Oh Boomy, there you are. I was so worried about you!
I stepped fully out of the Police Station doors and beheld the mysterious hussy that addressed me thus.
And who the fucking hell might you be, may I inquire?
I asked, my left eyebrow writhing upward like a worm in a butter dish.
The lady in question raised a hand theatrically to her quite ample busom.
Pray tell that you jest, dear Boomy? It is I, Jessique?
I made a grousing noise with my lower lip and examined this Jessique.
She was a fair filly to be sure. Long and lean of flank just the way I liked them. Her long black curls hung like a glossy madness down her back.
I felt a burbling downstairs entirely unrelated to my venison dinner of the night before.
I stepped toward her and placed a hand on the small of her back, leaning in to her ear.
Do you have a place we can 'talk?'
I murmured.
She exhaled breathily through ruby red lips.
I have a hotel, you remember? The one we stayed in?
I did not remember. In fact I had never met this woman before but she certainly played the part well of knowing me.
Let us retire to your hotel then.
I flicked a hand out to catch a passing cab.
I pulled my pipe out and lit it, drawing the sweet smoke deep into my lungs before letting it go.
It was a fine one, Gilly's Mimsy. A dark and decadently fruity baccy that burned with a tarry black smoke, redolent of cloves and exotic dancers calves.
I lay back on the bed in Jessique's hotel room.
Now, Jessique. Tell me everything. For a start, who are you and how do know me?
Jessique turned from the drinks cabinet with two whiskeys, flushing slightly. She made her way over and passed the larger one to me.
Well, Boomy. As you know, we met in the downstairs bar. You commented on my accent?
I didn't know. As far as I was concerned she was talking farts.
I growled softly.
Yes, what about that accent, what is it, German?
Jessique sputtered on her Whiskey.
German!? Now you are teasing me? It's French-Canadian.
She pouted like an Irishman drinking a Welsh beer.
French-Canadian!? What in the devil's cock is that? Don't you just mean Canadian?
I grumped, as best I could whilst my treacherous yardarm attempted is best impression of a periscope.
No, I do not mean Canadian!?
She scowled slightly before smiling again.
But we have trodden this ground before. Why go there again?
She pushed up against me and I had to fight to keep my whiskey from spilling.
Let us pretend I know nothing. Now, why did you tell the police you were my alibi?
I placed my whiskey on the bedside table just in case there was some murdering to be done. Or some thumping on the beef bongos. Both of which would probably require an extra hand.
Why? Why would I tell them such a thing? Why else but having spent the best two weeks of my life with you, my darling Boomy. How could I let them lock you up. I came as soon as I heard.
I flashed my teeth in a half snarl.
Young lady, whilst I may possess a mutton trumpet without compare, I have trouble believing I provided the best two weeks of your life. two hours perhaps?
I said drily .
But Boomy, of course you did. There are hours of footage from the hotel cameras. You practically lived here!
Something stank. I had never met this woman and yet she had mysteriously appeared to offer me an alibi, claiming we had spent two weeks together... Here?*
I stretched a hand out and grabbed one of the pillows. Jessique watched me, a puzzled frown on her face.
I lifted the pillow high and smiled.
Brrrrrrinng
We were crudely interrupted by an old fashioned telephone ringing stridently on the dresser.
Jessique stretched out a hand and picked it up.
Hello?
Her face twisted in puzzlement and she pulled the phone away from her ear.
It's for you?
She said quietly.
What!? Who the fuck can it be? No-one knows I am here? Ask who it is.
I barked.
She put the phone back to her ear then pulled it away again almost as quick.
He says... He says...
