"So Gilbert, how do you wish to handle these
miscreants?" The voice at my waist asks. I glance down at the invisible
penguin. Okay, he's not invisible to me. Just the mooks surrounding
me. He's also my partner, so I gotta feed him the skinny.
"With gloves Al."
I answer him. "And then I'm going to throw 'em away, because those kind of stains don't come
out."
"Who are you talking to?" The object of our conversation asks me. It's a fair question, so I decide to answer
it.
"The penguin."
I answer. Okay, so it is not exactly an illuminating answer, but this guy isn't paying me to provide him
with an answer, and Momma MacHeath's favorite son gets paid for providing illuminating answers.
"Penguin?"
"Penguin.
Flightless aquatic waterfowl. Specifically an Emperor Penguin; Aptenodytes forsteri.
An it just so happens to be the tallest and heaviest of all penguin species." I give him the
skinny. His meaty brow furrows as he tries to decide which one of us is garden variety crazy. Now I am about the sanest guy your gonna meet in your day; and the invisible, magic, snarky, British penguin can vouch for
me.
My name is Gil MacHeath.
I'm a private dick. A shamus. The Invisible Talking Penguin is
Alistaire, Al for short. He's not a private eye, he's an advisor to a magical warrior girl. Well he's not a private eye yet. I submitted the papers for him a few weeks ago, but
City Hall hasn't exactly been swift in getting back to us.
The gentlemen surrounding us are members of one of the local
families. Mooks. Hoods.
Gangsters. Take all the filth, corruption and garbage off the street, pour it into an expensive pin-stripe suit, add a
bad hat, worse manners and you got an idea of what I am talking about. I've been asking questions about their
business. They don't like people who ask questions about their business.
Ergo they don't like me. It's the sort of deductive reasoning that earns me my hundred dollars a day, plus
expenses.
miscreants?" The voice at my waist asks. I glance down at the invisible
penguin. Okay, he's not invisible to me. Just the mooks surrounding
me. He's also my partner, so I gotta feed him the skinny.
"With gloves Al."
I answer him. "And then I'm going to throw 'em away, because those kind of stains don't come
out."
"Who are you talking to?" The object of our conversation asks me. It's a fair question, so I decide to answer
it.
"The penguin."
I answer. Okay, so it is not exactly an illuminating answer, but this guy isn't paying me to provide him
with an answer, and Momma MacHeath's favorite son gets paid for providing illuminating answers.
"Penguin?"
"Penguin.
Flightless aquatic waterfowl. Specifically an Emperor Penguin; Aptenodytes forsteri.
An it just so happens to be the tallest and heaviest of all penguin species." I give him the
skinny. His meaty brow furrows as he tries to decide which one of us is garden variety crazy. Now I am about the sanest guy your gonna meet in your day; and the invisible, magic, snarky, British penguin can vouch for
me.
My name is Gil MacHeath.
I'm a private dick. A shamus. The Invisible Talking Penguin is
Alistaire, Al for short. He's not a private eye, he's an advisor to a magical warrior girl. Well he's not a private eye yet. I submitted the papers for him a few weeks ago, but
City Hall hasn't exactly been swift in getting back to us.
The gentlemen surrounding us are members of one of the local
families. Mooks. Hoods.
Gangsters. Take all the filth, corruption and garbage off the street, pour it into an expensive pin-stripe suit, add a
bad hat, worse manners and you got an idea of what I am talking about. I've been asking questions about their
business. They don't like people who ask questions about their business.
Ergo they don't like me. It's the sort of deductive reasoning that earns me my hundred dollars a day, plus
expenses.