A Dame to Mildly Warn Somebody About Their Behaviour For
The name on the door says sliaN yrnosaM. That's me. I'm a detective. I am not a happy man. Using my finely tuned deductive skills I realised that the sign on my glass door was written to be read from the front and maybe I shouldn't have fired the sign writer so quickly. I had fired him through the window with a drop kick to the solar plexis. Maybe he didn't deserve it but that's life, it's tough and so am I. I am tougher than a week old, well done, rump steak but with more gristle round the edges,
I had to be tough, I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, so I was always getting on the wrong train. I wish I was from the wrong side of the tracks on the wrong side of town because then I would be headed in the right direction. The neighbourhood I lived in was so rough that even farts didn't linger about. I went to the school of hard knocks. They didn't have a doorbell, if you didn't knock hard no one would let you in.
I had just put the phone down to the glazier, I needed someone to fix a sign writer shaped hole in my window, when I saw a note had been pushed underneath the door. It was B#, I had subscribed to Sheet Music Monthly. Once a month they send you a different musical note until you have the complete score to the Star Wars trilogy. I stooped down to pick it up when the door suddenly swung open and hit me clean in the head, I flew backwards and fell in to the bin next to my desk. "Are you ok?" asked a voice. "No, I feel rubbish" I replied looking up to see where the voice had come from. Being near the floor I saw a shapely leg which was attached to a shapely everything else. I figured the voice came from the top of the shapes somewhere. I got up and looked in the mirror hanging on the wall, I had a mark on my forehead the shape of the lock on the door. I will have to go to hospital and have it removed, get me some of that keyhole surgery. I was in a lot of pain. I haven't been in this much pain since the case of the newspaper strangler and got my parts caught in the printing press. They were three feet long for two weeks, or was it two feet long for three weeks?
"I am looking for Nails, Masonry Nails." There was the voice again. "My name is Inane Chunterings, I have a case," She was right she did, a big blue one with wheels on the bottom and a handle. The kind you take with you when you are going on holiday or if you are running away from your murderous husband. "I am running away from my husband, I think he has murdered someone"
See, told you so.
I finally got around to looking at her face rather than my own in the mirror. I found it pretty fast, it was on the front of her head. She was woman, all women, unless parts of her I couldn't see were not, like that tall dame in Rio.
"Why do you think he is a murderer?" I asked whilst trying to escape the clutches of the waste paper bin which was still attached to my butt. She smiled at me with her eyes, looked me over with her mouth and listened to me with her nose. I could tell this girl was all messed up. "You see Mr. Nails my husband has been missing for days, his bank account has been emptied and this morning his business partner was found dead in his apartment." she explained, with a smouldering voice that could knock a man off his feet. Probably because her breath smelt like onions.
"If your husband is missing, why are you running away? Chances are he's on a plane to somewhere swanky Miami or Milton Keynes, anywhere that's a few hundred miles away from the body and your onion breath" I asked noticing a hole in this stories wafer thin plot already.
"I am not a very fast runner, Mr Nails. If he turns up, I want to have a head start on him." she replied making reasonable sense for someone countering a plot hole that had only just come up.
A sudden loud crash outside my office made the woman throw herself to the floor in shock. In doing so she knocked me over and I was in the bin again, If I kept doing this I am going to have to put myself on the side walk for collection Tuesday night. We looked out of the glass-less window and saw that a car had gone out of control and spun into the lamp post opposite my building.
"Don't worry, that happens all the time around here, all part of living on skid row" I said in an effort to calm her down. When she saw the car her eyes widened bigger than dinner plates, the big serve kind that you take to the all you can eat restaurant from home so you can get larger portions.
"That's my husbands car. He has found me Mr. Nails! What are we going to do?"
"Well that depends," I answered looking up at the size of this Chapter "let's see how many views this post get's and see if it's worth while figuring it out."
TO BE CONTINUED....or not, depends if anyone's reading. Click this pages follow button to show the love, if we get enough of them MASONARY NAILS WILL RETURN!