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My Girl Friday

Started by The Good Reverend Roger, June 25, 2014, 02:22:03 PM

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The Good Reverend Roger

(This may at first glance seem like yet another multiverse story.  It isn't.  It's something else entirely.)

Hi, my name is Hamish Howl.  I'm a private detective.  In the books and the movies, this sort of story would start off with a gorgeous blond walking into my office, crying into a silk hankerchief...But this is Tucson, and we can't have things like that.  No, the woman who came into my office was a bottle-redhead that looked like 50 pounds of codfish poured into a 5 pound sack.  And she wasn't crying.  She looked pissed.

"You're Hamish Howl?" It took me a moment to realize she wasn't shouting, at least not intentionally.  She had the kind of voice drill sergeants dream of having.  I think the word is "stentorian". 

"Yes, ma'am, that's me."  I pointed at one of the seats across from my desk, "Have a seat, if you please." 

It's also worth noting that in the movies, my office would be a mess...And it probably would be, but my partner Friday doesn't like a mess. And we don't make Friday upset, not if we want to see Saturday, if you catch my drift.

The lady got straight to the point.  "I am Abagail Horne.  My husband has been murdered.  I want you to find out who did it."

"Ma'am, if it's a murder, then the police are the people you want to see."

"Hmmph.  The police, that pack of corrupt incompetents, are calling it a suicide.  As if Horace would ever kill himself."

I thought that maybe I'd kill myself if my name were Horace Horne, but then it occurred to me that Hamish Howl isn't much better.

"Okay, Mrs Horne, can you give me some details?  I charge..."

"I know how much you charge.  It is acceptable.  In fact, I will pay you 25% more if you don't take on any other cases until this is solved.  I shall pay you to date every Friday."  She rolled on, assuming - correctly - that this was agreeable to me.  She handed me a file.  "In that is everything that I know, and everything those useless losers at the police department could be bothered to find out.  Horace was murdered in his office at our business."

Horne...Horne...Now I remembered.  Horne Enterprises.  Something to do with machines providing functional immortality.  It was all very hush-hush, but everyone who had the money to look into it apparently signed right up.  And then some of them died anyway, right on schedule, but not one of their estates sued.  Just another bit of weirdness, here in the city of sun and fun.

"I'll need some time to go through this file, and make some initial inquiries.  Can we meet tomorrow, same time, to talk a bit more about it?"

"That is acceptable.  Good day."  Mrs Horne got up and swept out of my office.  She had that sort of grace that only large women can have.  Which is to say she didn't quite take out the door frame.

"You hear all that?" I asked.  To the empty room.  Because of course it wasn't really empty.  The closet door opened, and my girl Friday walked out.  Odd habit of hers, spending her free time in the closet, sometimes for hours or more.  She was dressed today in a black baby doll dress, fishnet stockings, too much mascara, and luminescent blue lipstick.  She's weird, but she's really good at what she does.  She's been working with me since...Well, funny thing is, I can't remember exactly how long.  Certainly since the war.

"I can't see how I'd miss it", she replied, "She has a voice like a diesel engine."

I laughed, but little Lauren Rae Friday didn't even crack a smile.  She only ever smiled at bad car smash ups, train wrecks, and murder scenes.  She was a strange one, but she kept up her end of the partnership, and having a drop-dead gorgeous partner has its advantages when you're dealing with a certain type of client or stoolie.  She sat down across from me and we started going through the files.

Most of what we saw pointed at suicide.  Horace Horne was found in his office, swinging from a rope, with an empty bottle of single malt scotch on his desk.  On the other hand, there was no note, his company was flush with money, and if his wife had driven him to this, it would have happened 30 years earlier.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I think this suicide stinks like yesterday's sushi", Friday said, "This guy was killed."

"What makes you say that?"

"Intuition."

"Okay."  I'd learned to listen to Friday when she had a hunch.  "I'd say we start by talking to the investigating detective."

"oooh, I LIKE talking to police."  She smiled her little girl smile, which always sets off my arachnid response.  Weird, isn't it?  A shy smile from a pretty young lady, and every nerve in my body tells me to run, tells me that there's more danger here than any caveman ever faced on the savannah.  I shuddered, and she giggled, like she always does.

Well, City Center is only a few blocks from my office on Broadway, so I figured we'd walk, save gas on the Packard.  It was early in the day and late in the season, so the Tucson heat wasn't too bad.  Call it 104 and no hot wind, for once.  Friday strolled along, window shopping without slowing down, occasionally twirling.  If you didn't know her, she'd look like she was in love or on drugs or something...But she always does this.  I've gotten used to it.

I lit a cigarette while I was waiting for the crosswalk.  "These things are gonna kill me, some day."

Friday gave me a funny look, and then laughed out loud.  I swear, she can be downright creepy sometimes.  The light changed, and we crossed over to city center.  Walking in, I saw my old pal Sergeant Ahmad behind the desk.

