The Shamus: A Gumshoe's Odyssey

By Michael Weintraub

The Shamus: A Gumshoe’s Odyssey is a recreation of Homer’s classic as a fast-paced Sci-Fi/ Fantasy tribute to the detective films of the 1930’s. Colored by mythological and Buddhist over-tones, the story centers on three planets within the Siri solar system; Vesta’s orbit has decayed, the ruins of Her ancient civilization lie buried under parched desert plains. Gaua, a world much like our own, is drifting away; year-by-year the light grows dimmer as the temperature get colder. Food and energy are at a premium. The future may look dim, but there is hope for the faithful--depending on whom you have faith in: Lamas, like Marcus Talmus who teach the sutras of the Promise, that their god Gauss will return as a child and deliver them from Darkness, or Naught Gaussaann, Maharaja of Naupactus, who promises deliverance with “Next year on Hera”, that with hard work one can save and bring their family to the warmth and light of Hera; well, maybe their grand-children. Meanwhile, he balances excavations on Vesta looking for proof of his divinity as the solution to his political challenges with his enterprises and mistress, the Tajana Sahara on Hera.
And in the middle is Hera; Her people enjoy a carefree life-style in their technologically advanced society. Herans have worshiped Hera as a living goddess since First Light, the supernova that illuminated them thousands of years ago. Back then a Shamus, born during the exact moment of totality of a bi-lunar eclipse, hence chosen by Hera and empowered with paranormal abilities, were the spiritual leaders. Their position has since been replaced by the Parthenon of Priestesses; whenever one does crop up he waits for his Moment to serve Hera. And as it never comes these astronomical anomalies serve merely as channels for new technology from Hera; for on Hera, science is religion.
Which brings us to the current living Shamus, Taxi Chaedeaux: holder of 57 patents on crystalline matrixing, and bored out of his wits, he uses his psychic powers as a private detective when he’s not dowsing for high odds at the races with his wise-cracking, telepathic ferret Jasse. Taxi is engaged by Naught to find missing Heran archaeo-linguist Alei Cineau, hired by the ‘Gaunts’ to decipher Vestan writings; as Gauan has only two vowels, Vestan is genetically unintelligible to Gauns.
Convinced that Cineau is in hiding, our fedora sporting hero and Jasse climb into their ship the Trireme and embark on an Odyssean journey in search of the truth. From the kasbahs and night-life of Hera, to the orbital platforms and excavations at Vesta, and on to the streets, palaces and covert genetics labs of Gaua, the two blend physics with metaphysics as they work their way out of every predicament while following the trail of an interplanetary conspiracy. On their way they visit Naught’s wife, the Maharana AnnaClara; fearful of her growing popularity he keeps her locked away in the Summer Palace at Arabus.
Marcus, under scrutiny by the Augur of Savrakas for hanging Naught’s portrait by the toilets rather than in the main foyer of his Sanctum, is urged on by his religious mentor Anathan to begin his own journey in search of his child-god that enmeshes him in a web of political and religious intrigue. Once overseas Marcus is enlisted by Naught’s long-time rival, Vaughn Manallaann, the Raj of Satrap. In his plans to discredit and dethrone his cousin Naught, the Raj arranges Marcus’ death only to have him smuggled back into Naupactus where he hopes Marcus will develop cells of religious dissidents. Marcus and Taxi eventually meet and enlighten each other, sending Taxi off to a revelation of Gaussaann’s intentions on Hera and Vesta, the shared identities of Gaua and Anna-Clara, and his own destiny.

Despite its humorous and satirical moments The Shamus is a deeply spiritual book covering such themes as the dangers of zealousness and false pride, and the importance of faith, responsibility and planetary consciousness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Weintraub
• Release date: Jan 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452451091

Michael Weintraub

I earned my B.A. in English/Writing from Hofstra University (1978) during which time I studied with then writer-in-residence Sam Toperoff (greatest influences: G.B.S. and Vonnegut) just love a good B&W swashbuckler and gumshoe film, and am hopelessly addicted to Brit-Coms. A chiropractor by training but actor by nature, I now teach Anatomy and Physiology at Pace University and Westchester, Bronx and Orange Community Colleges. My completed works include “Prince of the Caribbean” (© 2019 Smashwords) “The Shamus: A Gumshoe’s Odyssey” (Sci-Fi/Fantasy, © 2011 Smashwords)-- a dutiful retelling of Homer’s classic tale, “The Anatomy and Physiology Survival Kit” (Non-fiction, reference ©2012, 2017 Kendall Hunt Publishing), “A Million Lights For Joey” (TV Movie 90 minutes: Holiday/Family), how an eight-year-old Jewish girl from Queens tries to get one million Christmas lights on her house so an angel will bring her older brother home from the war in Viet Nam, and “Parables: A Tool for Self-Evolution” (New Age; self-published): channeled divination cards and readings.

