1

I suppose I should tell you where I was when this all started. I was in my AUTHENTIC 1930's style office that has a lot of original 1930's stuff in it to create the proper atmosphere. I have a small, square desk in the middle of the floor. On my desk are a paperweight, a candlestick telephone, a desk pad to protect the wood. an “in” box with nothing in it, an “out” box on top of the “in” filled with files that really should put in the file cabinet, a laptop computer that is my only nod to modern help, two file cabinets, one that is badly dented and opens with difficulty, the other a old army 4-drawer with a locking bar on the front.

One wall has a Murphy bed in it that I have as I like the ambiance, and because there are times when I cannot and/or will not get home to sleep. I sleep here more than at my apartment. Next to the desk is a small refrigerator that comes flush to the desktop. On top of it are a one element burner and a 10-cup coffee maker for a little pick-me-up when I need to be alert.

The walls are a ivory with some small cracks tastefully built into the surface to give it that Philip Marlowe feel, and to attract attention away from the slight bow in the wall where some raging troll wadded up a dictionary and broke the wall that he threw it against. Finally there is a set of two seven foot tall book cases that hold old paperback novels and where my folded clothes are put. Through the inner door is a small alcove which holds a desk and another candlestick telephone. That is the secretary's office, which is currently gathering dust as I haven't really tried to get a new partner/secretary since Zhirk died.

Two wooden arm chairs stood in front of my desk. One of them heId my latest client, a Mr, Norman Cobb who was regaling me with his tale of woe. Seems that with all the strange activity going on as Halloween approached, someone had taken his black cat, Cocoa by name, and he was frantic to get poor Cocoa back before midnight. This was the third time he'd gone through the story, and I was getting the feeling I'd be hearing it again, as he didn't seem to understand subtle hints that I couldn't help him find a cat in that short a time. I had been trying to send him to my brother-in-law Larry Potter, for the last ten minutes. But Mr. Cobb wouldn't have any of it. Obtuse would be a good word if I thought he'd actually understand it.

“Mr. Cobb,” I said, “I'm not really able to handle this kind of job very easily. Now if you'd take this problem to Larry Potter, he may well be able to find your cat without the huge charge you'd get from me.” “You're the one I need, not some wanna-be jerkface pimple on a goat's ass. I gotta find my rabbit, and I gotta have you find her.” he said, with a petulant note to his voice. I am not the most patient person in the world, and he hit my limit. I grit my teeth and tried very hard to be polite. “Mr. Cobb, I don't find lost animals. I don't use magic. You need a magickian to find a lost rabbit, there's no way I'd even know where to look and to be honest, I'm not interested in looking. So tell you what, you get your lazy butt up out of my guest chair, go out the door, and go hire a magickian. He can whip up a spell to find your little hairball pretty quickly. Good day.”

Mr. Norman Cobb got up very slowly from the chair, and tried to go for intimidating. He stepped over to the edge of the desk, placed both hands on it and leaned forward, trying to get into my face and force me to back up. This really started to piss me off. “Ms. Fatelli, I said before, I don't want no fuckin' magickan, I want you to find my rabbit! Now either you start trying to locate my rabbit or...” I respond even less well to threats, and grabbed the paperweight.

He saw the motion and came around the side of the desk to stop me from throwing it, and probably to try and intimidate me further. I spun my chair to face him and as he cleared the edge of the table, I planted my stiletto heel in between his legs and into the groin area, making contact with those soft and extremely tender testicles. He gasped and screamed at the same time, and ended up sounding more like a duck than a man. He fell to his knees, then toppled onto his side moaning, and curling about the injured area like a fetus.

I stood up out of the chair, all five foot nothing of me. “Mr. Cobb,” I said to him, “I don't find lost animals, I don't like threats, and I don't like your attitude. When you can walk, get out. Oh, and if you want to file assault, I have a camera that records all my talks in here, just in case someone tries to pull stunts like yours.” I sat back down in my chair and waited until Mr. Cobb could get back up off the ground. He staggered towards the door, then stopped and I saw his shoulders tighten. I stood up quickly, when someone does that they're usually getting a good mad up just before they try to take your head off. Then his whole body started shuddering, and I heard him whine like a wounded animal. What the hell?

Glass Bottles 2 "Hassenpfeffer"

I am going to post up the NaNoWriMo novel here as parts over the next three months. I'm using this venue to afford myself the opportunity to re-write parts of the novel and (hopefully) garner criticism and commentary so that I can understand in my writing what worked, what didn't work, and why. The only way you learn is to let people see your stuff and get feedback. So here we go. Thanks in advance to any who comment. I appreciate any and all. :)