Filbert Nwar, Private Eye

When the blonde walked into my office, she lit up the room like a basket of Mediterranean squid fluorescing at a three-day-old fresh seafood convention.

Her inquiring green eyes found my lazy grey ones. "Are you Filbert Nwar?"

I gave her the barest nod and murmured, "Have a seat. I'll be with you in a moment."

Never cut any slack for a good-looking dame. They are all evil, just waiting for a chance to rip your heart out of your chest and eat it. I've got the scars to prove it. I let her sit there while I shuffled papers until finally she stood up to leave. Then I looked up as if I were seeing her for the first time.

"What can I do for you, madam?"

With her face distorted by anger, she didn't look so attractive. "If the investigative part of your operation is of the same low quality as your customer relations, then I can see why you have to work out of a dump like this."

She sounded educated. I like a woman who can read and write. Maybe I was wrong about this one being evil. Maybe this beauty was no beast. I decided to eat humble pie.

"I am so sorry," I said, "It's just that all this government paperwork..." I spread my hands palms up to indicate how powerful forces beyond my control had prevented me from seeing to her needs the moment she walked in.

She sneered. "I thought you were a PRIVATE investigator? Why would you have government paperwork?"

I put on my best grin. "Taxes! Can't avoid taxes, you know."

"Tax season is nine months away."

"Madam, I can see you enjoy argument and debate, but let's put our differences aside and get down to the reason you are here."

There was a brief pause while her face morphed from disgust to resignation. "Alright. I'll tell you. But stop calling me madam. My name is Cecille Reel... and I think I may have accidentally murdered my husband."

I could almost hear the organ chords sounding their shocked surprise.

"Have no fear, Cecille. If it was an accidental death then it won't be a murder, just simple manslaughter at worst, and with your looks even an inexperienced lawyer could get you an acquittal."

She blushed a little, just the barest hint in her cheeks. "You think I'm attractive?"

"Very much so. Why don't we discuss your case over dinner at Henri's Fine French Foods and Novelties?"

"You move fast."

"In my line of work I have to be quick on the draw."

"Do you carry a big gun?"

"Big enough."

"I think I'm hungry."

"I think I want to feed you."

She grinned wickedly. "Why wait for Henri? Let's eat now."

"Now? But I don't have any food in my office. Maybe some cheese crackers, but I was looking for something more substantial at Henri's, like a grilled cheese sandwich with a slice of dill pickle. And sometimes they give you a free bowl of tomato soup. Is today Thursday?"

She stared at me for a long moment. "Have you ever actually solved a case?"

"I've never lost a case."

"But have you ever solved a case?"

"I've never lost one. Doesn't that imply anything?" This was one pushy dame. "Why are YOU asking all the questions? I am the private investigator, not you."

That's when she got haughty with me. "I know which one of us is SUPPOSED to be a private eye, but I don't think he really IS!"

Was it that obvious? "What?! Do you not see the sign on my door? What does it say? Private Investigator! I know what I'm doing!"

"Do you? You don't seem to know much of anything, Mister Nwar. Now if you don't mind, I'll be on my way. I need a REAL private eye, not some lame wannabe."

"Please! Rejection is so painful! Maybe you're right about me, but it would be humiliating to admit it. That's why I have no choice but to live in denial."

"You can live in de Rhine or de Mississippi for all I care!" She slammed the door hard as she left.

I sat there in my chair, a beaten man. For a moment I considered giving it all up. Would I ever get a case? How long had it been now? What a futile effort. But the words of Thomas Edison drifted through my head...

Genius is 5 per cent inspiration and 95 per cent perspiration.

Had I really sweated enough? I sniffed my armpits. Barely noticeable. Surely I could do better than that. Dammit, I wanted to sweat! Sooner or later somebody would hire me to solve their case, and when they did, I intended to be drenched in sweat.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in, mate!" I called, inspired to be Australian for the next client. If you can't get over then get down under. But it was her again, the blonde with the sharp tongue. She could probably lick thinner slices off a tomato with that tongue than I could slice with my genuine Ginsu ceramic knife.

"Oh," I said. "Lady MacBeth has returned."

She leaned back against the door and raised her shoulders so that her breasts became as out-thrusting as the bumpers on a '58 Buick. "Yes, I'm back. I decided maybe you would do after all."

