Part 9

Yanick Champoux

Curious, I retraced my steps. I felt myself on the brink of an important clue that would help me resolve the foggy mystery I had been thrown in. Shiny things on the ground always had this kind of effect on me, and while the premonition was rarely proven true, I found a great deal of spare change that way.

But this time it was not a couple of dimes that had attracted my eyes. It was a wrapper. A thin aluminium foil whose erstwhile function has been to protect and conserve a little piece of cheese, a little piece that my razor-sharp oculary appendices immediatly reported to be missing. The logo, a stern-looking goat, was unknown to me. I looked around for further clues when I heard noises in the stairwell. I cursed under my breath, for there was little doubt that my friend the Captain who was coming for a visit. Stuffing the cheese wrapper in a pocket of my raincoat, I hurried from my office. The elevator was not an option; the stairs were occupied by the enemy and my would-be assassin, the femme fataled, had made very clear how hazardous an exit by a window from this floor could be.

My choices were quite restricted. But there was still at least one way out of this trap. I opened the garbage chute. I peered into the malodorous darkness within. A voice at the back of my head screeched how bad this idea was, and several others immediatly agreed. The footsteps, they were climbing the final flight of stairs. I had to act. Grinding my teeth, and promising myself I would not mention any of this at the next Christmas party, I leaped into the unknown.

Well, not quite true. I knew perfectly well what was in the chute; I just didn't want to remind myself about it.