Book preview

The Shamus

A Gumshoe’s Odyssey

by

Michael Robert Weintraub

Published by Michael Robert Weintraub At Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Michael Robert Weintraub

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Foreword

Asterism: The Pleiades Star Cluster

System: Siva

Orbital Region: Life Zone

Planets:

Vesta, moon Aglia

Inner most of the three worlds of the Life Zone, planet Vesta’s orbit has long since begun to decay bringing it closer and closer to the Sun/Siva. It’s atmosphere has evaporated leaving it a barren desert world which can no longer sustain life. The remains of it’s advanced, ancient civilization are buried under wind driven sands which have eroded any architecture on the surface. Very little is known of Her former inhabitants or their actual fate.

Gaua, moon Luna

The outer most world of the Life Zone, Gaua’s orbit has been steadily increasing, moving Her further away from Siva each year making Her colder and darker with shorter and less productive growing seasons. The average Gaun is at least 6’ and taller weighing from 175 to 250 lbs. Their skin is a grayish-tan, their hair black and in shades of dark brown; all males are bearded except for the ruling members of the Jahhaann and their immediate heirs. Possessing bold features but few facial muscles (save for chewing) they appear relatively expressionless. The gravity of Gaua is approximately 70% that of Hera.

Gauan civilization is very similar to our own in technology, design and clothing. They worship their god Gauss whom, as the Lamas teach, will return as a child and deliver them from Darkness.

The Gauan alphabet possesses only two vowels: ‘a’ and ‘u’, however their vocabulary and language is complete; commonly used adjectives, verbs, pronouns and nouns have been translated for convenience.

Hera, moons Myrrha and Lyrrha

Located between Vesta and Gaua, Hera’s orbit has been preserved, possibly balanced by

the relative shifts of the other two worlds.

The average Heran is between 5’6 and 5’9 tall and weighs from 110 to 140 lbs. Their fleshy skin is salmon-orange in color; their hair color varies in light shades of the blue spectrum with virtually no other body hair. Their delicate facial features seem to blend giving them a flattened appearance.

Hera is a highly technologically advanced civilization; their tastes in architecture, automotive and furniture design, and clothing (colors not withstanding) are similar to that of the 1930’s art deco genre. Herans worship Hera as a living goddess. In antiquity, the Shamus, an individual born at the exact moment darkness during totality of a bi-lunar eclipse--hence chosen by Hera and empowered with paranormal abilities--were the spiritual leaders. Their position has long since been replaced by the Parthenon of Priestesses; whenever a Shamus does crop up he waits for his ‘Moment’ to serve Hera. And as it never comes these astronomical anomalies serve merely as channels for new technology from Hera; for on Hera, science ‘is’ religion.

PROLOGUE

Strike Me Blind And Send Me Home

The old Shamus sat before the candle as he wrote feverishly without pause. His seasoned, wrinkled skin was more yellow than the salmon of his youth making the grooves is his face seemed like darkened crevasses. There was still a hint of sky blue in his long gray hair, his coloring fading with time like an old shirt. His eyes were half shut, thin slits that sparkled in the reflection of the candlelight. His knurled hands moved without thought as if someone else were writing and not he. He could see himself, there at the desk; his consciousness was at the far right of the glass-enclosed lighthouse that made his home like so many before him.

Discorporate, he watched as the hands scribbled equation after equation; he had no idea what he was writing; Hera did, it was Hers; he was only the vessel for Her.

Teaza, the old man’s ferret-faced ‘famile’ laid with his head flat on the desk, basking in the warmth of the candle; he had been with the old man since he was a child. And like his life partner, he was tired; there comes a time when life itself is a sedative and to rest endlessly is all you want.

The candle always burns brightest... the old man said emptily in a whisper. Teaza looked up to the flame and then into the old man’s eyes; he gave a slow bow of the head as he closed his eyes in acknowledgement.

(Yes) he responded. (It’s close...I can feel it.)

The old man realized he was back in his body; he glanced at the pen in his left hand, rolling the shaft between his fingers, experiencing the slow restoration of his own physical senses. Yes Teaza, Home is calling us...It’s our time now. He placed the pen on the desk, resting it on its side with a sense of respect; he brought his hands together, pressing his fingers into a pyramid over the papers on his desk and bowed his head. He looked at his writing as if it were a divine prayer he had channeled for Hera, his world, his Goddess. It was really She he believed; he could feel Her inside his body, dictating to his hands to transcribe Her message. He understood none of it.

Hera never spoke to him, at least not directly, even just now. Her presence gave him an innate understanding of the nature of the gibberish he had written. He felt in his heart that he had delivered to his people something that will change the destiny of their world forever; he felt the intense satisfaction of knowing that he was the instrument used to usher in a new order. There was something so overwhelmingly wonderful about it. And still, he had no idea of what it was.

