Noir Adventures Progression

It was a dark and stormy night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets. On the thirteenth floor of the Acme building, Guy Noir, P.I., sat at his desk, nursing a tonic. Then she walked in...one hip at a time...
 ‎...she was in trouble and looking for help...


She twisted the handkerchief in her hands and took the seat he offered. He sat, eyeing her across his desk. She looked at him with tears in her eyes, eyes the gray color of a seedy smoke-filled bar at 1am. But what caught his attention the most was....


‎...diamond engagement ring that, although real , seemed tarnished like a cheap cubic zirconia. The flashing neon from the street below danced in the gem to reveal the tear inherent eye. Guy took another sip of his tonic and...


‎...remembered the last time her had seen her. She had been getting into a cab in the rain after crushing his hopes and throwing them aside like a used tissue into the rain soaked gutter. Her fidgeting brought him back to the present and he asked, "What is it this time Maude?". She cleared her throat and began to speak when....


a loud clap of thunder rattled the cubes in his tonic, muffling her words. Startled by the force and the beating summer rain, she had stopped mid-sentence. Guy decided to speak on her behalf. Taking a large, burning gulp of the tonic he cleared his throat and said "you look like hell, Maude." She knew he was right.

Her eyes flashed with anger, reflecting the lightning outside, at his assessment of her appearance. But just as quickly, the light died and her head dropped in despair as she remembered why she'd come. "He's gone!" she cried.
Guy knew who she was talking about. The man who had spent a small fortune, like the kind you spend on buying popcorn and drinks at the movies, to place that ring on her finger.
Maude stood, revealing curves that would put the Autobahn to shame, leaned over the desk and whimpered, "Guy, you HAVE to help me!"
Guy gulped the last of his tonic and...

couldn't help but notice her supple, pouting breasts. They looked like they could use some personal attention by the gentle, knowing touches of his velvety hands. Unfortunately, there was no time for that now, plus he was a consummate professional, albeit tainted by the harsh realities of the city below. "Maybe you should start at the beginning" he said. She began pacing his office, her red high heels clicking the hardwood floor with every step. "OK" she relinquished and asked for a cigarette. He pulled one out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. She lit it with his help and taking a deep draw and exhaled, stating...

‎"We never meant to swindle anyone. It all began when..." But Guy's mind wandered to the sight of her red high heels and his last train of thought. When he finally came back to the present, he heard her say "...and by then the police were on their way. He grabbed the bag and went down the fire escape. I was to casually go the the newspaper stand and then meet him in the cafe in an hour. But that was three days ago! I don't know where he is! You've got to help me find him, Guy!" Then she sat and began to sob into her handkerchief again.
Guy had watched her every move, pacing back and forth like a lion in the zoo at feeding time, smoking the cigarette in less time than it took to tie your shoes, wringing the handkerchief incessantly, and he knew...

‎...that he was going to regret taking this assignment. "They're after me" she continued and his mind snapped back to what she was saying. "Who?" Guy interupted. "I don't know" came the quick reply. "They think I have the money." Maude began to sob again. "I don't know what to do or where to go. You've got to help me Guy!" Guy reached in his desk and found a flask that he kept there for such an occasion, never knowing when a strong drink would bring clarity to any situation. He took a swig and felt it burn the back of his throat. He offered her a sip and she surprisingly gulped it back like a college freshman. Her ravenous thirst surprised him. "Were you followed here?" he asked as he stood up and gaped through the metal blinds to the street below. As he peered out, something caught his eye...

‎...a shadowy figure standing the the street lamp across the street. As he watched, the figure drew something out of their pocket and Guy saw a glint of cold steel. He knew a revolver when he saw it, and he quickly doused the lamp on his desk, plunging the room into darkness, and yelled at Maude to get up. Maude, her comprehension slowed by the large drink she had pulled from the flask, sat there in her chair.
Suddenly, the window shattered as a bullet zinged past the Guy's head. He yanked Maude to her feet and she stumbled in her red high heels. She seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if her feet were running through mud. Guy shouted at her to abandon her heels, hoping the cold floor would begin to sober her up, as the smell of cordite had done for him.
Guy yanked her to the door and as he threw it open...

