The ubiCab Files #3 – Headquarters

Private eye office door

Office Hours 12-1pm

I sat in my office above the shoe shine joint in Little Portland, waiting for a coffee to cool.  A dame walked in,

“What do you want toots?” I asked

“Don’t call me toots.” Commanded Judi Dench.  She was seething but I played it cool.

“That’s what you get when you’re calling on an archetypal 1920s private eye in his office.” I replied, cooly playing.

“This isn’t the watch repairers?” She asked, confused.

“As it happens,” I brazened it out “between 12 and 1pm it’s not, I sublet.”

“Well can I leave the watch?” She demanded.  I paused, suspensefully, and aimed for ice-cold cool.

“You can leave your hat on.”

It seems that on the dartboard of my conversation, the treble twenty of ice-cold cool is separated by fine, fine wires from wide beige fields representing the dullness of 5 and the idiocy of 1.

She took off her hat, contrarily I assume, slammed down the watch and stalked out.  I altered the time five minutes slow and sniggered childishly, discharging snot into my Americano.  “Beggars can’t be choosers” I thought, and drank deeply.


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