And then he realized it was his ‘Moment’; he had waited his whole life for the ‘Moment’, to be called on by Hera Herself, to serve and protect Her. But there were no battles, no war, no casualties, only a half dozen or more pages of numbers and symbols, equations that he sensed were the keys to a new energy source, a gift from Hera for Her children. He gazed at the papers before him, reading intently, laughing lightly at the work he created, shaking his head with a look of amused perplexity.

Hera only knows what they will make of this...

(Hera weaves...)

His eyes continued to ramble through the figures until he reached the end of the last page and began to read in a bemused tone: ‘...And in the growing darkness of the day’s night will the Mother be abandoned; and by the sins of her children will she suffer at her own hands; she will bleed from wounds that will not heal, sores that will not close, and strangle in her own breaths. And only through the test of the shadow will the Mother be redeemed, her children absolved, and her sisters at peace...’ This is even more perplexing Teaza... He sighed as he pushed his chair away from the desk. Let Hera weave the next one into the pattern of Her cloth--let ‘him’ learn what this means--I’m too tired.

He paused as if he heard something, like another living being close by; his eyes squinted more as he looked about the lighthouse and then up through the transparent roof; a darkened patch of the night sky seemed to call out to him. And then, like a blossoming flower, light began to grow from the patch, swelling like a balloon inflating, a glowing ball that spread wider and brighter until the million year old explosion of the supernova he was witnessing brightened the sky into an iridescent daylight, illuminating all on Hera. He could feel the light of the dying star warming his face as it gave birth to a new age. And as the light grew brighter his vision grew fainter. He smiled as he closed his lids in the blinding light, then opened them to see nothing, black; now he would ‘see’ only with them closed.

Teaza, Hera has struck me blind and is calling us Home. Let us go.

And in the new born light he rose and walked in darkness; his vision gone he now could ‘see’ from behind his closed lids, sensing outlines and borders, moving about in a world without color or contrast. He grabbed his cloak and a satchel, then placed his companion in the breast of his shirt. Make no mark...leave no trace... He walked down a spiral stair to a lower level, out through another door and down a stairway that wound about the walls of the cylindrical building.

He stepped out into the brightness of the night sky, his upturned face illuminated by the dying star. Yes Teaza, the candle does burn brightest...

Later, that same epoch….

Chapter 1

Airing The Linens

Nancee Cineau pulled out of her apartment building’s garage and sped off down the city streets to keep her appointment. She was late, but she knew she could make time once she was out of the city and on the highway going out to the shore. The sun was strong today; she had the top down, her long hair was bound up in a white linen scarf, the long tails of which drooped lifelessly down her back. She waited patiently at a red light, checking her appearance in the rearview mirror. A wry smile crawled up the right side of her salmon-orange face dimpling her flesh as she slowly turned to face the man in the sedan to her right who was obviously eyeing her. She kept her head positioned to leave him wondering if she were looking back at him or not, her dark cat’s-eyed sunglasses concealing the truth about her gaze. The signal turned green. Nancee pursed a tiny kiss, twitching her chiseled turned-up nose, and then hit the accelerator. Her admirer did likewise without turning his head to look and slammed into the truck stopped in front of him.

‘Traffic, even at this time of day.’ She inched forward in the bumper-to-bumper tension, wondering about the cause of the delay, finally reaching a disabled car lying flat on the ground. A flatbed tow truck was at the scene, taking up space in the travel lane, as well as her time. She looked disdainfully over towards the upset driver of the downed coupe, a woman in her fifties.

My Goddess, honey. Get a new car!

Her exit out of the city loomed ahead; her patience was wearing with the city traffic. Who gave you a driver’s license? she asked of the car in front of her. And at last the highway. She accelerated quickly as she sped off the exit, traveling so fast that she failed to notice the coupe that had been pulled-over by the traffic-hop who was in the process of issuing the driver a speeding ticket. His police scooter hovered in front of the car while he stood at the driver’s door, his right black-booted leg resting on the running board as he wrote in his pad. The driver shouted and pointed at Nancee as she whizzed by, hoping to get out of his own predicament. The hop smiled and kept writing.

Fast cars—Fast women. The driver was not amused and pouted at the uniformed officer. See in you in court, bub. He handed the summons over, then mounted his ride and left his prey at the roadside.

Nancee sped along the sound drive coaxing the accelerator; the faster she went the better she felt. It was if the force of the wind were pushing all of her anxieties out of her mind and out through her ears. Speed gave her freedom from her thoughts, relaxing her. It was a holiday drive as far anyone seeing her would think; a young, rather pretty woman, her hair covered up tightly by the white linen scarf that now trailed yards behind her in the wind looking like vaporous clouds in a jet steam. Her dark sunglasses contrasted her bright salmon flesh and the extremely red rouge on her pert lips. She almost smiled as she sped along, allowing the wind to intermingle with her scarf, occasionally feeling the breeze across her exposed chest. How beautiful she thought looking over her right shoulder, watching the sparks of sunlight dance on the wavelets and caps that the tide and wind laid on the water’s surface. Time enough to smell the flowers and taste the water. Time enough for finding Alei.