‎...he remembered his trusty overcoat and hat. Instinctively he darted back into the office, Maude screaming and staying low, as bullets peppered the file cabinet on the far side of the room. Guy fished for his jacket, threw on his hat and dug for the revolver that he housed in the jacket pocket. Again, Guy darted for the hallway door. Looking over his shoulder, he glimpsed the upright half-full metal flask still sitting on his desk where Maude had left it. Now really needing a stiff drink, Guy ducked low and crawled back to his desk, bullets flying overhead. Just as he approached the treasure, a bullet punctured the flask and it emptied its contents down the side of his desk and on his upwardly reaching hand like it had just went to the John. "Damn!" he thought to himself, "I could have really used that." Turning, he darted for the door, fired off a round of his revolver for good measure, more out of frustration over the spilled whiskey than real purpose, and...

‎...grabbed Maude's thin wrist and yanked her toward the door. Being gentle with her was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He threw open the door and tried to listen over Maude's whimpering sobs. He hissed at her, "Shut up!" then bent his ear to listen again. From somewhere down below, he heard the sound of lots of heavy footsteps climbing the stairs, advancing much too fast for his comfort. "Come on" he growled and yanked Maude into the hallway. He headed in the direction of the little used, and hopefully little known, back stairway. As he turned the corner, he ran smack into the cleaning cart of Mrs. O'Leary and saw her cowering against the wall. To call Mrs. O'Leary "ugly" would have been unkind, but she had a face that made you despair of ever seeing beauty again. He knew two things about Mrs. O'Leary: she could be trusted to keep their whereabouts a secret and, she also kept a flask for when clarity was needed. Guy quickly pulled Mrs. O'Leary to her feet, opened the door to the storage closet, pushed the cart and her inside. After rummaging in the cart and finding what he wanted, Guy held up the flask and said, "I owe you one." Holding the revolver in one hand and the flask in the other, Guy motioned to Maude and took off for the stairs. They had just reached the bottom when...

‎...glass shattered somewhere above, presumably from his office. Guy carefully opened the stairwell door and peered out into the alleyway as if asking for the credentials of a knocker at a prohibition speak-easy. His eyes quickly darted left and right, and then to the other type of knockers tightly cupped by the red dress that Maude sported. If she wore the garment any lower it would have been a belt. The streetlamps and neon dimly lit the street down the alley, but the inky corners of the alleyway gave him pause. Guy wondered what lurked in the shadows. The rain had stopped but the streets were still wet and shiny and thundered echoed in the distance, or was that the slamming of a file cabinet in his office as it was being pillaged for information, and maybe the last of the contents in the flask still on his desk. Guy took a quick deep breath, the kind you take when getting a physical from a doctor with cold hands, reached for Maude yet again, and they darted into the alleyway. Whatever lurked in the shadows, Guy reasoned, was worth joining and they hugged the brick facade as they made they way toward the street. Next thing Guy knew, there was a loud crash from...

…the back of the alleyway. His head jerked to the left and his eyes probed the inky blackness. Suddenly, a cat emerged from under a box of bottles that had fallen in a crash to the ground, sending Guy’s heartbeat into overdrive. Guy then listened carefully for the sound of approaching footsteps, worried that the crash might have alerted someone left to guard to front door of the Acme building. But apparently the people giving chase to Maude were as smart as the kid licking the windows on the short bus, because the only sounds were coming from the hiss of tires on wet pavement. He hoped this spurt of good luck would continue for a little bit longer, but he knew from experience that at any moment, Fate could stick a foot out and trip you up. Guy glanced back at Maude, and noticed her eyes were trained on an area below his beltline. He looked down and said disgustedly, “Don’t flatter yourself Maude! I am not happy to see you; that’s just the flask in my pocket.” And at the mention of it, he wanted the amber liquid contained inside more than a fat man wants French fries. He removed the flask from his pants pocket and pulled a long drink, drawing Maude’s eyes upward. The cheap liquor in Mrs. O’Leary’s flask burned the whole way to his stomach, but his mind cleared and he knew what they had to do next. He looked at Maude and she looked hungrily at the flask, licking her lips. He placed it in his overcoat pocket and growled, “I don’t think so Maude. I need you sober and able to think!” He took a tentative look around the corner of the building, eyes shifting left and right. On the street corner to the left, he saw Chrystal Ball, waiting for her next trick. He took a tentative step out of the shadows when….

