Tales of the Parodyverse

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Baroness Elizabeth Zemo decides to go slumming
Mon Feb 06, 2006 at 04:22:31 pm EST
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Re: Client Search!
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Client Search!
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AJA
Mon Feb 06, 2006 at 12:51:48 pm EST
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"Sally," the Baroness purred, "I need a private detective."

"No problem, your Excellency," her number one henchwoman replied. "We've got the best on the planet on retainer: Pinkiedumb Corporation, Krill, Corporate Intelligent, . . ."

"I was thinking of something a little downmarket."

"Spiffy and Banjooo's?"

"They're too smart -- especially after the sea monkey left."

"Oh, so you need some muscle?"

"Not really. See if this one's available." Elizabeth passed a card over to the Flexible Felon.

"'Arnie J. Armbruster, Esq., Private I. Confidential Investigacions.' He can't even spell. And he says he's a lawyer, for pity's sake. What would you want him for?"

Elizabeth Zemo told her.

* * *

It was three o'clock in the afternoon and I was still slumped in my swivel chair, ankles resting on my desk, when my post-hangover snooze was interrupted by a tapping sound.

"Go 'way Snookie. I'm concentrating."

"It's not me, boss," Snookie replied from the outer office.

The tapping continued. "Snookie, call the landlord and tell him he has woodpeckers. Tell him I'm suing him for constructive eviction unless he gets rid of them in the next ten minutes."

Snookie strolled into Arnie Armbruster's sanctum, kicking a dust bunny over to the bookcase as she neared his desk. She wrinkled her nose. "Thunderbird again, boss? You're killing your reputation as a hard boiled, hard drinking private dick. Wino isn't exactly a career-enhancing move."

"It tastes good. And it's only three dollars a half gallon. Anyhow, you're making my head hurt again. Just get on the phone to the landlord and get that tapping noise to stop."

"It's not woodpeckers, Arnie. It's not even a pecker. Look." She swiveled my chair around to face the window. My feet dropped off the desk and raised a small cloud of dust as they hit the floor.

"I don't see anything, Snooks."

"Focus, boss, focus."

"Hey, there are some clear spots on the window. Well, at least clearer than the rest of the window. When's the last time we got our windows washed?"

"Probably about the last time you got your ashes hauled for free," Snookie observed.

"So, I told you it was a bird."

"Look harder, bossman."

I leaned forward and squinted. There was some sort of hand thing tapping on the window. Except it was clear, like silicone. "That's a hand! A disembodied hand! I'm cursed!"

Snookie took direct action, pushing my chair on its casters all the way to my window. This close to the sepia-colored glass, I could not only see the hand but also a ghostly face, something like the female demons in the Voodoo Vixens video game in the back of my favorite bar. "Hey, she's trying to talk!"

"She is talking, Master of the DT's. You just can't hear it through the alcoholic white noise in your brain."

"What's she saying?"

"'Let me in,' of course. Duh."

"Why would I let a video game demon into my office?"

"Because she's also saying that she needs a P.I."

"So, let her in."

"I'm trying," Snookie complained. "The latch is frozen. When's the last time you let some fresh air in here?"

"Who needs that? And anyway, if she's a potential client, why isn't she coming through the door?"

"You're the P.I., you tell me."

Fifteen minutes later, after Arnie's attempts to open the latch with his hand, his shoe, an empty bottle of Thunderbird, Snookie's hairpin and a penknife failed, he hurled his wastebasket (still containing several empty fifths) at the window, smashing the glass and releasing another mildly toxic cloud of brown dust. Thanks to her agility, Silicone Sally had jinked to the side just as the wastebasket crashed through the glass on its five-story long trip to the pavement.

"And so that's the story," Sally Rezilyant concluded. "My principal wants you to surveill Baron Ottokar Zemo and to report back on the affair that he's suspected of engaging in."

"Principal?" I inquired astutely. "Why would the head of your high school be interested in Baron Otto-whatsie Whosis?"

Silicone Sally turned to Snookie and remarked, "I see why he's not practicing law."

"Only when he can concentrate -- which is about once a month. He did do a good job for Yuki Shiro, though."

"Ladies," I interrupted suavely, "enough of this small talk. I am an eminent lawyer as well as a kick-ass private eye. But anyway, as I was asking, why is your high school principal interested in this Baron who you tell me is having an affair with someone he's engaged to? That doesn't make any sense."

"That's for you to find out."

"Not so fast, sweetheart. Even if I'm doing this for your principal, I still know that you're a certified villain. I only work for superheroes."

"So that's why we haven't had any cases yet," Snookie remarked.

"I am not a villain. I'm a C.H.P.M."

"What's that? C.H.I.M.P?"

"No, C.H.P.M. 'Chartered Henchperson/Minion.'"

"Whatever. You're still no superhero."

"You can invoice me for your daily rate of $500 and expenses."

"Five G's a day -- hey, who has scruples? Do I have scruples, Snookie?"

"You're still a licensed lawyer -- somehow."

"Fine. I get one week's fees up front."

Sally reached into her handbag and counted out $1,250 and handed it to Snookie. "That's only half of the advance," Arnie's perceptive assistant observed.

"I said you could invoice me for $500 a day. I'll pay you $250."

"Now wait a second," I bellowed. "You're taking half of my fee! No way!"

"Two fifty's a lot better than nothing, Thunderbird-breath," Sally riposted.

"Yeah, well how am I going to explain this to the tax auditor when I'm billing for $500 and getting only $250?"

"You have double books, don't you?"

"I resent that insinuation. My tax records are completely legitimate."

"So, you'll just keep triple books."

"And you keep $250 an hour of my money, right?"

"Armbruster, what you don't know won't hurt you."

[Well, is he going to take the case?]


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