by James Hold
Chapter 2
The Piazza Dora
Before leaving, Frank had the lab boys pack Mallard’s body into three ice chests and two-wheeled them to his car. It was possible Akkadia would want to see the real thing and not just the lab photographs.
On the way over Frank realized he had not eaten anything since the previous day. He stopped at a convenience store, bought a couple of cans of Vienna sausage, tossed them into one of the ice chests, and continued on to the Piazza Dora. Sitting at the table where Akkadia was supposed to appear, he opened a tin of sausages, shook one out, and ate it as he waited.
He passed the time reading the newspaper. One article told of a shipment of wildebeests bound for the zoo. They would be arriving by supersonic transport plane. “Hmm,” he told himself, “gnus travel fast nowadays.”
He was halfway through a movie review of Sheik Spear & Love when, from a puff of perfumed smoke, Akkadia materialized two tables over from where Frank was sitting. The mother and son enjoying refreshments in the open square were understandably startled.
“Oops!” went the girl, seeing her mistake. “Wrong table.”
The kid, staring with mile-wide eyes, simply went, “WOWZA!”
“Oh, don’t start that ‘Wowza’ stuff again,” Akkadia scolded. “I happen to be perfectly dressed.”
Which she was, fetchingly attired in halter, hot pants, ankle boots, and a hooded cloak of the deepest indigo.
The kid’s mother was of a different opinion. “Hmmf!” she snorted. “If you call that being dressed! I was told they run a respectable place here.”
Detective Bureau, observing what was going on, wondered where she had gotten her most recent cloak. As he had gleaned from that “Cowering Inferno” story, the Abracadabrical Amazon was a bit of a kleptomaniac where cloaks were concerned.
Where most police commissioners might say, “I don’t know who she is behind that cloak of hers...” with Akkadia it would be more accurate to say, “I don’t know whose cloak she’s behind.”
That however was a moot point just now.
While the two women argued, Frank took a long look at the Babylonian Butterfly. His trained eye estimated her height at 5 feet, her weight around 97 pounds, and her bra size as 34B. To be more accurate, her bra size might have been a 34B had she been wearing one. The halter had a slight, yet noticeable jiggle, which doubtless had compelled the kid at the table to go “WOWZA!”
There was something vaguely familiar about her, as though he had seen her before, or, if not, someone much like her. Her large brown eyes, petite frame, and slender limbs gave her a youthful, almost child-like look. Not that she didn’t have a nice rack and all.
Frank tried to remember where he’d last seen that rack—not to mention her abundant honey-blonde hair and those round chipmunk cheeks—but try as he would... sitting there... in the Piazza Dora... he was unable to come up with anything.
None of which was getting him anywhere and he still had a case to solve. He gestured to catch her attention. It worked, and the girl immediately disappeared—leaving behind a cloud of dark smoke that somehow settled only about the area where the mother was sitting, and not the kid.
Hardly a second elapsed and she popped up at Frank’s table. Actually, it was atop the table. The table, by chance, had an umbrella, the shaft of which protruded through a hole in the center, and Akkadia ended up straddling the pole like a dancer at a strip club.
“Ah-ha!” Frank cried out. “Now I know where I’ve seen you!”
Akkadia shrugged. “A girl has to pay the rent somehow. Wizarding isn’t the highest paying job, you know.”
“I never thought of that. Why don’t you just magically create the money you need?”
“What do you think I am—the federal government?”
Introductions were quick. Detective Bureau showed her his police ID. Akkadia thought his foto looked a little like Phil Donahue.
“You know,” he told her, “I once toyed with the idea of becoming a costumed crime fighter. How does ‘the Swamp Fox’ sound to you?”
Akkadia told him she thought swamps were creepy. “Especially the tree vines.”
Frank produced a set of pictures. “There was a murder last night. Man at the ship channel. I’d like you to look at these.”
He handed them over.
“Is this him?” she asked.
“No, those are just photographs. The real body is in these ice chests.”
He pointed to them, still stacked atop the two-wheeler dolly.
