The Long Nap part II (C) Tobe Freddo 2013

So a day latter I’m cooling my heels at the Stoner Fortress.  Gunter, the butler greeted me at the door with all the warmth of an undertaker.  He was tall - silver haired - Germanic.  His walk was tight, precise and measured which maybe explained the tube of Preparation H hanging out of his coat pocket.  The rumor was that the General got him as part of the Versailles Treaty after the Great War; his own little settlement with the Kaiser.  The General also got a wife, two bratty daughters and the clap.  The wife was dead and I didn’t think he wanted to see me about the clap, so I figured it had to be the daughters. Gunter left me waiting to find out.  I looked around.  The place was filthy with family paintings of droopy eyed stuck ups with vacant stares. Obviously the General was from a long line of Stoner’s.  I thought it strange that there were no paintings of his kids any where.  Maybe they missed picture day.  Maybe he didn’t want to be reminded of his mistakes.  One of them though was now sauntering her way down the stairs with the intermittent flow of a post nasal drip.

She was wearing white tennis shorts the way snow wears a mountain pass. She had legs that seemed to go all the way to her neck and a pair that looked more like a full house. They were almost bursting out of her black top like a couple of bulls in a rodeo pen that you couldn’t wait to ride.  It was a good thing I wore a hat which I now held at my waist with the fingertips of both hands.  It came in handy, strategically speaking.  She looked me up one side and down the other, pulled back a little then stared at my hat.  She ran the back of right hand around the brim.  She licked her lips put a finger in her nose, pulled it out and pointed in my direction and asked in a sultry tone,

“Is that a Borsolino?”

“Looks more like a bugger” I smiled.

“No, that thing in you hands.  Is that a Borsolino?”

I looked down and replied “It tries to be.  I just call it Waldo.”

She tossed her head back laughed. “What are you?”

“My mom was French and my old man was a drunkard.”

She laughed some more. “No silly, I mean what do you do?”

“I’m a shamus” I said.

“Your heal people? She squinted.

“No, no.  An investigator, a private dick.

 “You and every other man.”  She laughed again and then fell back.

There was a ‘thunk.’   She rubbed the back of her head as she got to her knees pulling on my belt to steady her self. Her face was planted in my hat as she struggled.  Just then Gunter walked in.  His left eyebrow rose as his right lowered simultaneously as though he was putting on an imaginary monocle.  His gaze met hers momentarily. She raised her head a bit defiantly then giggled again into my hat.  She turned to Gunter slowly shaking her head.

“It’s not a Borsolino.” She said pointing to it.

Gunter extended an arm to help her. “As you say, madam, but then few are.”  

She backed away from me tripping a little like she had one too many martinis, which I’m sure she had.  She ran her left hand through her hair then let it fall to that chasm between her bosoms keeping her gaze all the while on my hat, which was now really coming in handy.  She licked her lips again. 

“You know, I got a box for that hat. It might be a tight squeeze, but I bet I could get it to fit.”  

I laughed a little. “I bet you could, but thanks just the same.”

Gunter for his part was trying to look nonchalant and detached, but his presence was clearly putting a chill in the air.  She picked up the drop in temperature.  An index finger went into the nose again for a moment. She stepped back.

“I’m just saying if you want to keep that hat in good shape every now and then it has to spend some time in a box”  She put the index finger in her mouth and licked it. “Mmm. Salty - like me.” She giggled again, turned and ambled out of the room like a new foal out of a barn.

 I kept holding onto my hat, still fidgeting the brim.  I nodded in the direction of the arched doorway she passed through and asked.

“Is she house broken?”

Gunter turned to the doorway glancing at her departing figure, the back at me.

“I really can’t say, sir.  You’ll have to excuse Ms. Wendy. She’s high spirited.”

I cocked my head. “Yeah, well I have whatever spirits she’s drinking.”

Gunter cleared his throat.  “Indeed, sir.  Now if you and your ... hat will follow me, the General will see you in the conservatory.”

I followed, making a note that Gunter seemed to be paying a little too much attention to my hat.  Hmm, maybe that explained the Preparation H.