She barged into my office like a bad hurricane and started talking.
Clearly that no-good doorman downstairs wasn’t doing his job.
I told the person I was on the phone with that I would have to call them back and hung up.
Then I asked this dame who she was and what she'd been saying.
She repeated, “I said, 'are you Bulk Johnson, the private investigator?'”
“That depends, sweetheart,” I said coolly, “you still haven't told me your name.” Then I lit a cigarette.
I could tell she was impressed with my cool demeanor and the fact that I was a smoker.
She asked me for a cigarette, so I told her “get your own pack, I ain't carryin' spares.”
She was even more impressed by my attitude now. She clearly thought I was Captain Cool.
I opened my bottom drawer, carefully bending over sideways so I wouldn't get cigarette smoke in my eyes, which I hated. I took out my truth serum- a bootleg bottle of the booziest bourbon Kentucky'd ever birthed.
Slyly, I poured two drinks, implying that she would be drinking one of them.
She smirked at me and finally told me her name, “I'm Henrietta Moldrop. Heiress to the Moldrop fortune.”
I laughed a smokey laugh, being careful not to start coughing and hacking. This cigarette smoke was really starting to get on my nerves.
Then I picked up one of the bourbons, said “cheers,” and downed it like it was medicine and I was a sick baby with a taste for medicine.
She reached out for the other glass, but I snatched it up and guzzled it as quickly as possible, dribbling a lot onto my chin and shirt.
She politely put her hand back down from where it was hanging in the air. Then she closed her mouth, which was stuck open like a busted screen door.
She opened her mouth again as if to say something, but then I opened my mouth like I was going to say something, so she shut her mouth, but I also shut mine, because I'd only opened my mouth to trick her into shutting her mouth.
I was clearly winning this little game of cat and mouse.
“You lose, sweetheart,” I told her cunningly.
“What?” she asked. She clearly hadn't heard me; probably because I'd had my hand over my mouth when I’d spoken.
“Nevermind, doll,” I cleverly countered.
My eyes were getting red and itchy from the smoke, and the cigarette was almost too short to touch without my fingers getting warm. I decided to kill two birds with one coffin nail.
I took my cigarette, being careful not to burn myself, spun it around, and forced it into her mouth.
I didn't have to use much force, or any at all, because she considered it a thoughtful gesture and didn't put up much of a fight. But if she HAD tried to refuse the cigarette, I had been planning to pull my gun on her.
Two birds with one suave stone.
Seduce the girl? Done.
Get rid of the cigarette? Check.
How about the other pair o’ birds?
Find out her name? Yep.
Find out her real name? Still workin’ on it. After all, I get paid by the hour. I don't rush nothin' for nobody who ain't somebody worth rushin' things for.
“Bulk,” she said, “Can I tell you something?”
“Lay it on me and cut it with a knife, baby,” I said, charmingly.
“I want to tell you the details about this case, to see if you're interested,” she said.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, but I wasn't fooled. If I'd kept smoking the cigarette that short, I'd have been crying too. I knew she was milking that smoke for all it was worth, trying to make me feel sorry for her.
It was about this time that the bourbon kicked in, like a mule who'd just woken up from a bad dream.
“It's my sister Awda,” she sobbed, “she's gone missing. You're my last hope.”
I laughed. I mean, I really laughed. Not because she'd said anything funny, but because if this story was all true, I was going to be a rich man, and I was fantasizing about spitting on people less fortunate than me.
“I can find your sister for you, I'm just not sure that I want to. Ya get me?” I said, smartly.
“I don't understand,” she whined.
“Let me spell it out for you, baby bird; by now she’s probably deader than a flattened cat,” I said, slurringly.
“Dead or alive, I just need to know what happened to her,” the big girl-baby boo-hoo'd.
I stood her up out of the chair, took her cigarette, MY cigarette that I had GIVEN to her, and threw the cigarette out an open window, hopefully onto that no-good doorman.
Then I grabbed her thin shoulders in my weather-beaten hands.
“There, there,” I said, shaking her vigorously.
Then I spun her around and pushed her towards the door, giving her caboose a little swat as she stumbled forward, almost tripping.
She regained her poise and turned back around.
“Don't we have to talk about money?” she asked.
“Oh, you'll pay my fee,” I threatened chivalrously, “or else...”
After saying “or else...” I drew my hand across my throat like it was a knife, cutting my throat open, and I made a noise with my mouth that sounded like a knife cutting a throat open.
She clearly got the message. Must be a good charades teammate, I thought to myself.
She left my office, and I noticed that there was a business card lying in the chair.
It had all her contact information on it, which I had mixed feelings about.
On the one hand, I was glad I wouldn't have to look any of her info up, but on the other hand, she clearly didn't think I was good at my job.
Actually, on even another hand, maybe this was her way of leaving me her number so I could call her for a hot date.
I decided that when I found the first bit of evidence about her dead sister, I'd phone her up, tell her the grim news, and work in a date proposal, smooth as fox-butter.
But for now, it was time to get to work.
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