The minute she walked through the door, he could tell she was a woman of destruction, a real life ender.
But why? Was it the way she carried herself? Was it her piercing grey eyes? Was it his extreme paranoia, the result of decades of drug abuse?
"You Mack?" she asked in a hushed tone.
"Sorry?" replied Fleetwood Mack, Rock & Roll Detective.
"Are you Fleetwood Mack?" she asked in a slightly less hushed tone.
"I'm terribly sorry, you'll have to speak up."
"I said, are you Fleetwood Mack?"
"Well. That depends on who's doing the asking."
"I feel," she quite rightly explained, "that you'd only say that if you were you."
Why did they always say that?
"Ah yes," he countered, "but wouldn't I also say that if I was an imposter stealing my identity?"
"Look, do you want the case or not?"
"What's the case?"
"It's a case."
"It's a case."
"Yes, but what is it?"
This went on for far too long until it was established that what needed to be investigated - to wit, the case - was a missing guitar case.
Fleetwood didn't particularly want to take The Case Of The Missing Case.
It sounded altogether too much like work, and work is not very Rock & Roll. Then again, it was not very good business practice to turn down cases.
After all, if you protect yourself from risk, you protect yourself from profit. Actually, that was a good lyric.
He wrote it down, indicating that the last syllable of 'profit' should be maintained for some time.
"I'll take the case, Ms. Love," he said, having learnt her name during the exposition referred to above.
"No refunds," he added.
"Thank you, Mr. Mack," she said gratefully, as per her words, before adding ominously: "Oh, and one more thing: Please don't look inside the case."
But the ominous nature of these words was lost on Fleetwood Mack, who was already thinking of new and exciting ways to justify a delicious strawberry milkshake as a legitimate expense.
Oh, Fleetwood Mack, Rock & Roll Detective! What have you gotten yourself into this time?!
"Oh, Fleetwood Mack, Rock & Roll Detective! What have you gotten yourself into this time?!" thought Fleetwood Mack, Rock & Roll Detective, as a bullet whizzed past his head.
BULLETS FLY, PEOPLE DIE. The lyrics, as always, rose unbidden in his mind. "This isn't the time," he told himself, as a white hot guitar lick seared into his consciousness.
BULLETS FLY, PEOPLE LIE.
Although technically she had only lied by omission. It was Fleetwood who had assumed that there would be a guitar in the guitar case, so it was partly on him.
FACTS OMITTED, KILLER COMMITTED...
"Can you cool it for a second?!" yelled Fleetwood, ducking behind a crate, "I'm trying to think of another lyric."
"What?" yelled the gunman in reply.
TO BE CONTINUED....................