was, pulling a leg over its sorry excuse of a face. I raised the swatter and... the phone rang. I lifted the phone slowly and spoke softly: “Hold the line a moment please.” I set the phone down gently on the brown blotter. It had finished “washing” its “face” and now was grooming its wings. It sat there, a symbol of evil, like a goat head in a pentagram, or a teller at the DMV, or a developer of Zynga themes... I swung hard and fast, at an angle so it wouldn’t leave a gooey mess. Half of it arced neatly into the wire trash basket, and the other sailed into the streaming light and settled near the radiator. I picked it by a wing and reunited it with its abdomen. I poured a glass and reached for the phone... Say, before I get back to that call... would you care for a drink yourself? I picked up the phone... “Spade Investigations... This is Sam. How can I help?” If dogs could talk they might sound like the voice that came over the receiver: “Spade? Good. Listen... Lay off the Hackers if you know what’s good for you. If you don’t know, then keep right on poking around and a fisherman might be surprised to find a cold avatar of the detecting variety in tiny little pieces in his next catch.” The line went dead. Apparently a lot of things were going dead lately. Themes, gifts, even the crowd in front of Alton Towers wasn’t all that lively. And now a voice over the phone was making predictions for other things to cease their proper functions. I wasn’t particularly interested in snooping into what hackers, script kiddies, dweebs or other nefarious characters have been up to, not without a client footing the bill. I kind of like it quiet, but on the other hand, I don’t like being told to buzz off (you saw what I did with that fly). I put my feet on the desk and an Itsaboy cigar in my mouth, pulled my fedora over my eyes and contemplated the baritone sax crooning from the drunk jazz musician across the alley. Then she walked in... A dame wrapped in a black dress the way they wrap those little ready to eat sausages. So tight you wonder if you can get at the goodies without damaging the merchandise. Her hips swung to each side the way the warning sign wags over a train crossing... and like the RR Xing I heard an alarm clanging somewhere, but I didn’t pay it any mind. She purred a question. It might have been my name, but I couldn’t be sure as my brain hadn’t reengaged all my senses yet. I stalled for time by pouring a double shot of Old Noob. --------- I raised my glass slowly so the fumes of the bourbon would work like smelling salts and watched as she pulled out a cigarette holder so long I couldn’t imagine how it fit in her tiny pocket book. Somehow she produced a cigarette and fit it into the holder in a manner that made my teeth sweat. She leaned over the desk for the lighter, further than she needed to, and in lighting it I realized it was too warm in the office. “Good afternoon, Miss...” “Mona...” she said with a voice that could cut steel. “You got a last name that goes with Mona?” “Lott. My father was Carr Lott, the importer.” “I remember him. I’m sorry for your loss.” He had been an original dealer in Y Town rares long before there was YoBay. Zynga said he was connected to the hackers who were skimming cream from the Sweets Factory. They pulled his digital plug. Poof. One less avatar. “It’s OK,” she purred. “Daddy left me his passwords and I retrieved enough inventory that I won’t have to punch into the Widget Factory for a very, very long time. “That’s swell, Doll. So tell me, what brings you to the seedy side of town?” “I’m lonely.” I tried to avoid showing my spike in blood pressure by lighting another Itsaboy cigar. “Yeah? How so? I figure a dame like you can buy all the company she needs.” “I tire of sycophants. What I really want are my parties.” “Can’t see how I can help you there. I’m not much of a social director.” She leaned close. Close enough I knew she could smell my Brylcreem. I felt her breath as she whispered... “True friends, Mr. Spade. I want my friends who have gone to V Cruise and Candy Crush and Vegas Dream Poker. I want Yoville back the way it was, Sam. Find out what has happened with Zynga. I will make it worth your while.” ----------- Mona Lott was using her Lauren Bacall voice on me, slowly leaning over my desk as if she were trying to be earnest, but just reminding me why we are called mammals. “Make it worth my while, how?” I asked. “Well, I am rich, and bored...” I considered splashing my glass of Old Noob into my face, but I downed it instead. Setting the glass down with gentle determination, I said: “Well, given the two, I’ll take the dough. I usually get $200 YoCash a day, plus expenses.” “What sort of expenses?” “Oh, gas, food for stake outs, maybe a hotel room or a train ticket if I need to go out of town. Sometimes, to get information, folks need a little lubrication...” At that point I filled my glass with my favorite lubricant. “How long does it take to solve most of your cases?” she purred. “Well, it depends on a great many things...” “I’m interested in finding out why Zynga is behaving the way they are. I don’t care what it costs, but I hate waiting. What if we say it takes a week to find out, that would be $1400 YoCash plus expenses, as you say, which I can pay now. But if you solve it in just a few days I will pay you $3,000 YoCash. Does that sound reasonable?” “Lady, if you have that kind of dough, then I suppose I can say it is plenty reasonable and toss in the expenses.” “Then we have a deal?” “We have a deal.” She strolled around the desk proving she knew how to cross her heart, and set a bag of dough on the desk. “That is $1500 YoCash, handsome,: she whispered. I have a similar bag waiting for you if I have my answer in a few days... And perhaps I can think of some personal way to repay you.” She leaned over and gave me a squeeze and a kiss I knew left a mark. “Thank you Mr. Spade. I hope to hear from you very soon.” Mona Lott strolled out of my office with swaying hips that brought to mind the ending of the 1812 Overture.
Posted on: Mon, 26 May 2014 23:57:50 +0000
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