Previously in “The Maltese Sparrow…
The leaders of the G-8 countries met in Ottawa, Canada at the Palace Hotel to discuss the state of the world economy. They eventually concluded that it was “not so hot,” although hotel staff think that conclusion may just have been an excuse to tip poorly. Oh, and Marlowe suddenly found himself with a gun in his back.
And now, The Maltese Sparrow: Part the Third…
It’s nothing new for a man in my profession to find himself discomforted by the jab of a gun in his back. Most recently, it had been a pricing gun when I was undercover at the local Shop and Save disguised as a can of Campbell’s tomato soup. Now, it was a steel revolver held by a mysterious man with a gruff voice.
Ms. Bouvier took it well – calmly smoking a cigarette as if something like this happened all the time. Perhaps it did – a dame like her probably led a pretty exciting life. Maybe this was how she usually lost the men in her life – gunned down in the street before love had a chance to bloom. Why not? I was no more lucky in love. My relationships tended to be like James Bond’s – fleeting, physical encounters sparked by some witty repartee laced with double entendre at some party. And then she would be disintegrated by a giant laser from space. It happened so often now you could almost set your watch by it.
“Excuse me,” said the gruff voice. “I hate to interrupt your inner monolog but could we move this along?”
I wasn’t sure what there was to say. Penny Bouvier, however, was not at a loss for words. “He doesn’t know where it is, Tommy. Any more than I do.”
“Is that the case, Ms. Bouvier? Well, that’s not the kind of answer I can bring back to the boss, is it?”
“Well, it’s the only answer there is, Tommy,” hissed Penny.
I decided it was time to find out just what was going on here. “Can anyone join in this conversation or do you need an invitation?” I asked sarcastically.
Tommy poked me in the back with some force and said, “Invitation only, bub. So why don’t you keep your trap shut?”
“Wait a minute,” said Penny, fishing in her purse. She pulled out a small card and handed it to me. I read it: “Ms. Penny Bouvier and friend request the pleasure of your input into a conversation on March the 23rd at the corner of 4th and H Street NE at 3 PM. Semi-formal attire. Bring a covered dish.” I produced a tuna casserole from my coat and handed it to Penny and then said, “So, what precisely is it that I don’t know the location of?”
Tommy pushed me towards Penny and I turned around. He was a mousy little kid – probably not much older than 20. He had the kind’ve face only a mother could love – a blind mother in some sort’ve coma caused by a head injury obtained when she recoiled in horror upon first being presented the visage of this warped child.
Penny stood and grabbed my arm as I stumbled over to her. She looked daggers at Tommy as she answered my question. “His employer seems to think that I’ve stolen some property from him, and he’ll do anything to get it back. Only I haven’t, I don’t even know what it is they think I’ve stolen. This one’s been following me since I arrived in Washington yesterday. I don’t have what they want, you must believe me!”
There was something that still didn’t ring true about Ms. Penny Bouvier, but I liked her better than the kid. Although, at that moment I was kind’ve wishing I had just had sex with Tommy, because that would mean he was in imminent danger of disintegration. Just my luck, I suppose. I turned a cold gaze on the boy. “There’s your answer, kid. Neither of us know anything about what you’re looking for. So why don’t you just move along, eh?”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Marlowe,” he said, with an edge in his voice.
I tensed, ready to go for my gun. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“Because, you two have an appointment with my employer. And most people who have an appointment with my boss… don’t come back.”
I was hoping that that was because they had such a good time they just moved in with the guy and never wanted to leave. But that’s probably not the case.
To Be Continued…