In a part of town painted red for decades, the office of Red Rye, P.I., stands out for the shades of grey of its occupant, who is, at the moment, sipping the red wine of the city's grapevine.
"What is this I taste?", says she, "a flavour of a case, interesting as it were?"
And she is tickled pink at the thought. A case. She does not remember how many days have passed in inactivity, with no crime or calamity; the days have been slow in recent weeks, no action or activity even for the one who seeks.
"This is a sorry state of affairs", continues she in monologue, for the lady who calls her Boss, Katie Moss, has initiated another dialogue. With a man on the telephone, who says he is waiting in the lower zone.
"Ask him to come up", says the Boss to Katie Moss, "If he looks wealthy and wise, send him in here in a trice."
"The man is wealthy indeed", says Katie Moss to her Boss, "but beware, as my intuition; which has always been healthy to your constitution; tells me, he might be a homme fatale!"
Sent in, he waltzes in like he waltzed before he first walked. An air of mystery surrounds his dancing demeanour; black merges with white upon his form, leaves one with a feeling warm.
"Bravo!", applauds Red Rye, P.I., "I love dancing, and your moves are Oh so entrancing!"
"Merci beaucoup"', replies the stranger, with a bow, making Red Rye, P.I., wish she could roll in the hay with him right now.
"I don't see any hay around", says he, winking, as wonders abound, he is a mind reader and more importantly, a savvy seducer.
"Let's get back to the case at hand", says Red Rye, P.I., cheeks flushed and clearing her throat, "I assume you have one for me this night; my wine is fine and always right."
"Oui", replies he, loudly, and Red Rye, P.I. says, "Fine, then we shall dine, and you shall narrate the story to me. Oh, Katie."
"You summoned?", says Katie Moss to her Boss and is given an errand.
She goes forth and sets the candle lit table, for her mistress has a fine taste in dining as her mistress' client has in dancing.
"Most splendid!", says the Boss to Katie Moss, for she knows that her secretary has read her amourous thoughts.
"Please sit down, mon amour", says Red Rye, P.I., to the stranger, seating herself down, dressed in a most beautiful gown.
"In a red gown and a grey fedora, with an air of bravura, you must be the most beautiful woman in this town!", compliments the stranger as he sips his wine, "For your private eye, I then hold up this, an object of inconceivable value, Oh my!"
And Red Rye, P.I., sees a cloak of the deepest red dye. Her eyes widening, she simply must ask, "But where is the red hood in whose rhyming glory a poet must bask?"
The stranger then says something most distressing. "The Red Rhyming Hood is missing. A cowl stolen by means most foul."
Red Rye, P.I., lets out a howl of surprise, startling a passing owl on its nightly prowl.
Continuing the story the stranger says, "Our Poet Divine Laureate was last seen alive in a tiff, and I'm afraid to say, now she's a stiff. Murdered for the holy Red Rhyming Hood no doubt, the town's police are on the lookout for the thieving lily-livered lout."
"Could this explain the rhymes so horrible, that has been affecting the narration and making my lines so terrible?"
"I'm afraid so, doll", replies the stranger, "for a while we're going to be stuck in a story so droll."
Can the lines get anymore lewd? It shall be known in this tale, to be continued.
foogarky is the pseudonym of the fictional construct who battles for supremacy with other constructed personas in the mind of a crazed individual. He describes himself as a man living in a non descript house in Rio De Janiero, Brazil with two dogs and a parakeet.
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