Alei Cineau was missing. People always drop out of sight, for one reason or another. Slave trade, vendettas, kidnapping. Murder. But no one knows what happened to Alei. He dropped off the face of Vesta, literally. She pictured the man in her mind, pouring over a book of ancient literature; of cultures long buried and of no consequence to anyone; except maybe Alei. Sure she remembered saying to him, as a joke. Sure hon, go to Vesta, leave me all alone with no one to talk to, no one to tell me stories. I’ll just have to find some living company while you’re playing with the dead. He laughed she recalled. So did she. But she did consider just that, finding someone new. Alei was a good man, a good husband. She loved that mind of his. But eventually a man’s mind must turn to other things; and the occasions became too occasional. And she felt alone in a house with him and his manuscripts. It was just yesterday that she said goodbye; just yesterday that she was actually holding his hand, kissing his lips, wrapping her arms around him, crying to keep him home, cry-ing, hoping that if he did stay things could be as they were not too long ago when they were playful kids, crying because she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to come back. And she felt that thought in her heart; it hurt. It began to warp itself around her chest, squeezing her throat. She could feel the back of her mouth and throat twinge and contract. And that made the tears come. They flowed straight down her cheeks and mimicked the sunlight like the waves on the sound; it played on the river of remorse for things thought in the past.

How could I... and she swallowed her grief. Was it so much that Alei was missing, or that she wondered if she would be better if he didn’t come back from Vesta. Now she would have the time and reality to explore that theory in her waking hours. But still, Alei Cineau is missing. Gone off-world to Vesta, the second planet from Siva, burnt and desiccated by a deteriorating orbit, cooking its own atmosphere, and everyone there living underground within the ruins of a lost civilization. And some-where on this barren world, in its newly created bowels of an underground archaeological find was her husband. And, supposedly, the Gaunt that hired him, His August, Naught Gaussaann. She had been notified before the authorities, the Gauan government not too sure about the proper protocol. It was only yesterday that she was notified, by an embassy courier, the letter bearing the Jahhaann seal:

‘Madame Cineau, His August, Naught Gaussaann, respectfully and regretfully must inform you that your husband, Monsieur Alei Cineau, is missing. We can only assume that he is still on Vesta, but fear he is lost within the ruins of the Old City. We are still conducting our search and intend to keep you informed on his situation.’ She hadn’t seen him for well over a month, but after that communication it was as if she hadn’t seen him in decades. He was trans-formed from the image of a flesh and blood, breathing man to a dead memory by the incantation that was Gaussaann’s letter. And now she had to find him, off world. The police and Secretariat were notified by the Gauan embassy as well; Gaussaann himself was without reproach in everything he did. But he never pushed his diplomatic immunity. Nancee didn’t like him. She didn’t trust him. She just couldn’t see how anyone could trust any Gaunt.

You just can’t read their faces. There’s nothing to read... I don’t buy that ‘missing’ merde... she mumbled as she drove to-wards the lighthouse that now began to grow out of the horizon to the far right. She squeezed the steering wheel in her hands; she wanted to squeeze the anger that began to boil up inside her into the wheel. She gritted her teeth. She may not have had the greatest life with Alei, she may have felt lost in his piled high paper towers, but she didn’t want him dead. And that’s what she believed. He found something, and those bastards killed him...I don’t trust any of them... Her left hand began to bounce in cadence with the accusations. They don’t look right...they can’t speak right...You never know what they’re really saying...They smell weird...Their mouths don’t move...You can’t trust anyone with a mouth like that...No one...You can’t trust those Gaunt bastards...None of them...Why the hell did you go with them Alei...Why?....

She saw a small sign coming up, ‘Yagigio Way’ with an arrow pointing to the right; and off the main road she headed towards the lighthouse that beaconed to her as a ray of hope. ‘Dead End’ came and went. She laughed to herself Yeah, like I’m going to drive on the water. The private road that led to the lighthouse narrowed to a single lane; finely groomed grass led the way bend-ing just to the left. The breeze that gave life to her scarf died as she slowed the convertible. The reflection of the lighthouse in the mirror-like lavender paint finish on the hood sparked a shudder in her chest. This is weird.... she whispered. She’d seen ancient texts lying about her house like yesterday’s news, met aliens and the ruler of another world and watched her husband leave home for a scorched world on the other side of the solar system; and this old building shook her up. She was brought up on fairy tales, on goddesses and ‘familes’, and the Shamus that would be called to protect the Mother world and slay her enemies. They’re only born during totality of bi-lunar-solar eclipses; born in darkness and belong to Hera. Merde! And now there really is such a person, or so people say. This old house has stood here for thousands of years, since First Light some swear. And the only ones to live here are the Shamus’, whenever one crops up for Hera’s sake. But who would ever need one?

