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} FROM THE FILES OF INTERNET IGGIE, MASTER DETECTIVE
} ---- --- ----- -- -------- ----- ------ ---------
}
} When I came to, the place smelled like roses. Four of them, to be
} exact. I opened one eye and saw that the walls were made of glass and
} the room was half flooded with dirty brown water. Then I wised up and
} pushed the bottle aside. It sloshed a little bit onto a pair of shoes,
} so I gave them a shine with my tongue. It was the least I could do.
}
} Then I saw the present occupant of said Oxfords. He seemed to consist
} of equal parts of paunch, sneer, and nostrils. His haberdashery
} trailed two foot-long pieces of cloth, and he carried a wooden
} shish-ke-bab skewer in his right hand. He looked about as pleased to
} see me as I was to see him.
}
} "Last time it was snakes. Now butlers. Go away, I'm off the sauce."
}
} "Mister Iggie, if that is indeed your real name. I am not a butler. I
} am the conductor..."
}
} "Swell. Passed out on the Sixteenth Street Local."
}
} "... of the Los Angeles Hifalutin Symphony Philharmonic Chamber
} Orchestra. I require your attention, if you can tear yourself away
} from your bacchanal for a moment."
}
} "Listen, guy, I've had these family jewels all my life. I'll keep 'em,
} if you don't mind."
}
} "I neither know nor care what perversion you had in mind, Mister Iggy.
} Allow me to continue. The orchestra is affiliated with a public radio
} station, KPC. Our concerts are broadcast over the radio, between the
} fund drives. The radio station has an announcer. I believe he is
} engaging in scandalous behavior."
}
} "You're just whistling Dixie."
}
} "I wouldn't be so gauche. The announcer has been making suspicious
} movements. He has made overtures to our flautist; he hopes for a
} score, and won't give his bass motives a moment's rest. He has passed
} her notes, in some kind of secret coda. He has even tried to break
} into her flat, but she is too sharp to let him do so. He's nothing but
} treble to us. I want you to put him behind bars."
}
} "What's in it for me?"
}
} "We'll forget about the $25 pledge you phoned in and then, er,
} neglected to pay. You can even keep the Doctor Who T-shirt.
} Otherwise, Mr. Quasimodo from the percussion section will pay you a
} visit."
}
} "OK, you win. But I need something else."
}
} The nostrils dilated to the diameter of a pair of sewer pipes.
} "Whatever could _that_ be, Mr. Iggy?"
}
} "You owe the Oracle five bucks. No, make that a tenor."
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