Girl Friday

Posted on 11 Jul 2016 @ 11:54pm by Lieutenant Olsam Mott & Crewman Apprentice Sigrid Thelin
Edited on on 28 Jul 2016 @ 4:36pm

900 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Episode 11 - Divinum Mundi
Location: USS Galileo - Holodeck 1
Timeline: MD 05, 1900

[ON]

Olsam Mott sat leaned back in an office chair wearing a Terran suit, the details of which were washed out from the visual filter the holodeck was projecting. Everything was in black and white right down to his skin, which took on a kind of light gray color under the effect. The office itself was sparsely decorated: a heavy wooden desk with telephone and disheveled mass of papers; a beaten filing cabinet in the corner; coat rack near the door; and a single chair across the desk from him that literally looked like it was on its last leg. As he sat, he seemed to be talking to himself.

It was another dead night at the office, nothin' but burned coffee, cheap cigarettes, and overdue bills to keep me company. It was hot, and the ceiling fan moved like it had no place to go, just as tired and worn out as me and everybody else in this dried up town. I walked to the window of my office and looked out on that sorry 'burg. They say that for every city light there's a broken heart, but I know different. For every light, there's a murder.

A knock at the door and a second later I heard the dulcet tones of Miss Thelin. I never could figure why she stuck around. She was as out of place in that office as caviar at a soup kitchen and God knows I didn't have the kinda clams to pay her what she was worth. Of course even if I did I probably wouldn't pay her with 'em cuz I like clams, see? They're a fine delicacy. Uh, anyway, I'll be damned if I wouldn't have been lost without her. She was as good with a typewriter as she was with the derringer strapped to her thigh, the kinda dame you thought you wanted to meet in a dark alley but really didn't.

Sigrid walked into the office. Her hair had been straightened and styled expertly in the bouncy way of the 1940s. Her skirt was longer than she'd usually wear but it didn't feel nearly as restrictive. "Someone to see ya, boss. Says she needs help finding an associate of hers."

"She try a phone book?"

"Now, Mottsie, don't be such a stinker." Sigrid said, putting her hands on her hips. "Her name is--"

"Evana Fooksalot." The tall, voluptuous woman stood in the door frame. The lighting had suddenly darkened, save for a splash of light over her full, dark lips. She wore a cocktail dress and a mink scarf around her shoulders. "Danke." she said to Sigrid before moving towards Mott.

The dame was tall, with gams like an Idanian fire crab: long, luxurious, and bursting with delicious meat. Okay, maybe not the latter, but they were good looking legs nonetheless. She didn't look familiar, didn't even smell like she was from this part of town. No lavender would take root around here. She wasn't exactly the sort you'd see down at Jimmy's on the corner after punching the clock, either, hanging on the arm of some poor dockworker who was about to blow his whole paycheck on booze and a lady of the night. No, this was a high-class dame, ran in the kinda circles you only ever heard about but never seen. I couldn't help but wonder who she was looking for, who was so important to bring her down here on a night like this in a town like this in a dress like that.

"Sit down," Olsam said, gesturing toward the primitive chair. He reached down behind his desk, opened a drawer, and reached for the fifth of scotch that sat next to a pistol. Two tumblers miraculously filled with ice joined the bottle on the desktop; he poured a generous helping for himself and a little less for the lady. Sliding the tumbler across the desk to her, he said, "I'm Mottie Malone, like it says on the door. What can I do for you, Miss Fooksalot? Husband's mistress? Maid take off with your grandma's silver?"

"Danke." She said, as she pulled her velvet gloves off. She sat as instructed but took out a silver case from her purse to fetch herself a cigarette. "My business partner who happens to also be my lover." She put the cigarette in her mouth, holding it delicately between her dark lips. "He's dead, you see." She said leaning in across the desk. "Do you have a match?" She asked in a breathy voice.

"Maybe he died from smoking. It's very bad for your health," Olsam said, sounding much more like Dr. Mott than Mottie Malone, P.I. He retrieved a book of matches from the desk, held it far out at arm's length, and struck one. With his nose wrinkled up, he extended his arm as far as he could to light Miss Fookalot's cigarette. Hopefully the holodeck's safety protocols would prevent them from developing cancer and dying.

"No, Mister Malone. It vas not the smoking that killed him. It was a bullet to the head that killed the rat bastaard." Miss Fookalot pulled heavily on her long skinny cigarette and blew it out slowly.

Dun dun duuuuuuh

[OFF]

Crewman Apprentice Sigrid Thelin
Scientist's Mate
USS Galileo
[PNPC Qureshi]

LtCmd Mott M.D.
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Galileo

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