Chapter 1:
Of all the planets in the galaxy she had to crash into mine. In a fiery burst of splendour and mayhem she came, destroying all before her in a cacophonous rush of smoke and fire and burning debris of which, I would bet, the insurance won't even begin to cover. Also, the dry cleaning bill will be murder on my favourite pair of slacks...
But I am getting slightly ahead of myself.
<->
Being a private dick in the twenty-forth century, a gumshoe, an investigator, call it what you will, is far from glamorous, but when this woman crashed into the planet and into my life, well let's just say things got a little more interesting.
I was in the office trying to figure out a method for getting ketchup back into the little packages you get with take-out food, and quite absorbed, when the door flew open with a bang and in sauntered the most heavenly of bodies to ever travel the heavens, or crash out of them. In fact, parts of her dress were still smouldering and burned away, revealing quite a lot about the human condition. But she didn't seem to mind, and neither did I.
I gave her a quick once over while she patted down her more combustible textiles. I could see by the way she put her cigar out in my assistant’s uneaten Quiche Lorraine with side salad she was used to getting what she wanted. This accomplished she gave me back the once over, and with interest.
She surveyed the office next, this with the bored contempt of a well fed house cat, one who played by its own rules. Tactfully, she ignored both the smear of ketchup staining my formerly immaculate pair of slacks and the small fire her cigar had started in the Quiche Lorraine. You had to admit, she was a class act.
“Are you Molloy?” she asked.
“Who's asking?” was my pithy reply. “And what's the big idea barging into my office here, and also wrecking the whole street outside the place for five blocks?”
“My ship just crashed and I need a dick in a hurry,” she said.
I leaned back in my chair and smiled.
“Sure,” I said. “But I think you'd better buy me dinner first. See, I'm the classy type.”
“Perhaps I've come to the wrong place,” she said, starring down at me with an expression I was sadly becoming used to, one reminiscent of someone completely unimpressed and/or disappointed.
“Now hold on,” I said. “And yes I’m a Private Dick, or P.I. as we prefer to be called. And also, what can I do for you?”
“You're not offended by crashed space ships, are you?” she asked.
“Perish the thought. I’ve never really been that attached to this part of town anyways. Now, why don't you have a seat. I'd offer you some Quiche Lorraine, but it’s somewhat burning or at least smoking, as you also seem to be.”
“They say smoking's back in fashion,” she replied.
“Tell that to my neighbours with no eyebrows, or shops, or houses.”
“I thought you weren’t that attached. And I'd rather not. I'm trying to keep a low profile.”
“By crashing your ship and burning down ten blocks?” I asked, slightly exasperated and losing some cool.
“Five blocks at best. Don’t exaggerate, it makes you look pasty,” she said. “And I'm usually way more flamboyant.”
“Oh boy,” said I. “And please don’t set that chair on fire.”
I moved to the side cupboard where conveniently I kept a small fire extinguisher, just in case, some glasses, and a bottle of rye. She looked like she could use all three.
“You look like you could use all three,” I said.
“Your powers of deduction are impressive Molloy. It is Molloy?”
“Guilty. Present,” I said, which was the truth for both the latter, obviously, and the former, but that was several years ago and I got off with community service.
I handed her a drink and subtly put out the quiche with the fire extinguisher, this while she knocked back half a finger's worth of rye. Then I went to the window and examined the fifty-foot trench gouged into the street and surrounding buildings below, also the billowing wreckage of a spaceship parked unceremoniously at the end of it, smoking heavily. A parking enforcement-bot, partially on fire, was in the process of giving the ship a ticket.
“Smoking's in fashion now?” I said.
“What's that?” she replied.
“Never mind. Your ship is kind of on fire and smoking. Also, you're in a no parking zone.”
“It isn't my ship. I stole it,” she said.
“Oh boy,” I sighed.
“Yeah, so I got a case. You interested Molloy?”
“Well, that's great it's not your ship,” I said. “Let the owner pay up. I don't do parking ticket cases anyways. Say, anyone see you leaving it? Or, maybe like, entering this establishment?”
“They were too busy, you know, running and screaming, or whatever, burning, trying to help people...” She yawned. “I think I'm fine regarding that.”
“Well, that's good. At least you're fine,” I said.
She drained another half a finger’s worth of her drink and stared at me imperiously.
“Sarcasm doesn't become you Molloy.”....
Copyright Daniel Smallegange, 2024, all rights reserved.