I do she thought. I need this weird guy that the hops told me to call...myself...Oh, Hera...Alei disappears and they can’t do merde! I have to do everything. She could still hear Lieutenant Solei’s voice in her head:

Policies, Madame. No off-world intervention. Call Chaedeaux. He’s an Shamus...you know, a Sovereign Entity--He’s the only one who can go there. He’s the only one who can find him. He finds everybody. Just ask him to. Trust me, he’ll do it. If not, I’ll get him to...’ He said I’ll get him to, as if he actually had authority over him, this Shamus person.

That heel barely took time to speak to me...

‘Just go see Taxi Chaedeaux Madame Cineau.’ Nancee began to picture his odd face as Gasto Solei’s voice echoed within her inner ears. ‘He can go find your husband. Me, I’m just a policeman--a hoplite; I don’t get involved off world. In fact, no one gets involved off Hera. You should know that. ‘We take nothing--we give nothing’. It’s policy. Now if your husband fell off the face of Hera, that’d be a different story. Then we could look for him. But he fell off the face of Vesta--We ain’t gonna look for him. The Priestesses won’t like that. So we have to play this game. Ya see Madame Cineau, your husband leaves Hera, he’s free to, but any organized effort to find him is forbidden; so you go see Chaedeaux. Like I said, he’s an Shamus, he can do any-thing that moves him, ‘specially if there are maternal concerns, if you get my drift. So you call Chaedeaux, he calls us, we fill him in, and he goes and finds your missing husband, dead or alive...Preferably alive of course!"

He was odd she thought. He actually had hair on his upper lip--not even a caterpillar, but real hair. Hormones she thought. It intrigued her; she never saw a man with facial hair; she had heard stories, that they were always ready, always willing to do a little dance with a lady. She smiled at the thought as she looked at the lighthouse that now seemed to tower overhead like a monument. She drove around the tubular edifice; a formal entrance appeared to grow out of the side of the building as she rounded the circle. My Goddess! she cried out A wooden door!

The age of the building revealed itself with her seeing the wood door and frame; no tree had been sacrificed within the next hundred years following First Light. She gazed at it in awe, almost smiling as her mouth hung open. And its still standing...my Goddess. She stared blankly through the windshield off to the sound. I wonder what this Chaedeaux is like... May-be he’s as old as this building. Maybe he’s young—and good looking. Maybe he’s got a moustache like that Solei’s... She smiled broadly. Maybe he’s- She suddenly realized she was coasting and instinctively slammed on the brakes. The convertible jolted her as if to snap her out of this daydream.

Hera, why do I fall for weird guys? I need a normal one, if there are any left! She turned off the ignition and automatically looked up to check her make-up in the rear view mirror. She opened her mouth slightly, dropping her lower lip, letting the tip of her tongue circle and caress her lips, moistening them, leaving them just wet enough to let sunlight sparkle in them in the reflection. She admired herself as she took off the sunglasses, untying the scarf that bound her hair, liberating it from the linen to flow down and splash against her shoulders; it too, grayish-blue with a hint of lavender frosting sparkled in the sun.

What a pair we made gazing into the mirror beauty and the brain. Nancee swung the door of the coupe open and lowered her left leg—but the ground was not where it should be. Startled she looked down to find she was hovering about a foot and half high. She looked at the steering column; she was still in gear with the car hovering in ‘drive’. Merde she sighed in disgust. Damn thing keeps locking up...nobody makes a descent car in this quarter.

Nancee stepped out of the lavender coupe; it was pretty. It did compliment her. Alei may have been poor company but he sure knew how to pick clothes and jewelry for her. And cars. She was more like his doll than his wife she often thought. Something to dress up and show off to all his friends. But even dolls get tired of the dollhouse. She took a few steps back to view her reflection in the mirror-like finish of the car. She tugged slight-ly on the lower por-tion of the bodice of her dress, pulling the already revealing neckline even lower, exposing more of her small breasts. She reached onto the dashboard and pulled an orchid from the glass vase that held it. She gave it two light shakes to rid the roots of water and, watching carefully in the side of the car, positioned it between her breasts; the small line of cleavage looked like two lips kissing the flower. She pursed her lips and cracked a wry smile to the left in approval. Her white dress, sparsely adorned by an occasional lotus blossom print appeared as if it were painted on her. She posed in the mirror that was her car, placed her left hand on her hip as she hiked it upward a touch, slightly bending her right knee in front of the left leg.

