Flying Blind by James Mullaney

Author:James Mullaney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: humor detective crime hardboiled satire parody superhero
Publisher: James Mullaney

CHAPTER 10

“Your assistant told me I might find you here,” Minus said, even as the junk pile that had swept into O’Hale’s in his wake continued to settle around his purple boots. He nudged away a beer can that settled on his toe, misjudged his own strength, and accidentally sent it soaring through the open men’s room door from which emanated a very loud thump accompanied by a grunt which was immediately followed by a fat splat.

“Oh, great,” Jaublowski called over from the bar, an eye trained on the bathroom. “Toxic Shit Monster is gonna sue my ass for getting knocked unconscious in here.”

“Sorry,” Minus said. “I’ll pay any damages.”

“Right,” Jaublowski grunted. “Hey, Jinx, you plan on pickin’ up all that crap your buddy just dragged in here? I already had to clean up one of your messes today.”

“Can’t you see I’m in conference with a client?” I hollered back.

The barkeep was muttering something about charging me extra for using his joint as a conference room, which would have been fine with me so long as he tacked the fee onto the end of my massive bar tab which I had no intention of paying in this or any future life I might have to suffer through. Fortunately, something furry and orange chose that moment to leap up from the floor and race along the shelf at the back of the bar, jangling the line of half-empty bottles as it attempted to pour itself a freebie without the assistance of a necessary pair of good opposable thumbs. Jaublowski went after his latest deadbeat customer with his .22 peashooter and forgot all about the out-cold creature from the dank latrine as well as the fresh mess that Minus had dumped onto his filthy floor.

Over at my table, Senorita Tamale greeted the arrival of the jerk in yellow tights with a mixture of one part joy and three parts tequila.

“Hello there, Meester Handsome,” she said, wiggling her inebriated fingers suggestively an inch from Minus’ face.

Once again, the big yellow dope didn’t seem to know what to do with the special attention his newly acquired celebrity status garnered him. He was as uncomfortable as he’d been that first day in my office which, according to my calculations, had to be a million years ago because no one human being could possibly have been so great a pain in my ass as the Shithead in Spandex had been in less than ten hours.

“I know it appears as if I’m merely sitting here getting loaded in the company of the lovely senorita, who actually is merely sitting here getting loaded, but in point of fact I’m working on your case,” I informed Minus. “I’ve got a potential lead on Dr. Cohen from a guy who might even have eyewitnessed Cohen driving over a bike messenger. The grim lead in question indicated he might be stopping in here tonight.”

“A bike messenger?” Minus asked. “I don’t understand.”

“They’re adult hophead nuisances who peddle around city streets like demented

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