"Really?" I said. "What made you change your mind?"

"I remembered I don't have any money and since you need the work, I thought you would handle my case for free... considering."

"I would? Considering what?"

She leaned over my desk. For a moment I was afraid her top-heavy body would fall over it and she would land headfirst in my lap. OK, maybe fear is not the right word.

She remained balanced. "Considering all the new business I could send your way if you successfully solved my case. I have a lot of friends, you know."

"I'll bet you do," I said.

"Do you still want to feed me?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean at Henri's? I guess so."

It was only a block, so we walked. Henri was impressed. "Oui, oui! C'est une belle femme avec vous ce soir!"

"Thank you, Henri. We'll have my usual: champagne, hamburgers, and French fries - enough for two"

"Oui! You are quite the gourmet, sir! And your taste in women is exquisite."

I laughed after Henri left. "I didn't pay him to say that."

"Do you want to hear about my case now or after we eat," she said.

"After. First you must tell me your name. In all the excitement I neglected to get it."

"Did you?" she said. "It's, uh... Betty Smith."

"A lovely name, Betty, but I am afraid you are lying. Your name is Cecille Reel. Ah! Here comes the champagne!"

"So you remembered my name then? That means you were the one who was lying."

"I may have lied first, but you also lied."

"Fine!" she said. "We've established that we can't trust each other. Does that mean you don't want to take the case?"

I laughed. "Quite the opposite. You intrigue me, Cecille, with your intelligence and your big breasts and your haughty lies."

"Thank you. I do have a tendency to lie whenever I get a chance. I don't know why. Do you think it's genetic?"

The waiter poured our champagne and set the burgers and fries before us. "You'll like this hamburger," I said. "It has mushrooms in it. I don't know anything about genetics, but I do know something about breasts."

"You don't know much about polite dinner conversation."

"Is it not good to discuss breasts at the table? I'll remember that."

She put down her burger and looked hard at me. "You know, I haven't made up my mind yet whether you are a clever man or a very stupid one."

"I vote for clever."

"In that case, after I vote the result will be either a landslide or a tie. I think I'll delay voting until I see you in action."

I winked. "I hope you see me in action very soon."

She ran a hand through her hair. "I meant detective action. I'll probably end up having sex with you eventually, but first you have to solve my case."

"What!? Emotional blackmail? You seem easier to do than that."

"Because of this?" she asked, fingering the lapel of her blouse where a lot of cleavage was showing. "I popped off a button this morning. I don't normally put myself on display like this."

"You don't seem very embarrassed about it."

She shrugged. "Buttons pop off. You can't let a minor wardrobe malfunction ruin your day."

The waiter brought our after-dinner coffee. "Now about your dead husband..." I began.

"I don't know for sure he's dead," Cecille said. "I just hope he is. I mean, I hope he isn't. Unless he's holding a grudge and plans to kill me. In that case I would hope he was dead."

"So my job is to find out if he's dead or alive?"

"That's right," she said, "and of course, if he's alive, then you'll need to do something about it."

"What could I do?"

She looked up from her burger that was so suggestively crammed between her plump pink lips. Her eyes were like green daggers daring me to think the unthinkable. I put my hand across my mouth as I gasped. "Surely not THAT?"

"Why not?" she said and wiped the grease off her lips with her napkin.

"It's unethical."

She frowned. "No it isn't. He's not your client, I am. If you kill me it's unethical, but if you kill him then you are just doing the job I paid you to do."

"But you said you couldn't pay me."

"You know what I mean... fringe benefits. Unexpected bonuses." She cupped one hand under her breast while she licked the ketchup off a finger on her other hand. She took a long time licking it off, and slurped.

I opened the collar of my shirt to let out the heat that was threatening to burn me up.

"Well... maybe," I said. But we both knew I would do whatever she asked even if it meant I would have to hang from a rope for it. I was making the Big Mistake... cutting slack for a dame. She had the hook in my mouth like Ernest Hemingway out in the Gulfstream reeling in a half-ton sailfish while a brown-skinned boy yelled, "You got heem, Meester Heemingway! You got heem!" The only difference was she had no brown-skinned boy to pilot her boat. Or did she?

* * TO BE CONTINUED * *