…a car pulled up to the street corner, its driver wanting to transact a little business with the neighborhood lady of the evening. Guy darted back into the shadows, not yet wanting to disturb the goings and comings of the local economy.   Guy tightened his grip around Maude’s wrist and she knew to remain motionless. The driver killed the lights to the car and rolled down the window as the strumpet loosely waltzed over. After a brief exchange, Ms. Ball, apparently satisfied with the give and take, casually opened the door and backed in, exposing her assets. Guy instantly jerked Maude, whispered for her to keep low, and they ran for the car. Guy opened the back door and threw Maude in and he dove on top of her, slamming the door shut behind him. The driver, startled by the invasion, exclaimed “what the hell is this?!” more to his escort than to the compromised occupants in the back seat. Guy, always quick with a retort, stated “tonight you get a two ‘fer”. “Really?!” came the excited reply. Guy responded by pressing his revolver into the back of the head of the driver and cocking it. “Drive!” Guy demanded, and the driver instantly knew that he was in for a different type of excitement than he came for. The man eased the vehicle into the street and began to progress down the avenue as Maude and Guy rapidly untangled themselves like two teenagers caught in the backseat of a parked car by the cops. “Please don’t kill me, I have a wife and two kids at home” whimpered the deflated man in the front seat. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Paprika” Guy stated, an obvious reference to the Ms. Ball’s street name of Paprika Spicerack. Guy, always street wise, knew not to use the harlot’s real name. “Just step on it” Guy growled as he pushed the barrel of his weapon further into the driver’s head. The car lurched forward, leaving the Acme building behind.

….Guy, hunkering down in the back seat to avoid being seen by the driver and also by anyone outside, glanced over at Maude. She was sitting upright, staring out the back window at the Acme building. He reached over and grabbed her, unconcerned as to what body part his hand landed on. He made contact with the back of her neck and shoved her down. She glared at Guy and yelled, “Get your hands off me!” Guy shot her a look that would have shriveled the most excited man. After traveling a while, Guy glanced above the seat to ascertain their current location. “Stop at the next corner,” he growled at the driver. “Paprika, this is where you get off. And remember that we all take care of each other, right?” Paprika looked at him over the seat and said in her husky, sultry voice, “Doll, you know me, and in more ways than one, I might add. You know I know my way around things like this. You be careful, and when this,” shooting a look at Maude, “is over, come find me. I got what you need.” Maude shot up and glared at Paprika. As the car came to a stop, Paprika oozed out of the car, assets on display, already drawing interested looks from the men at this corner. “Step on it,” Guy growled again at the bald head in front of him, moving the gun an inch further for emphasis. With a lurch, the car moved back out into traffic, as Guy gave directions to the driver, who was sweating like an Italian mobster who sees someone entering his restaurant carrying a violin case, further sinking in Guy’s estimation of manhood. Guy knew when they had finally arrived at their destination due to the increase in neon signs along the road, as well as the music blaring out of the various doorways they passed. Guy saw the place he wanted and ordered the driver to pull over. The driver whimpered, “Please don’t kill me!” Guy opened the rear passenger door and gave Maude a shove out. She landed barefoot on the sidewalk and wobbled like a debutante who has had one too many glasses of punch to settle their nerves before the big sashay. As Guy scooted toward the open door, he gave the gun one last shove into the man’s head and said, “Listen, ‘Deadwood Dick’! You are going to drive away from here and never look back. You are gonna forget what you’ve seen tonight. If you’re ever able to make your body salute again, remember your wife and forget anyone like Paprika. Capice?” A whining “Yes” was his reply. Guy got out of the car and steered Maude into Jelly Roll’s Juke Joint. Over the sound of the band blaring out the song ‘Georgia Swing,’ Guy demanded a secluded table and slipped the girl seating them an extra incentive to make sure it was a private table. When she had left, Guy leaned across the table and said, “OK Maude, spill it! I want to hear your story again, and this time, tell me the truth!” Maude began….

