The Stranger - Max Frei [124]
“You won’t be offended, Melifaro, if I do you in later? In light of recent events, murder seems like a terribly trivial and humdrum affair. I don’t want to be just a pale imitation of an unsung genius.”
“Give me a break! The victims are ladies, and I’m a man at the height of my powers.”
“Death has no gender preferences.”
“Spoken like a true philosopher,” Juffin remarked approvingly. “Come with me, Melifaro. We need a quick-witted ne’er-do-well like yourself who isn’t completely befuddled by these goings-on. I’ve already sent a call to Sir Kofa. He promised to join us in half an hour.”
“Right. He just has to consume half a pie and listen to another new joke,” Melifaro quipped, nodding vigorously. “You can’t hold it against him, though; it’s his job.”
When he got to the office, Juffin collapsed in a chair and smiled broadly.
“We’ve done all we could, Melifaro. Now it’s your move. It’s clear beyond the shadow of a doubt: the killer is Max’s countryman. What do you suggest?”
“Clothes are out,” Melifaro observed coolly. “Time was when a person in pants was considered a novelty.”
“I told you,” Juffin said, turning to me.
“Likewise his accent. Well, we have a few leads to work with, but it’ll take some time,” Melifaro said, slipping his fingers under his turban.
“Think, Max. What else is there that would distinguish your compatriot from, er, normal people? No hard feelings, of course. Is there anything that might draw attention, something impossible to conceal in a motley crowd?”
“I have to concentrate,” I replied. “And the best place to do it is sitting on the porcelain throne. Maybe there a brilliant idea will dawn on me. Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll return in a moment.”
I left for the shortest vacation of all—a rest stop to which every person in any imaginable world has an inalienable right.
Passing down the corridor, I heard one of my favorite “arias” again, and I decided to sneak over to catch another performance.
“Bull’s tits! What kind of crap does she want from you, Foofloss? She can go over there, where they wallow in it!” General Boboota Box looked around warily and glimpsed my friendly face just as I rounded the corner.
“. . . insofar as those good people will undoubtedly be interested in everything she has to say,” Sir Boboota finished in a hollow voice without taking his eyes off my face.
In response, Captain Foofloss, his relative and deputy, eyes popping out of his head, carried out the curious and entertaining breathing exercise know as spluttering.
“I was just giving orders that a material witness in the case Hully has been investigating since yesterday evening be sent to you,” Boboota reported respectfully. He can actually express himself decently when he wishes! I marveled.
“Excellent,” I drawled. “You have acted fully in accordance with the law, Sir Box.”
I could have sworn he sighed with relief.
I returned to find a cheerful hubbub in Juffin’s office. A spry, red-haired lady in an expensive bright-red looxi was holding a mug of kamra in her hand and beaming coquettishly at Melifaro’s chiseled Hollywood features. I had thought that the heyday of the frivolous flirt had passed, but the lady herself clearly knew otherwise.
“And here’s Sir Max,” Juffin announced solemnly, for some reason finding it necessary to state the obvious. “Please begin, Lady Chadsy.”
The lady turned to me. Upon seeing my garment, her face fell. Then she broke into the falsest of false smiles and turned away from me again hastily, all of which I found quite distressing. I took my place without any fanfare, arming myself with a full mug of kamra.
“Thank you, sir. You can’t imagine the brutes I had to deal with at the City Police department. They didn’t know how to offer a lady a sip of kamra, much less a comfortable chair. I was forced to sit on a rickety stool!”
“Oh, I can imagine,” said Juffin. Sincere sympathy was written all over his face. “But I am under the impression that it was an even