Chapter I
The only investigation I have open right now is the BillyBear disappearance, but the leads in that case dried up long ago, and the client who was looking for him lammed out of town in a big hurry a few months back. So here I am with no visible means of support. I'm talking lettuce, you lugs, so can the wisecracks about my bra and cheaters, OK?
So I've been out every day beating the bushes looking for clients who can actually pay me. I get at least 20 or 30 calls a day from prospective clients who want my services. None of them are willing to pay, and most of them want something that's not even connected to my PI business. I've had to get restraining orders put on at least half of them, and the coppers are gettin' kinda tired of seeing my mug down at the station, always making them fill out complaint forms. For some reason, I don't think they take me very seriously down there, and they'd rather not be bothered.
Some of my best investigative work so far has been related to the activities of the Mistresses and clients over at the LDW Building, so I thought I'd wander over that way and snoop around a little. Maybe there's some business to be had if I'm lucky. It's been a few years since I was over in that part of town, but I figured that I could still find the place with no problems. So I stuffed my roscoe in my bra, grabbed a couple of pairs of bracelets just in case, and locked up the office. Once out on the street, I hiked up my skirt at the first cab that came by, and flashed my gams at the driver. Just like in the old days, the cab screeches to a halt right in front of me. Even I was impressed. This girl has still got it! I guess all of the scars from being shot in my knees by my old boss Tracer have faded enough where they're not noticed. I gotta say, with a decent pair of pantyhose, my getaway sticks are still looking pretty good, if I do say so myself.
This driver must not have been around back in the days when Tracer and I were regularly stiffing them with Monopoly money, and so he didn't threaten me or insist on getting paid up front. When I told him to take me over to the LDW Building, he looked at me like I was some kinda rube and told me there was no place in Paradise going by that name. I told him to head over to the address anyway. Once we got in the general vicinity, I told him to stop and tossed a photocopied sawbuck at him. One trick I've learned is to distract the driver by letting my skirt ride up and spreading my gams a little while I'm getting out so he doesn't notice that the spinach is bogus. Tracer could NEVER pull that one off. I climbed out of the hack to have a look around.
I was standing in front of a big building that looked familiar, but it didn't have the same LDW Building sign on it that I remembered. Instead, there was a big glowing neon sign spelling out EE in huge letters, with Enchantrix Empire, Ltd. in smaller letters underneath. I seemed to recall that when I last visited LDW's chatroom, I'd overheard some people calling some of the Mistresses by the name Empress, so I figured that this just might be the same place. It looked like they'd added quite a few new floors to the building, and since it still didn't look quite right, I walked across the street, stood back in the shadows and lit up a gasper so I could watch the entrance for awhile.
About a half a pack of smokes later and a few wads of chewed gum stuck to my heels, the traffic going in and out of the main door was pretty much as I remembered it. Lots of guys with big bulges in the front of their pants that didn't look like heaters, and plenty of tomatoes in frilly outfits with a little hint of 5 o'clock shadow under their makeup. I noticed bulges on some of them too. I also saw some real lookers going around to a separate door on the side of the building, and I assumed by the looks of them that they were the Mistresses and Empresses. I was pretty convinced by then that I'd come to the right place, so I stubbed out the fag on my sole, where it promptly got stuck in a smashed wad of gum. It was stuck pretty good, and I hoped it would get scuffed off before I had to talk to anybody, because the filter was visibly sticking out on the side of the shoe.
I took a deep breath and walked across the street to the entrance, trying to scrape the gum off my shoe with every step. As I approached the door, a security guard stepped out and I noticed him looking at me with one eyebrow raised.
"You OK Miss? That's a pretty bad limp. Did you hurt your leg or something or are you just a spaz?"
I was about to pull my roscoe and put an end to that conversation right then and there when I realized that I needed him to let me into the building. I was just glad that he wasn't the same goon I had to drill in both knees the last time I was at LDW to grill that Miss Tara dame.
"No, my foot's just asleep, that's all. I'm here to talk to somebody about lining up some investigative work. Who do I need to speak with about that?".
I flashed my ID card in his face to show him that I really am a dick, flicking the tip of his nose with it in the process. Gawd I really love when I do that!
He opened the door for me and showed me into a big ornate lobby with expensive leather chairs and couches.
"Take a seat and wait here Miss, and I'll go get somebody for you."
I watched him walk across the lobby to a huge carved wooden desk and start talking to a very pretty but powerfully built receptionist. As they talked, they both kept sneaking furtive little glances over in my direction. I started to get a little nervous when I saw her get on the horn with somebody, but figured I was "in for a penny, in for a pound", and so I smoothed my skirt over my pins and waited.
(to be continued)
Girl Friday
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