…to speak when a waitress interrupted them. “The usual?” came the polite request as she stared at Guy. Guy nodded in agreement. The waitress then gave Maude the once over as if Maude was being paraded in a pageant. At least she dressed the part. “I’ll have what he’s having” Maude responded. The waitress turned on a dime and started to withdraw when Guy shouted above the roaring big band “better make that a double.” “Yes sir, of course” the waitress acknowledged. Guy, wanting to grab the bull by the tail and stare this problem in the face, turned to Maude, “The truth” he demanded. Maude began to weave together a tapestry of high crimes and misdemeanors that left Guy dizzy; or was that the bourbon? Guy believed that Maude was still withholding some key information but didn’t press the issue. It was getting late and they couldn’t stay in the relatively friendly confines of the smoky bar forever. They left the bar and walked one block south to a quiet street with a long row of townhouses. Guy strolled up to large red door of one of them and knocked. A few moments later a lady came to the door and timidly peered out into the street letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. “Guy…what a pleasant surprise” she said mostly lying. “Is everything all right?” Guy responded in a matter-of-fact way that led Maude to believe that this is not the first time he had rapped on this door in the middle of the night. “We need to lay low for a few days.” “Come in” she said and she hurried them in. Once inside, Guy spoke up, “Maude, this is my sister Pinot; Pinot, this is Maude” making the introduction “she lives by herself and we’re safe here.” Maude, wanting to be polite asked, “Pinot, is that French?” “Actually it’s Swahili” Pinot retorted leaving Maude befuddled. “Can I get you two something to drink? A nightcap perhaps” Pinot asked. “Yes” came the rapid reply from both. Pinot walked to the back of the house and stopped at the record player to turn it on. A weeping saxophone began to bellow from the speaker. Guy and Maude took a seat in the den and Pinot returned with two tumblers filled with ice and a bottle of…

…Scotch, which she always seemed to be her drink of choice. Guy watched Maude as Pinot poured two glasses of the golden liquid. He motioned to Pinot to hold back some. Pinot delivered the glass to Maude and she drank it down hungrily. “That’s all you get!” Pinot snarled, showing the effects of the late hour and the inconvenience of unexpected house guests. She delivered a glass to Guy and went and stood by the cold, dark fireplace. Maude began to look around for something else to drink, but she was out of luck. Pinot kept her liquor locked up tighter than a chastity belt on a teenage girl. All that could be heard was the tick of the clock in the hallway. Maude, either from the excitement of the evening, the liquor, or the late hour began to doze. Guy stood up and took Maude by the arm. He led her up the stairs to the room on right. “There are clothes in the closet. Find something to sleep in and then something more respectable to wear tomorrow. Can’t have everything on display like it is now.” Maude turned and looked seductively at Guy. “When are you coming to bed?” she questioned. Guy looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. Her hair was disheveled, her lipstick was smeared, and her pantyhose had more runs than a college football game. “Get to sleep,” he ordered, and closed the door. As he made his way back downstairs to Pinot, he noted the creak of the stairs, familiarizing himself with the sounds of this old house he grew up in. Somehow, it comforted him and repulsed him. Pinot was still standing where he has left her, but his trench coat had been moved slightly. He was glad nothing of value had been in there. “What’s this one’s story?” questioned Pinot, in her smoke-scarred voice. Guy told her a few tidbits, but began to find himself getting sleepy too. Grabbing his coat and hat he told Pinot, “I’m beat. I’ll fill you in on the rest tomorrow.” “You mean later today, don’t ya?” said Pinot. “Sorry for the intrusion again, Pinot. I’ll make it up to you somehow.” He began to ascend the stairs as he heard her growl softly, “Yeah, you always say that.” Guy completed his evening ablutions in the bathroom and took the bedroom on the left at the top of the stairs. He shed his clothes and climbed wearily under the covers. All Maude had told him was replaying in his mind as he tried to formulate a plan for tomorrow. All he knew for certain was that he would have to go to the museum to confirm that part of her story. As he was about to drift off to sleep, he heard the squeak of the doorknob of his bedroom door as it was slowly turned. He looked up quickly and saw coming through the doorway….

