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.
My novel is available in print or as an ebook on all Amazon sites. If you would like to know when I occasionally make they ebook free leave in the comments section. Thanks, DS.