“Want some lunch?” he asked, reaching in and grabbing a couple of sausages. “No sense wasting this cold on a dead body.”
Akkadia said, “No, thank you,” and Frank saw they were not sausages but Wade Mallard’s fingers. He glanced down at his stomach, recalling how the last one he had eaten had been rather tough chewing.
Akkadia meanwhile continued to study the fotos. A slight breeze had picked up and was whipping things about. Although the Chaldean Cutie wore a mask of sorts over her cheeks and forehead, her honey-blonde hair kept getting in the way.
“Ever try putting it in a bun?” Frank asked.
“I did once,” she replied, “only the mustard and chili ran down my neck. You said the victim’s name was Wade Mallard?”
“No, I didn’t. But if it helps move things along...”
“Mallard... Mallard...” she mused. “Somehow that name rings a bell.”
Actually, it was not the name that rang a bell as much as Captain Ed Ake’s car pulling to the curb and bumping an ice cream vendor’s cart. As the vendor chased the clanging cart down the hill, Ed walked over to where Frank was sitting.
“Hey, Frank, how’s it go— WOWZA! Is this the girl that does tricks?”
“No,” Akkadia spoke quickly. “I only dance.”
“By the way, I’m Frank’s captain. Ed Ake.”
“No, I’m all right.”
“So, have you been briefed?”
“Well,” the Darling Damsel of Damascene Druidism blushed prettily, “to tell the truth, I like to wear something frillier. It makes me feel more feminine.”
“I can understand that,” Ed smiled back. “Of course, I’m a boxer man myself, but there have been times, you know, when the wife was out of town...”
“Uh, Ed,” Frank broke in.
“Oh, right. Um, well, as I was saying...”
“Have you checked out any more leads?”
“No, I afraid our travel budget is shot. But I did tell the boys put a tail on that Karla character. Nothing outlandish or overly hairy... just something simple, nicely braided...with maybe a ribbon or two. Something about her story doesn’t add up.”
“I’m a bit nonplussed myself,” Frank admitted. “Karla’s our chief witness,” he told Akkadia.
“Karla? Karla? Why does that name ring a bell?”
“Hey-ah-you!” yelled the ice cream vendor, still chasing his wagon around the block. “Stop-ah dat cart!”
“Oh, well, I’m sure it will come to me eventually.”
Getting back to business, Akkadia spread the police photographs across the table. She leaned close, making mystic motions with her hands, not unlike someone trying to part the waters when peering into a murky pond.
“Does that enable you to see into the past?” asked Frank.
“No, but it keeps the gnats away.”
While Akkadia poured over the fotos, Frank and Ed reminisced about the old days.
“Back when I walked a beat there used to be a rich Chinese family around here. One night as I was making my rounds their manservant came running out to me.
“‘Klik! Klik!’ he grabbed my arm. ‘Come klik! Thief rob master. Use martial art.’
“‘Marital art?’ I replied. ‘Taekwondo?’
“‘Aye,’ the manservant yelled. ‘Tae Kwan dough! Tae Kwan jewels! Kwook tae everything!’ “
Akkadia set the fotos aside and looked up. “May I make a suggestion?”
“A suggestion?” s
aid Frank. “What is it?”
“It’s an idea or plan put forward for consideration or as a hypothesis. But that’s not important. I cannot help but feel from looking at these mystic symbols that evil is afoot.”
“A foot! Lady, those things are all over his body.”
“Exactly. Runic writings from an ancient text meant for some foul purpose.”
“A foul purpose, eh?”
Akkadia nodded. “Many ancient manuscripts still exist by which sorcerers sought to control nature and the universe; the Necronomicon, Unaussprechlichen Kulten, and the Text Arkana, to name but a few. Some spells sought to bring about good harvests or to capture a loved one’s soul. Others were rumored to raise the dead.”
“Anything for an achy-breaky heart?”
“That would be the Billy Ray Papyrus. But it only works if you have a mullet.”
Frank suppressed a shudder. “Okay. So what’s your suggestion?”