…a dark silhouette. Guy panicked. Had they somehow been followed? How did he miss the telltale creak of the worn wooden floor that he and Pinot used to play on as children? Was his sister already put out of her misery downstairs? The silhouette inched forward as Guy’s mind began to race about where “Santa’s little helper” was, the fond nickname he had given to his trusted revolver that one Christmas Eve when it bailed him out of a tight spot along the docks. Guy lay motionless and the dark figure came closer. Knowing that the revolver was too far for immediate acquisition, Guy quickly ran through his options and came to the conclusion that none of them were good. Guy reasoned that the best thing he could do was to quickly toss the bed sheets onto the intruder. It wasn’t a good plan but it may buy him a second or two to make his escape or find an item to knock the person upside the head. Just before it was the private detective, in the bedroom, with the lamp stand, the silhouette took another timid step forward and a ray of light from the hallway caught the unmistakable curves of Maude. “Maude, what the…!” Maude, now getting her bearings, climbed into bed and snuggled up to Guy like he was mama hound with an underbelly of swollen teats for her to suckle, and she was a long lost puppy. “I can’t sleep alone” she answered and then proceeded to immediately doze off. Guy, knowing that his sister’s house was his only place of refuge, didn’t want to wear out of his welcome by sleeping with whatever the cat, or alcohol, dragged in. Guy, noticing that Maude was sound asleep, figured that he would trade bedrooms with Maude and thereby negate an awkward and presumptuous conversation with Pinot tomorrow morning. Guy carefully slid out of bed, knowing that one day he would regret passing on this opportunity, and crept out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit hallway. Guy had just traversed the length of the hallway and placed his hand on the other bedroom door when Pinot startled him. “Just where are you going?” Pinot said accusatory, one eyebrow raised, not knowing the full picture. Guy felt like he had just been caught stealing a candy bar at Ralph’s five and dime back in junior high. “I am going to bed!” Guy said angrily, hoping that his harsh response would quell the suspiciousness. “I bet you are” Pinot retorted. “It’s not what it looks like, Sis” Guy pleaded. Pinot held her position propped up against the wall, arms crossed, eyebrow looking like a pitched tent. “Just what are you going to do with this dame?” Pinot continued. Guy was hoping she wasn’t referring to tonight and the obviously compromised, yet innocent, situation. “I don’t know” Guy stated “but she is in trouble and needs help. She won’t make it another twenty four hours on her own in this city.” Pinot thought for a moment and then spoke up “You can always take her to the battered women’s shelter on 5th avenue. I hear they do good things for people like her.” Guy thought for a moment “battered women…sounds delicious.” Guy continued, “I can’t do that, Pinot. There is something big here and I need to get to the bottom of it” “Just don’t expect me to keep bailing you out when you get your knickers all wet” Pinot responded, leaving Guy confused with the colloquium. With that, Pinot turned and walked away. Guy fished again for the door handle and dove into the bed exhausted. Sleep came easy.

