Crêpes Suzette – with Fia

An uninterrupted static from the radio cracking, “The night was clear, and the moon was yellow, and the leaves came tumbling down.”

My name’s Nick Stone, private investigator, defrocked from the NOPD for banging the assistant chief’s moll at his Bar Mitzvah… Letting the good times roll, “blah blah blah.” It was only puppy love.

On top of my battered desk, an unfinished crossword puzzle from the Times Picayune, a bowl of yesterday’s cornflakes and a dead soldier of Hoosegow Goatsmilk, 9 month old whiskey. Bottled in Baton Rouge.

The rain lashed against the grimy window of my office and old caravan resting on cinder blocks. The only thing colder than this July night was the dame who just walked in. Her name was Isabella Moreau, her legs up to Poughkeepsie, as she slid a picture of an elongated stretched fido, with four legs across my desk. It was a dildo and not Mother Goose. She was out of sorts and not in a New York State of Mind.

“Mon Mimi est disparu, M’sieur Stone.”

“Calm down, dixie. I don’t parlez vous Mohican or Geronimo.”
Sliding a cup of Hoosegow Goatsmilk across my desk to her.

“My little Mimi is missing Mister Stone and I need you to find him. Don’t care what shape he’s in when he gets back to me in a plain brown wrapper” She said in her thick New Orleans accent.

“You want me to find your dog, is that right?”

“ Yes, how much would it cost to find my dog? He is very important to me. There’s something very odd about the way she is requesting to find a dildo that’s important to her to be returned in any shape it’s in.

“You know, dildos tend to wear out at times or get run over by a truck. You want me to return a dildo whose time has expired? Back in a plain brown wrapper?”

Watching her reaction told me everything I needed to know. She didn’t care about the dildo…she cared about the recipe for the Crêpes Suzette on the back of the picture.