The Noodle Detective Agency
Chapter One
I sat in my dim, dusty office, sipping desultorily from a smudged glass of moonshine and rain water. It had been a while since my last case, and my landlord was beginning to be less and less subtle with his reminders that the rent was due. The bloody cat head nailed to my office door with a note stating, “This is you if you don’t pay up!” was a nice touch, I thought. How he knew of my remarkable secret ability to turn myself into a cat, I’ll never know.
It didn’t help that I hadn’t been paid for my last case, but I was happy to have survived with my skin intact. (I would have preferred that my bones and internal organs had stayed intact as well, but you can’t have everything.) Not many can say they’ve escaped from the belly of a hammerhead shark, only to be ridden over by a parade float driven by a 94-year old camel with bad acne. Pretty much just me and my so-called friend Don, and he’s a habitual liar.
I sipped again at the moonshine and water, grimacing at the harsh taste of the water. “Stupid acid rain.” I thought to myself.
What I needed was a case, something easy, yet lucrative. Like that time I went undercover in the circus, and found the missing midget wedged under the seat of the clown car. I took all 117 of the clowns that were in the vehicle into custody, collecting reward money for 116 of them. (Ronald McDonald had a good lawyer.)
A shadow passed over my door, so I drew my .45 out of my top drawer. It may be my landlord, or yet another bear. Maybe if I was on better terms with the landlord, I could coerce him to spray the building for bears. One or two can be expected, but this was an outright infestation. The door opened, and a woman entered.
I’ve met a woman or two in my day, and a few even at night, but one glance told me this dame was something special. Midnight hair so black it was almost blue, eyes like emeralds, alabaster skin, and curves in all the right places.
She broke the silence. “You’re staring.”
Technically it was more of a leer, but she had a point. “Please come in. May I offer you a drink?”
“Thank you, I normally don’t drink before dark, but I’m a bit . . . shaken. I don’t suppose you happen to have any moonshine and rain water?”
I nearly dropped my jug of moonshine. Most dames, in my experience, go for cosmopolitans or white wine spritzers rather than the rather acquired taste of good back country ‘shine and precipitation.
“I assume this isn’t a social call – is there something I can help you with?” I asked, sliding her a mason jar full of the good stuff.
She bit her bottom lip, struggling to compose herself. “I don’t know if you can, but I’ve been told you specialize in . . . difficult cases.” I was a bit annoyed by this. The more that rumor gets around, the more difficult my cases tend to be. I silently cursed my so-called friend Don for spreading the word in order to make my life more closely resemble Hell.
“Well, I’ll do what I can. Why don’t you start by telling me your name?”
“My name is hard for humans to pronounce. I was raised by owls in the wild, and they referred to me as, “ At this point, she released a series of hoots and whistles.
“They referred to you as ‘She who falls out of trees’?” I asked.
“You speak owl?”
I nodded, and sipped at my ‘shine. “With me, it was mockingbirds, but there is some crossover.”
“That makes this easier.” She sighed, and looked down. “I guess I’ll start at the beginning.”
- End of Chapter One-
- Chapter Two -
She fortified herself with a healthy swallow of ‘shine, and began relating her story, a classic tale of boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, girl mysteriously disappears, boy joins the Merchant Marine fleet, a few years later boy is on night watchman duty on a tramp steamer out of Hong Kong and falls overboard during a monsoon, is dragged out of the water by none other than the same girl. If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a million times.
“. . . and I knew none of this, until last week.” She finished.
“What happened last week?” I asked, absentmindedly brushing my hair with a fork.
She took a deep breath, causing her tremendous bosoms to heave in a rather spectacular fashion. I held up a hand to keep her from continuing with her story until the heaving subsided. Some things are worth focusing on. Eventually, the tectonic shifting in her blouse quivered to a halt, and I motioned for her to proceed. “That girl was my mother. Before she disappeared, she had checked out “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” from the local library, and had failed to return it. The library cop ran a genetic background check, which led him to me.”
I let out a long, low whistle of surprise. I was familiar with the book in question, and that sort of undisciplined quasi-metaphysical rambling was entirely inappropriate for a young lady. “I’ve heard the library is cracking down on overdue books.”
“Yes, but that’s not the point. The library police were able to clear up some of the mystery of my past. Apparently, my mother had gone into hiding once she found out she was pregnant, not wanting to burden my father with a child. She placed me with my foster-owl family, and fled. When my parents were reunited they tried to find me, but the owls had moved on.”
Something didn’t add up. “Are you implying owls are migratory?”
She shook her head. “No, but my foster-owl father had made the mistake of signing up for one of those mail order CD deals, where you buy ten for a penny, and they keep sending you unwanted CD’s in the mail. We had to move to get them to stop.”
I nodded ruefully. My so-called friend Don had signed me up for a similar type of arrangement a few years back as a prank. I was only able to convince them to stop sending me “Now That’s Polka!” compilations through the judicious use of automatic gunfire. “So, you want me to find your real parents? They could be anywhere, dollface.”
“The library police tracked them down to Agra, India, where they had perished in the Great Curry Incident of 2003. They were perilously close to the epicenter, and were only recognizable through dental records.” A single tear rolled down her sculpted cheek, meandering its way to her neck. I busied myself freshening our cocktails.
“I’m not sure what brings you here. Are you trying to find that library book? Believe me; they’re better off without it.” I took an experimental sip from my glass, and added a dash more ‘shine.
“The genetic background check also revealed that when my parents were reunited, they had another child. Somewhere out there is my brother. You must help me find him, Noodle, he’s my only family!” Her lower lip began to quiver, as she fought back tears. I moved around my desk and embraced her, comforting her with an arm around her shoulders and sneaking a peek down her shirt. Hey, guys need comfort too.
-End of Chapter 2-
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