"Hey, Ahmad, how's tricks?"

"Hey, Hamish!  Good to see you."

"Look, I'm on a case.  The Horne death."

Ahmad paled, like he was scared.  "Can't help you, Hamish."

"What?  It's supposed to just be a suicide, right?"

"Yeah, it's a suicide.  You take my advice, you pay that wife of his back, go find something less risky.  Like maybe wrestling bears or something.  I'm not kidding, Hamish, back off."

"Where's the detective that worked the case?"  This was Friday, and she smiled her special smile at Ahmad.  He looked like he was going to crap in his pants.

"It's Wilson, and if you gotta know, he's over at the Club Congress getting drunk."

"What?", I asked, "It's only 9 AM".

"Yeah.  Strange, isn't it?  So strange I'm gonna warn you again to back off.  I'm not gonna TELL you, you understand.  This is just some advice.  Some good advice."

"Thanks, Ahmad."

We turned and left city center, and walked back past my office, to the Club Congress. 

Later, I'd kick myself square in the ass for not listening to Ahmad.

(to be continued)








" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."
- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."
- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

LMNO


The Good Reverend Roger

Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 25, 2014, 02:31:22 PM
Oooh, goody!

I took a personal day, and I've been too busy to write, and I've missed it.

LDW will continue, but it's the hardest thing I've ever written, and I'm not up to it just this moment.  So PI story.
" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."
- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."
- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.

This is already awesome.
Weevil-Infested Badfun Wrongsex Referee From The 9th Earth
Slick and Deranged Wombat of Manhood Questioning
Hulking Dormouse of Lust and DESPAIR™
Gatling Geyser of Rainbow AIDS

"The only way we can ever change anything is to look in the mirror and find no enemy." - Akala  'Find No Enemy'.

Reginald Ret

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on June 25, 2014, 02:41:39 PM
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on June 25, 2014, 02:31:22 PM
Oooh, goody!

I took a personal day, and I've been too busy to write, and I've missed it.

LDW will continue, but it's the hardest thing I've ever written, and I'm not up to it just this moment.  So PI story.
Hell, dude. You don't have to explain yourself, we are your captive audience, you are not our pet writer (yet. Gimme a few weeks to reinforce the basement's lock).

I'm just glad you are writing.

Also, I've been drawn in already, I just know I will enjoy the rest.
Lord Byron: "Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves."

Nigel saying the wisest words ever uttered: "It's just a suffix."

"The worst forum ever" "The most mediocre forum on the internet" "The dumbest forum on the internet" "The most retarded forum on the internet" "The lamest forum on the internet" "The coolest forum on the internet"

Luna

Death-dealing hormone freak of deliciousness
Pagan-Stomping Valkyrie of the Interbutts™
Rampaging Slayer of Shit-Fountain Habitues

"My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant, total amazement."

Quote from: The Payne on November 16, 2011, 07:08:55 PM
If Luna was a furry, she'd sex humans and scream "BEASTIALITY!" at the top of her lungs at inopportune times.

Quote from: Nigel on March 24, 2011, 01:54:48 AM
I like the Luna one. She is a good one.

Quote
"Stop talking to yourself.  You don't like you any better than anyone else who knows you."

Pæs


Cainad (dec.)

Aw yeah! I just finished a really weird PI story by a favorite author of mine, and now I'm in the mood for more.

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."


The Good Reverend Roger

It's based on a screaming-jumping-outta-the-bed-and-whacking-my-fucking-head-on-the-nightstand nightmare I had a while back.
" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."
- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."
- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on June 26, 2014, 01:58:49 AM
It's based on a screaming-jumping-outta-the-bed-and-whacking-my-fucking-head-on-the-nightstand nightmare I had a while back.

My water's trembling at the possible plot twists.
Weevil-Infested Badfun Wrongsex Referee From The 9th Earth
Slick and Deranged Wombat of Manhood Questioning
Hulking Dormouse of Lust and DESPAIR™
Gatling Geyser of Rainbow AIDS

"The only way we can ever change anything is to look in the mirror and find no enemy." - Akala  'Find No Enemy'.

The Good Reverend Roger

Once inside Club Congress, we found Wilson in the "small" bar in back.  He was the only patron, and he was quite obviously hammered.  We sat down across from him in the booth he was occupying.  He looked across the table with an owlish expression, squinting through the Bacardi.

"Oh, hey Hamish."

"Isn't it a little early for this, Wilson?"

"No.  No it isn't.  It is late for this.  It is, in fact, far too late."  He waved his drink in front of him, as he spoke with the grandeloquence that only the truly smashed can accomplish.

"We need to talk to you about the Horne death."

"Death, you say?  Ha.  Haha.  HAHAHAHA! OW!", he said, as Friday slapped the shit out of him, her chipped nails gouging his face just a little.