Monsieur Chaedeaux I presume? she practiced aloud in a coy and leading voice. She giggled and dropped her keys. Oh merde! Her dress was too tight to allow her to freely bend down; she tried crouching on her high heels. Can’t do anything in this dress except to look great enough for them to tell you to take it off. She readjusted her clothing and approached the door to the lighthouse. She slowly reached out with her right hand and gingerly caressed the wood doorframe; she was touching wood for the first time; it was an incredible sensation as her eyes lightened. She could sense that it was alive, or had been alive. It felt as if an old person was standing in front of her...it felt as if it had a spirit, or maybe it was this Chaedeaux. The lighthouse was like a piece of another era, another time, another world. Maybe she thought If I step through these doors I’ll step into an-other world. Maybe these stories are true… Maybe this Chaedeaux is some old crazy sorcerer or magician. She started getting anxious. What if he reads minds, what if I like him and start thinking about him...What if he can see inside me, that I was unhappy with Alei, that I didn’t want him to come back, that I wanted someone else. Maybe he’ll think I had something to do with this. She turned to the car. I can still go she thought I can climb in the car and forget all this merde and go home. I’ll tell Solei I got scared. He’d understand. Maybe I’ll just call him back.

Madame Cineau?

Nancee jumped on hearing a woman’s voice from behind her back; she turned briskly finding no one.

Madame Cineau. the voice repeated, emanating from a small intercom next to the doorframe.

Yes she responded I’m Madame Cineau.

Madame Cineau... the voice began to sing.

Yes she answered, annoyed I’m Madame Cineau.

Madame Cineau, you must press the button next to the speaker for me to hear you. It’s a very old device.

Nancee shook her head disapprovingly, walked to the door and pressed the button. Yes... she almost whined in complaint of her presence being known—now she had to go inside. I’m Madame Cineau...is this the Chaedeaux residence? As if she didn’t know. Who in Hera’s name would live in such a place!

Please, come inside. Take the stair to your left; this building does not have a lift. We’re at the top so take your time. You’ll enjoy the view on your way up.

I’ll bet! she replied in high sarcasm without holding the talk button. She pushed the great wood door open to enter the old building. The door creaked a sigh as it swung slowly inward, echoing in the huge hollow space that made the main area of the interior. She looked up; the walls seemed to reach upward endlessly. Spiraling around the circumference wrapped a stairway which hugged the wall of the circular lighthouse. She felt as if she were inside a giant snail shell. As the echo of the door’s voice faded it revealed an uncomfortable silence. She turned from side to side, looking, looking for someone, someone close by. But she was alone in this cavern. Even the stairway disappeared into a second level, way up above. But she felt that eerie tingle you get when you think somebody is right next to you; close enough to feel their body heat, close enough to feel their moisture. She didn’t like this. This place, this Shamus was getting her spooked, but good. It was like those ghost stories she and her girlfriends would tell when they were kids; who could scare the daylights out of who. But she was playing that game alone now, and she no longer liked it. The stairs welcomed her; a large railing on the right sprawled out in fine detailed carving in wood just like the door. In all the eeriness a warmth permeated the air from the wood, a feeling of safety. It looked secure and protective. She could almost hear the stairs say come. Taking a long deep breath, she paused, sighed, walked to them and reached gingerly for the railing. As her right foot rested on the first step it creaked; shorter and sharper than the drawn out moan of the door. It sounded the same as when she stepped on someone’s foot, accidentally. And so did the next, and the next, and on and on, upward and upward, creating a symphony of speaking planks of old wood, resounding against the dense cylindrical walls that made the lighthouse. There was something rhythmic about it, meditative, hypnotic. She became aware of the quiet rasp the soles of her shoes made as they gently scraped onto each successive step, followed by the acknowledging creak of the wood. She passed windows along the way as she rounded the spiral to the second level, the view, but she was feeling odd. The stepping, the rocking motion of her body as she climbed, the sound of her feet and the cries of the wood were lulling her into a cloudy cognizance. She stopped and lightly shook her head; she looked down over the railing and felt dizzy for a moment, the floor seemed so very far away. She turned back and jumped, startled; she was right in front of another door. It appeared out of nowhere; somehow, dazed maybe; she would have walked right into it and never noticed. She felt a cold drop of sweat run down the center of her spine, making her tighten her buttocks as it reached the small of her low back. This is too freaking weird she thought. She was on the second level; the stairs had led her to a small foyer which ended right in front of her nose at the door. It was mostly wood, on the bottom. The top half was white glass, translucent but not transparent. How odd..., his name was painted on the glass with a single large eye below it.

‘Taxi Chaedeaux, Private Investigator’

Hera, if this one is yours why’d you make him so strange! Who in the name of the Mother would expect it. This is no office building. Unless I missed the directory downstairs. After all I could be in the wrong place. What did that hop Solei get me into. All right, all right...play the game...

She knocked lightly on the glass. She heard someone walking towards the door, a woman; she wore heels. She could see a shadow getting closer. The brass door-knob turned, squeaking and echoing down the stairs and the door opened into the room away from her. Through the expanding space between the door and the frame appeared the figure of a woman. Nancee looked straight ahead, directly into the woman’s chest. Her eyes opened wide as she real-ized just how tall this woman was. She slowly raised her head to look into Calle Chaedeaux’s twinkling eyes; Calle smiled smugly as if she was one ahead of her. It made Nancee uncomfortable but she maintained her poise, at least whatever she had left of it by this point.

