Flat-Footed

April 29, 2009

Flat-Footed

by Mark Terry

Part 1

Biz Leightner settled his four-foot, four-inch frame onto the captain's chair in his kitchen, sipping from his stinger. He smacked his lips. "Nothin' like the first drink of the morning," he said to the empty room. 

Not a client in sight, either. Probably too early. It had been a long stakeout, spending the night behind the wheel of his tan Ford Mustang convertible--the classic--peeing into an empty Dom Perignon bottle, nothing for company but his pearl-handled Colt .45 and his Pug, Rumproast.

It was divorce case, the client a distraught Trophy Husband convinced his multi-millionaire wife, Shala Fontaigne, was doing the Mattress Mambo with her executive secretary. Trophy Husband wanted proof. Fair enough, Biz had thought, as long as the check clears. Or the credit card gets approved, either way. He ran a 21st century PI firm after all. Got to keep up with the technology.

He wondered if Del Fontaigne had a prenup with the lovely Mrs. Fontaigne, founder, CEO and President of the multi-million dollar corporation, ShalaVu, designer and purveyor of upscale shoes for the Jimmy Choo wannabees. If not, why not put up and shut up, pal?

Rumproast whined from the floor.

"Yeah, baby? Time for breakfast?" Biz considered his options. Eggs? Bacon? Did it count for breakfast if you'd been up all night? He was drinking a stinger. Did Froot Loops go with Stingers?

He leaped down from his captain's chair, crossed to the pantry and brought down the kibble for Rumproast. He clicked on the TV on the way to the dog bowl to catch the talking head say, "...report the apparent murder of Delbert Fontaigne, husband of ShalaVu founder and Chief Executive, Shala Fontaigne."

"Holy Ravioli," Biz breathed, leaning frozen over the dog bowl. Rumproast whined, wanting breakfast.

To Be Continued...