Chapter 1
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, advertising characters, businesses, companies or products, locales, or events, is a coincidence. This story is a parody. No slander or libel is intended, nor should it be inferred. All trademarks remain property of their respective companies.
The name is Spade.
George Spade. It says “Spade” and “Investigations” on the glass door to my office. You open the door and you meet my secretary, Miss Wedgewood, seated at her desk. She’s a real dish.
One afternoon the phone on my desk buzzed.
“There’s a man to see you, George. Says it’s important.”
“Thanks, Wendy. Show them in.” I stood up and hastily buttoned the top button of my shirt and repositioned my tie where it was supposed to go. The door opened and in walked a fat and very well dressed lawyer. His three piece suit fit him perfectly, like it was custom made. The pinstripes of the fabric matched up perfectly, which told me it was a damn expensive suit. And this guy was a damned expensive lawyer. He extended his wing to me and we shook. I motioned him to one of my client chairs and he perched there. I wondered if his claws would mar the wood.
“What can I do for you?” I asked as I sat down behind my desk.
“I was expecting Sam Spade,” the legal eagle replied.
“My brother. He retired,” I responded.
“Oh. Still in town?”
“Morocco,” I answered.
He stared at me. His gaze was as sharp as his beak.
“Casablanca?” I added.
He grunted in recognition. “I represent three clients,” the lawyer replied. “They fear for their lives.”
I nodded. “I don’t do security,” I replied.
“I understand,” he said, then fished a card out of his vest pocket and handed it to me. The name on it was L.E. Stellar, Attorney At Law. The card was from good stock. The lettering was raised and embossed. He was a VERY expensive lawyer.
“My clients would like to you find out who is trying to kill them and put a stop to it.”
“Why not go to the police?” I asked. “There must be an evidence trail they can follow.”
“Unfortunately, that trail has run it’s course.” Stellar looked dubious. “The police have no further leads to follow.”
“And who are your clients?” I asked.
He told me. They were celebrity pitchmen who appeared on boxes of breakfast food.
I felt the wisecracker inside me rise and I spoke before I could stop myself. “So you suspect, I assume, a cereal killer?”
“It is no laughing matter!” Stellar insisted. “My clients feel as though their lives are in danger.” He huffed. “Do you want the job or not?”
I had nothing else going at that moment so I took the job. We discussed my fee. I usually charge a hundred a day plus expenses. But with this turkey, er, eagle, I upped it to two hundred. I figured he could afford it. By the time Stellar walked out my door I had a new case and a hefty retainer to go with it.
