Humor
Blackmail? That’s rough. . .
The Naked Assassin — Part 1
It was a rainy night. This City had the look of being stuck in a messed up car wash, and the attendant on-duty wasn’t paying attention.
I’d just closed the McIntosh case. Turns out those cosmetics had been tested on cows… very annoyed cows.
Sure, I got stiffed on the fee, but that’s the racket when you’re a gumshoe like me.
Children Thomas, Private Investigator.
I stared out the window at the deluge, and took a sip of some homemade hooch I took in trade for a baseball card scam I cracked a while back. It was terrible. I made a mental note not to barter anymore for booze from a bathtub.
I was about to call it a night… when she walked in.
“Mr. Thomas? I need your help.”
She was wet but beautiful: a head hair like a mop you’d find at the Louvre and legs like those stilts the clowns used to pick apples in the orchard behind the house where I grew up. Those clowns frightened the hell out of me.
“Mr. Thomas?”
“Sorry, I was distracted by clowns. How can I help you?”
“Well, Mr. Thomas — ”
“Please. Call me Children.”
“Children?”
“Yes, my parents wanted a large family, but they were lazy.”
I motioned for her to take a seat, and pointed to my glass to see if she needed a drink. She shook her head — that was a good call.
“What can I do for you, Ms…?”
“Ganoosh. Barbara Ganoosh.”
“Ganoosh? Like that rich industrialist who owns all those jets over at Ganoosh Air?”
“Yes, that’s my father,” she quivered out.
I’d heard some stories about Ganoosh — went from selling canvas bags to jets. A real bags to riches story.
“Okay, Ms. Ganoosh, how can I help?”
“Well, Mr. Thomas — ”
“Children.”
“Well, Children… I’m being blackmailed.”
Something didn’t seem right. I was getting a tingling up my spine like when you use your tongue to check a 9-volt battery.
“Blackmail? That’s rough.”
“Oh, it’s just so horrible. When I was younger, I took some pictures I’m not proud of, and these pictures have now gotten into the wrong hands. Look.”
She handed me a Bar Mitzvah card. Decent card stock. Good weight, but not so fancy that the price of the card makes you wonder whether it would’ve been better to put the money into the gift rather than the card.
The inscription inside said it all:
Mazel Tov on your big day. The Ganoosh Family wouldn’t want all those pictures of you in the Daily News, would they?
“They want one million dollars, but I don’t have that kind of money. My family is rich, not me. I need you to find whoever is blackmailing me and get those pictures back.”
Then the waterworks started for real.
“If they find out about those photos, I… I’ll be cut off.”
It was a bit much.
I’d promised myself that I’d stop taking “nuder” cases, but something about Ganoosh made me want to help her.
I sighed. “Here’s the deal: I get a hundred bucks a day, plus expenses, and just know that a job like this can add up.”
She was unfazed and nodded.
“And if you get this done for me, I’ll have something special for you at the end.”
That comment was worrying. “Something special” is pretty subjective — it’s hard to buy groceries with “something special.”
“So long as I also get paid the hundred bucks. Anything more for me to go on?”
“No. Just the Bar Mitzvah card.”
I told her I’d take the case, and walked her to the door. I thought about asking whether she wanted to stay and dry off, but then I thought that it might seem presumptuous… plus I was out of clean towels.
We said, “Goodnight,” and I watched her walk out directly into a puddle.
This was going to be a mess.
[To Be Continued…]
