Secret Agent Man
The fog didn't creep in on little cat's paws. It rushed up and forcefully assaulted you, enveloping you in a cold and clammy funk that refused to let go no matter how tightly you wrapped yourself against it. Just like love.
Stupid love! If it weren't for old love - the kind not quite forgotten and not quite unrequited - I wouldn't be hanging out on the treacherous docks of the city; slimy with fog and stinking of fish heads.
He had come to me in a late night quandry. His wife, Greek-American shipping heiress Roberta Illkikeras, was missing and he was primo suspecto. He wanted me to help prove his innocence. Men are always wanting women to bail them out. Nick Manibouton was no exception.
I gave a little shiver. I didn't know if it was the atmosphere or the thought of handsome, witty, wealthy Nicky .
I heard the footsteps before I saw The Chinaman. He wasn't Chinese. Didn't even like duck or bok choy. He was a highly successful opium den operator who thought he should look the part, right down to the Fu Man Chu and dragon nails. Man was he strange. But lots of digging and a few well-placed twenty-spots led me straight to him and I had the feeling he had just the information I needed to help Nicky.
Nicky and those startlingly blue eyes and husky "Come to Poppa" voice.
Damn! The Chinaman spotted me and was turning tail fast! I was getting too soft, thinking about someone who wasn't mine to think about, and paid the price.
I rushed after him, damn the secrecy. Past the old fashioned wooden fish crates, across from the fish factory, by the streetlamp - where I lost him.
I cursed under my breath and looked around. What was that? A scrap of paper caught on the lamp base inserted itself into my line of vision. Upon closer inspection, I could see it was a piece of heavy cardstock. On one side it read: "inds f r" and on the other side someone had hastily scrawled in indelible ink: "E = 6".
Hmmm....
posted by The Warbler | 2/21/2006 12:10:00 PM
23 Comments:
Sheesh, after taking a long mental voyage to Dubai and checking out all the lady's public restrooms, not to mention what they would do if they caught a foreign man in a Moslem lady's restroom ... and yes the sound of a woman saying "Eek" is universal ... here's the codex.
I was fingering the cardboard when I felt a sharp twinge in my neck, and instinctively raising my hand to my neck discovered a tiny dart. My vision grew darker, I broke out in a clammy sweat and felt my legs collapse under my body, I tried to call out for help, but no words would pass my lips. I awoke later in an old warehouse. How long had I been there? Was it hours or only minutes? Still groggy from the poison dart I couldn't find the strength to stand or drag myself across the floor.
Footsteps sounded through the warehouse, and the aroma of Moo Goo Gai Pan hung in the air. It was clear, I was the Chinaman's prisoner. His shadow filled the doorway, his cold eyes peering at me. I knew what he wanted….
In the bleak, wooden wasteland of the docks, not far from the 24 hour neon of the strip, the unconscious body of a beautiful showgirl is discovered. It is a bizarre scene punctuated by by a familiar aroma. The similarities, along with new possibilities pull this investigator toward secrets from a strange and sordid past. Fortunately my auto-injector pen contains the universal antidote to reverse the effects of the dart. Still, that smell - what is that smell? Reminds me of a lonelier time - dinners for one out of cardboard containers. Ah yes - General Tso's chicken (no MSG). There's something about this woman that harkens back to an unsolved case...the dart , the aroma. Sometimes dark shadows are best left unilluminated...
Somewhat recovered I felt the irresistible urge for ... Moo Shu Pork. First I had a job, though, to go find Nick as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the hunger won. While munching on my appetizer Pu-Pu tray a waitess came running up to my table. "I have call for you. Very impotent. It is in the kitchen. Follow me."
There Nick was, eyes glowing like hot coals! "You ..."
You...You...You're OK? I've searched everywhere for you I was so worried that something terrible had happened. Realizing that the glow in his eyes was more passion than anger I ran into his arms, feeling safe in his strong, muscular embrace. My mouth met the hunger of his kiss, it tasted like chinese food but spicier. My desire was aroused....
mmmmmm...mu shu pork.
Just as I was about to swoon with hunger and desire and passion a Town detective walks in the double swinging doors. "Madam, you're under arrest for murder," he said, waving the small piece of cardboard in one hand and my purse in the other. "And is this your 45 I found in here?"
I instantly hated the detective as having an evil face, with pig-like eyes spaced too closely together over an obviously fat, battered and squished nose. As he motioned for his handcuffs ...
