...
..waxing....January 3, 2004
He answered the telephone's tenth ring.“Longstreet here.”
“Elliott, you know you're supposed to answer ‘Longstreet Detective Agency,’ and you're supposed to either answer the phone in five rings or let the answering machine pick up. Why isn't it on?”
“Mom? Is that you?” Elliott Longstreet knew he was talking to Lizzy Caldwell, ex-lover and faithful secretary going on ten years. She had been on vacation since mid December and wasn't scheduled to return until mid January. Longstreet didn't work much during the holiday season and thought it unfair to ask his staff-of-one to do something he himself was unwilling to do. Lizzy was calling from Colorado where she was skiing with Stewart, her husband of eight years and a former agency client.
“Very funny. Admit it, you're lost without me.”
“I'm lost without you.”
“You don't sound so hot. Rough night?”
She was right, of course. Longstreet had fallen asleep in his car during a stakeout on the West Bank only to be awakened by a tap on the driver's side window by one of Gretna's finest. Boredom and professional pride drove him to the French Quarter and parked him on a stool at the Chart Room's bar. He had planned to spend New Year's night alone on the barstool, but Fate intervened. Longstreet had met a paralegal of Japanese descent and the two waxed nostalgic before buffing the shiny wood floors of his office. Fate had just put her clothes back on and left.
“Not too bad, Lizzy. And you? Have a good New Year celebration on the slopes?”
“It was quiet. We stayed in the condo, flipped channels, watched balls come down.”
“So Stew's into tea-bagging, eh? I like it.”
“Stop, Elliott. You're fuckin' killing me. Seriously, everything okay in the Crescent City?”
Elliott Longstreet assured her everything was fine, told her to have a good time, and hung up with kissy noises. As he sat in the darkness of his empty office, he thought of nothing.
previous..|..current..|..archives..|..1st quarter index..|..next
© 2004 by the beastmaster