Madame Cineau, we’ve been expecting you. I am Monsieur Chaedeaux’s Matrone. Please, call me Calle...Oh and please do come in from the landing and make yourself at home.

Thank you. I was told by Lt. Solei to speak to your husband—

Brother, Madame Cineau,...older brother.

Nancee...

Yes, that’s right...Nancee. Come…sit for a moment. I’m sure your legs are tired from the stairs. We can’t complain for lack of exercise This was followed by a short laugh, sounding quite contrived to Nancee. The smugness, the obvious forced hospitality made her like it all even less now. She sat on a settee that faced a wooded wall. ‘All this wood... she whispered in commentary. The wood kept bringing her home to safety like a warm blanket in a soft bed. There before her was the towering ice woman--Hera I’ve never seen a chic this tall before--and the warmth of the wood. She could handle frosty" as long as she saw the wood.

May I offer you some tea, or perhaps an ‘essence’.

Calle walked towards a large wooden desk that sat in the middle of the room. Nancee could tell the majority of this level lay behind that wood-covered wall; and the doorway that led the way inside. What a side-show she thought to herself. This babe’s a tall as a guy---and that dress! Calle sported a black wrap, the lapel crossed from her left shoulder, over the right lapel making a low cut V neck, which continued between her breasts and down to her waist. A plain but matching sash circled her waist and was tied in a knot just off to the right . And her hair--Black!-- and straight down past her shoulders, and bangs! Her stylist should be fed to the fishes! But there just below her left shoulder was a spider, a tarantula!--or at least a brooch. But she could swear it moved its legs. Or maybe she was seeing things. Calle turned her back to her guest and bent over the desk. Nancee noticed the two large windows that wrapped about the building on either side of the room. Calle stood up holding an essence box and opened it. She walked slowly towards Nancee; there was something catlike about her. She bent over baring the opened box; Nancee reached for a stick. Calle produced a lighter, snapped up a spark and ignited the tip. A fine red wisp of vapor snaked up from it. Nancee drew on it deeply, held it in, closing her eyes as she raised her head up. She exhaled with a smile.

Thanks....this is good

Calle smiled in acknowledgement. Monsieur Chaedeaux will be with you shortly. I believe he’s in the midst of some research at the moment....So, I understand your husband, Monsieur Alei, is missing. Isn’t he the archeolinguist that who was doing work on Vesta? Calle didn’t wait for a reply. It is a beautiful day isn’t it. I just love the view of the sound from this window. It just seems to go on forever. She sat down on the top of her desk crossing her left leg over the right. She crossed her arms and looked Nancee right in the eye, smiling somewhere between a grin and a smirk. ‘What is on your mind honey...’ Calle thought. Dressed to kill...Just how long is that boy of yours missing... and what did you expect to find here--Open season?’ Calle laughed a short snort through her nose. Excuse me. Allergies, you know. Let me announce your arrival to Monsieur Chaedeaux; he shouldn’t keep you waiting, after all, you do have another appointment after this don’t you?"

No. Why do you ask? Nancee smirked back. ‘Bitch’ she thought.

Calle laughed and tossed her head back, her long jet black hair shimmering as it jostling in the movement. She smiled at Nancee; and as she turned her body towards the door it collapsed into a frown. She walked mechanically to the door that led to her brothers study, opened it with a blank expression and stepped into the room. Nancee was alone again; alone in a strange land, distant and separated; and just a mile or so off the main road. I wonder what her bothers like...And she’s supposed to be the normal one! Hera help me—Hera help us all!

Calle stepped through the doorway into Taxi’s private office, slowly closing the door behind her back, waiting for the telltale click that announced its locking shut and separating them from the woman in the outer office. She faced the huge window that swept about the circumference of the lighthouse offering a panorama of the sound. The window reached up two stories to the upper level of Taxi’s private domain; a metal spiral stairway was off to the right; it led to the second story, the floor of which covered the half-portion of the lighthouse that she stood upon. The roof to the second story was entirely of glass; its walls were all glass as well, all about the building. The sunlight streamed in creating a beam of reflecting dust that crossed over the bowed head seated at the large and rather old wooden desk that rested just beyond the wood ceiling over Calle’s head. This head sported a purple fedora; wisps of blue vaporous essence undulated in a dance from under the wide-brim and climbed upward. He appeared to be intently studying papers that lay in front of him, his shoulders crouching forward as if they were observing as well. Jasse, Taxi’s famile, was perched on Taxi’s right shoulder, his small head bowed, his black masked raccoon-like eyes squinting as if he were reading along. Taxi’s left elbow rested on the desk; his forearm seemed to grow up from it like a tree, his fingers spreading like branches. Dangling from the index finger was a fine gold chain with a small faceted blue crystal on its end. It barely moved. A pale blue crystal pyramid sat on the papers below the other. And the rest of the desktop was barren.