Shots rang out and in the struggle that ensued the detective found himself handcuffed to the patrolman and all our heroine left behind was the scent of flight...
Nick and I scampered for the back door, flung it open and stepped into the cool, velvety mist of the foggy night. Clinging to the shadows we made our way along the harborside, past the rotting hulls of rusting trawlers, scattered like so many broken dreams along the dock's wooden pilings.
There at the end of the dock was his beautiful schooner, the wind straining her lines, her bow pointed towards the open ocean. My desire was aroused....
Woah, woah, woah...there seems to be an awful lot of aroused desires going on around here. Give a lonely lady a break, will ya?
I was about to go below deck to take a cold shower when I saw Nick leap from the deck onto the dock. Suddenly there was an explosion...
... as I quivered and my pants went damp watching Nick rush off throw the lines off the schooner onto the dock and start the engine and kick it into gear. Feeling chilly, I fixed myself up, trying to stay composed. I sat down next to him as he was fiddling with the wheel and he put his arm around me. "How does Man-O-War Cay in the Abacos sound, honey? We're both in trouble now."
All the sudden I knew I was in some very deep Kimchee.
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This had already been a strange and strenuous day and there I was struggling to keep my ahead above the water, while shattered pieces of the schooner swirled around me. I grabbed on to an old styrofoam cooler, slowly making my way back to the dock with the explosion still ringing in my ears. Why had Nick brought me to the boat? Was he beind the explosion? Did the cardboard paper with those few letters on it hold the anwswer to all my questions? Emerging from the water onto the dock, someone grabbed my hand to pull me to safety. I was startled by the figure of...
Fabio -could it be or was it the blow to head from the swinging mast of the splintered vessel... I'm having difficulty distinguishing real from imagined at this point. I need to focus - this is something big. My visceral instinct tells me so. Where to go from here...
Schenectady is always nice this time of year.
I woke up the next morning with an exploding headache. I opened my eyes and found myself in my own bed. My purse and revolver were on the night stand, along with a dozen roses. As some of the previous night's scenes played back in my mind, like a strange game of flash cards, I noticed a Lotto ticket with some writing on it.
"U R Close!"
I decided that it was time to take a shower and climp out of the crazy dream. All fixed up, I inspected the house for any other signs of intrusion, found none, and left in search of the perfect cheeseburger. I remembered I never did get my Moo Shu Pork and I was famished.
I coaxed old Betsey to life with a cough and sputter, the engine caught on with a large backfire and puff of smoke. As I released the emergency brake ...
...there was a raspy voice from the backseat and the feel of cold steel against the back of my neck. "Don't turn around" he commanded. Glancing in the rearview mirror I saw the cold eyes of the Chinaman. "You know what I want" he snarled, "now take me there". He pressed the barrel of the pistol deeper into my neck as my foot pressed against the gas pedal, hoping to throw him off balance. It didn't work. He clutched the back of my seat and whispered into my ear: "I've had enough of your foolish games, now take me to....
"...Schenectady," he gasped, as he eyes went wide and his grip slack. The Chinaman slumped and I immediately hit the floorboards.
Schenectady? I said to myself. The Dutch settlement in the New World that the Iroquois called Shau-naugh-ta-da, the place of the pine plains? Whatever the Chinaman had on his mind before he died, was clearly tied to the Dutch. I drove quickly to my office, logged on to my computer and booked the first available flight to Amsterdam...
...all the while thinking to myself, "Ain't Google grand?"
Did you hear about the man who spent his life collecting memorabilia of Wonder Woman, Joan of Arc and Florence Nightingale?
Apparently he was a heroine addict!
HAAAAAAAAAA
.Amsterdam..the land of cheese, really fast ice skaters and nice hot dutch cocoa. Deboarding the plane into the terminal I saw her before she recognized me. It was my old friend countess Margot Van Gogh,an art historian and technology expert, fluent in six languages, trained in cryptology and an amateur mountain climber. A good friend to have, but exhausting to keep up with.
I knew that if anyone could crack this code, she was the woman who would get it done.
Margot drove me to her estate outside of the airport, a lovely old manor house bordered by orchards,and sloping green fields where herds of sheep safely grazed. We chatted for a while over a glass or two or three of a lovely shiraz, while the fire glowed in the hearth. Then taking the battered piece of cardboard into her hands, Margot squinted at the letters scrawled across the face of the paper. She threw back another glass of shiraz, and squinted again at the cardboard. She repeated this ritual over and over again, until she finally cried out, " I think I know what this means!... The message is......"
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