If only Guy had been able to sleep for a week. But between dreams of gunfire, imagining he heard the squeak in the fifth stair, cats in the alley loudly proclaiming their amorous intentions toward one another, the morning sounds of the garbage men clanging the cans together was a welcome relief. Guy swung his legs around and sat up on the edge of the bed. Rubbing eyes that felt like sandpaper on a piece of soft pine, he sensed eyes on him. He groggily looked up to see Pinot glaring in the door. When their eyes met, her voice gratingly stated, “She’s up,” and she closed the door. Hearing his sister’s voice, the word “sandpaper” came to mind again. “Maybe it’s a genetic trait,” thought Guy ironically. He slowly rose, feeling bruises that had their own story of how they got there. As he processed the events of the night before, he decided he needed either massive amounts of caffeine, or a bullet to his brain. He stepped into the hall, began to smell coffee from downstairs, and swallowed down his disappointment that door number 2 was not the option the universe had decided for him. As he splashed water over his face, his mind flooded with memories of the smell of cordite and an office in shreds, the sight of prostitutes and their assets on display, and the sounds of a lonely saxophone screaming out from a record player. What he needed to do was go back to bed for a week, but he headed downstairs. As he descended the stairs, he wondered if Pinot had gotten a parrot, because he heard a steady stream of high-pitched sounds and annoying noises coming from the kitchen. As he pushed open the kitchen door, he caught a glimpse of Pinot’s face, filled with frustration. The steady stream of noise turned toward him and he realized it was coming from a cleaned up and casual Maude. She had a peaches and cream complexion, which caused his stomach to growl, reminding him he had survived on a dinner last night of solely bourbon and Scotch. He gobbled down eggs and toast while Maude prattled on to Pinot about anything that occurred to her miniscule brain. From the look on Pinot’s face, he could tell the sound was being received as well as a jackhammer to the brain. Maude turned her attention on Guy and said, “Have you figured out where he is? Cause I’m not sure if he thinks I should be at the coffee shop or if we were to meet at the museum again or if I should check the mail again or if I need to try the apartment. What do you think? Huh? Huh?” After a cup of Pinot’s coffee, which could remove paint with the power of a sandblaster, Guy felt his brain cells leaping to their feet and to attention like a Private in the presence of a General. “OK, here’s the plan for today…”

“we will make our way to the museum” Guy stated. Maude seemed delighted by the choice. After saying their goodbyes to Pinot, Maude and Guy made their way to the museum by means of a rough and somewhat death-defying cab ride. The taxi was typical for a city in too much of hurry for its own good. The cab dumped its contents at the stone stairway that led to the entrance, and up they went. Maude, in a much better mood than last night, clasped her hands together, breathed deeply as if inhaling all that was good and pure, and said cheerfully, “I just love the museum!” “What about you Guy?” Guy inhaled too, tasting his burped up breakfast that was mixing with the dregs of last night’s bourbon. Maude patiently waited for an affirming response and Guy answered by rolling his eyes and fetching an antacid from his pocket. Guy knew that this was their best chance of getting a clue based on Maude’s story , but the thought of having to view overpriced paint splatter made him sick to his stomach. After dealing with a snooty entrance clerk that made Guy want to take a hostage, they were off into the labyrinth of galleries like rats in a maze. “If he left me something, it will be way in the back” Maude stated, dragging him past priceless works like they were cheap advertisements for hemorrhoid ointment cream.
Guy randomly stopped to admire a rather large painting of a small boat scudded before a brisk breeze under a sapphire sky dappled with cerulean clouds with indigo bases, through cobalt seas that deepened to navy nearer the boat and faded to azure at the horizon. Guy was at a loss as to why he felt blue.
Maude stopped deeper in museum, in a gallery dedicated to the Renaissance, or Awakening, to admire a particular work that caught her fancy. Guy, upon arrival, was having his own awakening as he stared, fixated, at a rather robust Nude in Repose. The festively plump pale vixen, laid bare and vulnerable, had a distant, disinterested gaze that, after careful consideration, reminded Guy of his ex-wife. “Guy”…”Guy”…”Guy!” Maude practically yelled, disrupting the serenity of the gallery, finally attracting Guy’s attention away from the nude, “Look!”…