Ahem... emanated form Calle’s throat as the door clicked; the figures and the crystal remained motionless and undisturbed without acknowledging her arrival. Smirking she continued Not that it should be of any concern to you, but Cineau’s wife is here.

I know Taxi replied without looking up.

Well... cynically, How ‘bout clearing your desk so I can get her out of my office and into yours. After all, she’s here to see you and not me--and I’ve seen enough of her already.

In a moment Calle...I’m just finishing a piece of research.

Research? What horse at what track?

Taxi snorted a bit of a laugh. Still bowed over Honestly, Calle, is that all you think of me?

Calle leaned her upper back against the door as she crossed her arms; her mouth crept into a smirky smile that arched into her left cheek as her eyebrows knitted together and angled downward. Well...

Taxi slowly lowered his left hand to the desk allowing the string of gold to slip from his fingers. He placed both hands palms down of the desk as he raised his head; as he did so his

bright salmon flesh appeared like the return of the sun as the shadow of the hat brim moved away. He stared right into Calle’s face; his eyes had an innocent but coy sparkle in them; his

smile matched them. A blue stick of essence reached out from the right corner of his mouth. He sat back in his chair, reclining as he brought his hands together, intertwining his fingers into a

triangle; Jasse held on and complacently looked at Calle. He rested his two index fingers that made the apex against his upper lip; he tapped them ever so slightly, then lowered them to his

lap. He sighed. Calle, sometimes you really disappoint me. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly. And on raising it ‘Siva’s Child’ in the fifth at the Coliseum. He’ll pay 125 to one."

My Goddess! And you can say goodbye to the fool bookie that takes that bet forever. Who in Hades would take a bet like that from you?

Oh, I have just the right person...I’ve been losing lately.

Calle laughed curtly. Yeah, as an investment on this one. How much are you going to fleece him for?

Do I recall your mentioning something about a new convertible?

The Bugatti!? Her eyes opened wide like saucers. She dropped her arms in an attempt to conceal her anticipated delight. You know, one of these days somebody is going to get extremely pissed!

Probably... very disinterested. And then what?

Calle smiled approvingly. You think they’ll make it in red--like this? She pointed to her painted lips.

Like the contractor said, Snip, with money you can do anything. Color is not an issue; on the other hand, finding another bookie--in ‘another’ quarter...

Calle smiled. Ahhhh... He doesn’t know who you are. Poor bastard. So, tell me; how would you like to make some honest money, for a change? She cocked her head towards the door and the outer office.

Taxi looked at Jasse who closed his eyes and nodded in approval. I guess so.

Very well sir in a somewhat louder and purposeful tone. I’ll bring Madame Cineau in now, if you’re ready for her. And more softly Oh, and she’s dressed to ‘dance--with who I don’t know. You’d think that husband of hers was sitting in an urn on a shelf already the little--"

Show her in was the authoritative response as Taxi shifted gears, relaxing his face into a frown. Calle obediently resumed her professional stance, bowed her head respectfully to her brother, and then stuck her tongue out at him. She turned and statuesquely opened the door to leave.

Nancee sat with her legs crossed on the settee. Her left arm crossed her chest to hold her right elbow in her left hand; her forearm extended up, her wrist breaking allowing her hand to droop downward. Her index and middle fingers held the smoldering stick of essence.

Chamomile?

Calle Calle responded, correcting her.

No, the essence...it’s chamomile, isn’t it. Nancee now played the snide game.

Yes, Monsieur Chaedeaux finds that most individuals seeking his counsel are in, oh how should I say, a state of emotional turmoil, and a sedating elixir is best served, don’t you think, or do you?

Nancee ignored this retort. Is Monsieur Chaedeaux ready to see me now. I do have other appointments to keep. She meant to sound annoyed and did a convincing job of it.

Oh, you’ve changed your schedule for the day; that is good news. Well let’s not keep you here any longer than necessary. Come.

Nancee’s dress made the move from the couch a minor effort that required orchestration. She took two false starts and then stood up. Calle turned her face away to shield her smile. Nancee approached the door. Calle bent over slightly to bring her head level with the shorter woman’s and graciously opened the door. Nancee looked at Calle. Thank you, matron.

I’m sure Monsieur Chaedeaux will be able to help you. Nancee, composed, walked into the office. Calle closed the door behind her. And if you need the toilet you’ll find a screwdriver in the commode to pry yourself out of that dress!

Nancee stepped though the doors that delivered her into Taxi’s chamber; a cold breeze brushed against her exposed back as the door closed behind her, causing her shoulder blades jump towards each other. She stood motionless at first, scanning the room with her eyes. The figure at the desk before her bowed his head; she noted the purple fedora—how odd that he wore his hat indoors. Behind him a picture window wrapped about the entire lighthouse and upward to a second floor whose ceiling was glass as well. Sunlight streamed in from behind him silhouetting Taxi, clouding his features in a shadowy glare. It made him look mysterious, even powerful, and for a brief moment,