"Calm down and tell me what you know, will ya?" I asked.

Wilson suddenly seemed to sober up, at least partially.  "What you got in that place is machines, Hamish.  Machines that keep you alive forever.  Or at least that's what their advertizing pamphlets say.  And they're really DOING it, but not like they say.  No.  No no no.  It's a nightmare.  It's like God doesn't love us anymore, and He let that happen.  Say, do you know what a real-time interrupt is?"

"No."

Wilson drew his service automatic out of his shoulder harness, and smiled.  "It's a new term I just learned.  It goes something like this."  He put the pistol against his right temple and pulled the trigger.  Friday and I were partially deafened by the roar of the pistol, but most of the mess went on the wall, with just a bit spraying our faces.  Through my concert-ears, I could dimly hear Friday give out a startled "eep!", and then she started to laugh.

As you can imagine, the next couple of hours were a complicated affair, with one detective after another asking us all manner of questions, including Detective Simons, a mousy little creep that seemed to think we were somehow responsible, and whose eyes kept wandering to Friday's cleavage.  I've known Simons for years, and he's hated me the whole time.  The feeling is mutual.  Thanks to the bartender's account of things, however, we were not brought in for a more "official" accounting.  We were merely witnesses in the eyes of the homicide captain, thank God.

By the time we were allowed to go, though, it was time for our next meeting with the widow Horne.  We beat her to the office by maybe 30 seconds.

"Well", she said (more 'projected', to be strictly honest), "What is your professional opinion?"

"Your husband's death is at best 'odd', and I highly doubt it was a suicide.  In fact, the investigating officer just babbled some nonsense at us and then blew his brains out right in front of us."

"Yes, I was wondering about the flecks of blood on your face, young man."

"In any case, the late Detective Wilson implied that your business was somehow involved.  Specifically, the process you use.  Can it be arranged for us to see your facility?"

"Certainly.  You may come by at 9 tomorrow morning.  I shall arrange a tour of the facilities, and then you may speak to whomever you wish.  They will answer candidly, or they will find new employment."

At length, the widow Horne left, and I made a drink for myself.  "You want one?", I asked Friday.

"No thank you, Hamish.  I'm gonna go out with my BOYFRIEND!"  A flash of that unnerving - terrifying - smile.

"I gotta meet this young man some day."

"Some day.  Not today.  We're going to see ferrets being flung."

"Is that a band's name?"

"No."

"An obscure sports term?"

"No, it's when you get a big bag of ferrets, see, and you..."

"Okay, okay.  I don't want to know.  See you tomorrow."

"See ya!"

"Wait.  You still have a little bit of blood on your face.  You might want to wash it off first."

"Why?  There's only going to be more."  There was that terrifying smile, again. 

I sighed as she bounced out the door.  I sat in my chair and considered my drink.  Then I considered a few more.  Then I fell asleep, and had another nightmare.  Not the usual one, with the ships burning in New York harbor, after the German sneak attack on December 7th, 1941.  I knew that dream like an old friend.

No, in this dream, Friday and I were standing in front of a huge machine.  Hard drives spun up and then stopped, lights lit up and turned off, moving parts that looked like a harvester combine churned.

"What the hell is that?", I asked.

"It's the immortality machine!", Friday said, in her best 'excited teenager' voice.

"It doesn't look like an immortality machine.  It looks like sharp and grabby death to me."

"That's because you're not a SCIENTIST", she replied, and started pushing me towards the blades.  She's a tiny thing, but she moved me like I was a rag doll.

"Hey, stop, I don't want to be immortal!"

"Don't be silly, Hamish.  Everyone wants to be IMMORTAL."

"No, not me, I'm fine just the way I am."  But then, with a final shove from Friday, I fell into the blades.

I woke myself up with my own screams.  Dawn was making the office window glow.  I got up and got dressed.  I wanted a good meal (last meal?) before I went to go see these 'immortality' machines.  The nightmare aside, I wasn't thrilled.  The huge jumps in technical knowledge that were brought on by the war made everything more complicated, in my eyes.  It would be 1960 soon, and there was talk already of using the new space station as a shipyard for huge spacefaring ships.  Jesus, everyone, slow down.

I headed down to the Grill for my breakfast.  If I had any idea what was going to happen, I'd have gone somewhere fancier.

(to be continued)
" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."
- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."
- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.

Weevil-Infested Badfun Wrongsex Referee From The 9th Earth
Slick and Deranged Wombat of Manhood Questioning
Hulking Dormouse of Lust and DESPAIR™
Gatling Geyser of Rainbow AIDS

"The only way we can ever change anything is to look in the mirror and find no enemy." - Akala  'Find No Enemy'.

The Good Reverend Roger

" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."
- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."
- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

Gonna leave this tab open so I remember to read this when I get home. Yay!
"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."