Guy’s eyes followed the direction of her outstretched arm.  He closed his eyes again when he realized that she was pointing at a painting of a vase of flowers.  He shook his head and hissed, “Focus, Maude!”  She whined, “They just look like the flowers that he sent me once,” and then she began to weep.  Guy removed a handkerchief from his pocket and thrust it at her.  She yanked it from his hand and began to stroll around the room, as easily distracted as a politician when a lobbyist waves a bribe in his direction.  She strolled away, looking at the paintings.  Guy waited for her to move on from this room, but she seemed as content as a professor who had just gotten tenure to sit and stare into space.  
He let his attention drift to the paintings.  He still had a hatred for “overpriced paint splatter”, as he liked to call it, but at least in this room, the paintings were of people and things you could recognize, unlike the Picasso room, where the paintings revealed that what happens in the crack pipe doesn’t stay in the crack pipe.  He began to glance around this gallery and was impressed by the percentage of them that revealed more of women’s bodies than were seen in a car’s backseat on a Saturday night.  Maybe he was in the wrong business; maybe he should become an artist!  It seemed that there were women out there willing to disrobe at the mere mention of some man being an artist. He could buy an easel and a palette and he thought he still had some paint in the cabinet from when his ex made him paint the bathroom.  Guy’s mind drifted to the possibilities….
Movement from the corner of his eye brought Guy’s attention back to the gallery.  He glanced surreptitiously to his right across the room, only to see a dirty little boy who looked like he had come from central casting after being in a Dickens play staring at Maude.  Guy exhaled, not even realizing he had been holding his breath. The stress was affecting him more than he realized.  How could Maude be so relaxed with this urchin staring her down?  But of course, Maude would be oblivious to the cows while standing in the middle of a stampede.  As he watched, the child tentatively made his way to Maude and pulled on her skirt, waving her to bend down.  As Guy made his way to their side of the room, the boy whispered in Maude’s ear.  Maude squealed and hugged the dirty boy, reached in her purse and handed him a coin.  She wheeled on Guy and excitedly said, “Guy!  Guy!  He said……

…we need to follow him, there is someone waiting on us!”  Guy stiffened his posture and immediately started to analyze his surroundings for possible weapons, hiding spots, and exits.  Every other museum attendee instantly became suspect.   Guy scoured his surroundings, intent on gathering more information.  He didn’t want to be ambushed.  Had they been followed?  Had he been set up?  Nothing made sense. 

Maude grabbed Guy’s wrist with her hand and Guy’s attention snapped back to the unkempt boy.  They made eye contact, which resulted in a very pregnant pause.  Suddenly the boy bolted out of the large gallery they were standing in and darted into the next, leaving Guy and Maude flat-footed.  Guy, immediately recognizing the cat-and-mouse game, dashed after the boy with Maude in tow.  Guy and Maude struggled to keep up as the boy zigged and zagged in and out of galleries and around statutes, leading them deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the expansive museum.  Now, deep within the belly of the beast, Guy became disoriented, seemingly not knowing his right from his left.   Frantic to keep up, Guy quickly rounded a corner and ran into a pedestal on which a sculpture of a vestal virgin sat suspended.  The statue, now completely molested, teetered and wobbled atop its perch.  Guy desperate to avoid bankruptcy, grabbed the priceless work of art to steady it.  Guy’s saving efforts were just in time to catch the eye of two women who were admiring other works of art.  “Well, I never!” declared one of the ladies, clearly flabbergasted.  Guy, all but acknowledging the kerfuffle, glanced at the statue. To his horror his hand was compromising the virgin like he was her gynecologist.  Guy placed the figurine back on the stand, and proudly proclaimed prowess.  “If you never” declared Guy “maybe you should sit here instead of this statue” he said with a wink.  The woman was clearly taken aback yet somehow encouraged.  Guy continued after the boy as Maude entered into the gallery, struggling to keep up.  

