The Hollow Sound Of My Head

February 1st, 2009

Despite LaFlamme’s confident assurance that my unconscious client’s cryptic message - ‘Jackals dine’ - was an anagram, she didn’t appear to know of what.

Crosswords were never my forte and after thirty minutes putting pen to paper, all I could come up with was ‘Jackal dines.’

“It’s just as well you’re pretty,” said LaFlamme, making a hollow knocking sound against the top of my head. “Better leave the thinking to me.”

I happily relinquished the task as I feared any further brainstrain would surely lead to a hernia of the head.

It gave me time to reflect on the events leading up to this moment, the unusual sequence of mishaps and misadventures that left me in this confused state. But without reviewing previous posts I’m not that sure what they were.

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My Client – D.O.A.

January 27th, 2009

Spore lay unconscious on the floor having stumbled in seconds earlier, clutching a slip of paper. I tried to determine whether he was still breathing. I may not like my clients but I don’t want them dead. It’s bad for business.

LaFlamme wrenched the piece of paper from his fingers and read it aloud.

“Jackals dine,” she said mysteriously. We both stared at each other blankly across Spore’s gangly frame.

“Jackals dine? What the hell does that mean?” I asked.

“I might have missed all the other anagrams in this story, but I’m not about to miss this one,” LaFlamme replied confidently.

I had no idea what she meant, but at least the story was back on track.

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