At the pelican crossing a Moustachioed Gentleman stopped to press the button and wait for the green man to show him the way across the road. He looked down to see a small dog at his feet, a look of gratitude in his dog eyes. The dog had been waiting to cross the road but could not reach the button that made the cars stop. The dog looked grateful and wet. That was another thing – it was raining.
The Moustachioed Gent had countered this by wearing his yoga coat as he hurried home. The yoga coat was perfect for performing yoga in but could be used for other things, like walking in the rain. It was a loose and unstructured garment flowered with a long-gone garish pattern which had been planted long before yoga. It is probably not necessary for me to tell you anything more about yoga coat except to report that its warterproof credentials were questionable and that the Moustachioed Gent could not remember the last time he actually performed any yoga.
The Moustachioed Gent hurried through the rain with the small, grateful dog at his feet. Despite his yoga coat the patrol cars still pulled up next to the Moustachioed Gent and offered him umbrellas. He declined, pointing out that he was wearing his yoga coat and was really ok, thanks. The dog had no coat though, who was going to keep him dry? He looked so soggy that he was close to crying.
“Come on dog,” said the Moustachioed Gent to the dog and he followed wetly. He always liked to have company when he was walking and thinking about his investigations, even if it were just a small, wet dog. He was close to completing the case, solving the puzzle. He had already named this particular detective novel ‘Black Deeds.’ All he needed was a few more pieces of information and then he could pull it all together to a tidy completion, and then all he would need was someone to write the novel.
“Tomorrow,” he promised himself, or the rain, or the dog, or no one.
At the door to his house he apologised to the dog and then left him outside and locked the front door. The dog was by now so wet that it seemed that he could not possibly get any wetter. Nevertheless, the rain continued to land on him and make him more wet. Within five minutes of being shut outside he wandered off, hopeful that somewhere he could end this soggy chapter of his life and start a drier, brighter one.
Inside, the Moustachioed Gent undraped his sodden yoga coat from his frame, hung it up to dry and switched on the kettle. A black cat sat on the kitchen table and looked expectantly at the Moustachioed Gent and so he took down two mugs and made a two cups of coffee.
“There you go black deeds,” he said as he set the mug down on the table and stroked the cat around the ears. Black Deeds watched it for a moment and then began to drink, lapping the milky coffee with his pink cat tongue.
“So,” said the Moustachioed Gent when he had given the cat time to drink. “Have you got any more leads for me today?” The cat said nothing. “Well, I’ve decided that I’m going to name this mystery after you, so that is something to be pleased about.”
The cat said nothing again, repeating the exact same silence. The Moustachioed Gent decided to forget about his investigation for the night and concentrate on what was going to happen next.
He dressed smartly in front of the mirror and teased his moustache through with a comb. He considered applying eyeliner too but, given the weather, decided against it. When he left the house again a few hours later he was carrying an umbrella, promoted above the yoga coat for the purposes of keeping him both dry and presentable. His platform shoes kept him high above the puddles.
At the downtown bistro he found his Moustachioed Girlfriend sitting in the window and already enjoying a brief aperitif already. He watched her for a moment and wondered if he could describe her as his Moustachioed Girlfriend yet or whether they were just Moustachioed Dating. Perhaps he would ask her tonight, or maybe he would detective the answer out of her. In his pocket he was carrying his fingerprinting kit.
His Moustachioed Girlfriend had presented her moustache – a deep red sexy curl – standing attention on her top lip. They greeted each other and when she smiled at him the Moustachioed Gent knew that it was a good job he had not worn his yoga coat to dinner.
“So, are you any closer to solving this one?” she asked.
The Moustachioed Gent studied the menu instead of answering. The menu was the immediate puzzle to solve. The spaghetti was beautifully described but he worried that it may prove too messy for a date, especially a moustachioed date. And what about the veal? It sounded lovely but he knew that veal offended some people.
“Have you nearly solved the case, the black deeds? Tell me all about it.”
The Moustachioed Gent listened now as her question coincided with his firm decision that he would try the yak.
“You know, I don’t want to spoil the ending.” He felt very dapper saying that, very reserved and clever. He had learnt so much from Black Deeds. With this confidence he made sure that his cheeks did not redden as he fielded the stares which were inevitable whenever they were out together. As if people had never seen a moustachioed couple before.
“Please.” His Moustachioed Girlfriend was leaning across the table, insistent. “I want to hear about your trip to the farm, did you find the tunnel? And what about the last will and testament… I really can’t believe that it all came from that. Did you go undercover? Did you find footprints? Did you copy them down?
“I want to hear everything.”
The Moustachioed Gent squirmed but only within his own body so that from the outside he continued to appear as calm and nonplussed as a cocky black cat.
“I, er, I’m not sure… shall we order?”
As the Moustachioed Gent waited for his yak to arrive he tried to avoid his moustachioed girlfriend’s pleas for information and he began to dearly hope that he would find an end to this case, that it would all come together. Because at that moment he did not have a clue and if that was how it ended he was going to look pretty stupid.