Guy rounded another corner, this time more careful than the first, and entered into a dimly lit galley with no windows.  On each wall hung a large dour painting with muted colors and dark tones.  Spotlights illuminated each piece.  Guy, clearly out of breath, stopped, knowing that he had arrived at his destination.  Maude joined him a few moments later.  The room was dark with the exception of the paintings.  The boy was no where to be found.   “That’s far enough” a rather deep voice hissed.  Guy’s attention turned to the only figure in the room, which was silhouetted by the track lighting.  The man stood in front of a large painting of a raven, his back turned to the gumshoe.  The ominous omen was not lost on Guy, although he was not prone to be superstitious, rather slightly stitious.  The figure was dressed in a long black trench coat with the collar popped.  Guy could tell he was long in the tooth.  “I have a proposition” declared the figure as Guy tightened his grip on Maude to less than subtly tell her he would do the talking.  “Let’s hear it” Guy responded cautiously.  The figure reverently took a step toward the raven and said…   

…in a voice that sounded as deep a tuba, “You seem a little crooked, Darling.  Let me fix you,” as he reached up and adjusted the painting of the raven. His massive height proved a decided advantage for reaching anything in this museum. “Now that this room is right again, what do you say we set ALL things right, hmm Maude?”  The figure turned and as the light hit his face, an audible gasp escaped Maude.  Guy knew no amount of torque on her wrist could have stopped that gasp from happening.  He even began to wonder how he had not also made a contribution to depleting the room of oxygen, as the sight before him could have made the Statue of Liberty go weak in the knees. He looked like the worst villain in every ghost story Guy had ever heard.  He was large and at the sight of him, ice began to run through Guy’s veins.  (If only Guy has some bourbon to go with that ice!) His blood felt as cold as a brass toilet seat in Winter in an outhouse in the Yukon. 

The large figure in the trench coat, with his fedora held in his hand, was certainly something that must have been concocted by Mary Shelley.  His head was large, the size of a watermelon, although Guy didn’t think it would break open so easily.  Some haberdasher in the city must have seen dollar signs when this guy walked through his door.  His shoulders were as wide as the entrance to a Bourbon Street brothel on Fat Tuesday.  His feet were long, probably entering a room a good 5 seconds before the rest of him came into view.  At a glance, Guy thought he was carrying two briefcases, until he realized those were the man’s hands.  He could easily have picked Maude up by the throat and only used a few fingers.  But what arrested all breath was his face.  It was disfigured and somehow oddly off-kilter. Everything was where it was supposed to be, but not.  In this light, he looked like some monster from Marvel comics come to life. His eyebrows created a ridge above two dark, menacing eyes that looked as if nature forgot to give him irises, black as the heart of a demon. His nose was crooked and flattened to the left, a probable souvenir of one too many encounters with an opponent’s fist.  His ears, cauliflowered from the same fights perhaps, hung low on his skull.  When he spoke, his lips barely moved and his jaw seemed locked in place.  Running from 2 inches above his right eyebrow to the corner of his mouth was the ugliest scar Guy had ever seen.  It looked as if someone had tried to carve the Grand Canyon into his skull.  How this mammoth kept his right eye was a mystery Guy would expend brain cells on later.  Right now, there were bigger fish to fry.  And the fish in front of Guy was the biggest he had ever seen.

Guy would need all his wits about him to get out of this one, because strength would not be an asset in this fight. He needed to stay as calm as a python digesting a valium addict.  Guy summoned courage from a place he didn’t even know he had, and said in the strongest voice he could muster, “Who are you and what is it you want?” 

Without even looking at Guy, this lug said, “Why don’t you tell him, Maude?” 

Maude stammered, “I….I…..Guy……He…..We……Oh please no!”  And with that incredibly descriptive narrative, Maude fell to the floor and broke down into sobs.  Guy realized in that moment that when Maude cried, she looked uglier than the picture on the iodine bottle and she was about as useful as a back pocket on a vest.

“TELL HIM!” the man bellowed, the sound waves tipping the picture of the raven again.  He reached for it, and adjusted the painting, and said, “I’m waiting Maude….and you know I don’t like to wait.”

Guy pulled Maude to her feet and turned her to face him.  “Spill it Maude!” he demanded.  She took in a shuddering, yet fortifying breath, and began, “Well, it all started at the lawyer’s office.  We had gone there to…..”