The Misplaced Detective ~4

A Story by JD Major

The Case of the Adspin Throcket-149

Fiction: Short Story, Humor: 2100 words …

The Case of the Adspin Throcket-149

It was a Thursday in early April, one of those clear spring mornings in the Big Apple when the hum in your solar plexus sings harmony with the cosmos.

I was dressed to the nines in my navy blue crewneck, freshly pressed tan slacks and best sports coat, and sipping 25-year-old bourbon with Elon Kazzler, the world’s ninth richest man and self-proclaimed Enviro-Gadget King, in the rosewood and leather library of his Park Avenue penthouse. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. A young George Clooney type.We were gazing out over Central Park.

He had called my office, personally, the day before and made an appointment with Roni, my secretary, for me to come see him. A matter of corporate life and death, he’d said, and please keep it to yourself, Miss, or Kazzler stock will be in the basement.

He looked me straight on, and said, “My R&D Director, Jamal Carver, tells me our Adspin Throcket-149 has been misplaced. It’s taken us eighteen months, a hundred and forty-nine test runs and a half billion dollars to adapt it to our WinDazzler wind turbines. Find it, McQuinn, and I’ll issue you a thousand Kazzler Enviro shares. Find it by close of business tomorrow and you'll have yourself ten thousand. KE closed yesterday at thirty-nine.”

Dollars or cents, Elon?! I wanted like blazes to ask him, but asking questions one should already know the answer too is, well ... you know, so I didn’t.

Instead, I asked, “What does the Adspin Throcket look like? And, what does it do?”

“The 149 looks like a twisted, bent-backwards paperclip, and about the same size. It optimizes precision blade-whirl necessary for high-clarity picture flow in our currently operating 24-blade WinDazzlers. Unfortunately, the current 148 begets picture fuzziness.

“Ah, yes, I see,” I replied, knowingly, which of course I didn't, but nonetheless consoled myself in the knowledge that a paperclip, no mater how bent outa shape, still resembles a paperclip ...am I right?

"Everything you need to know is in the K-Binder on my desk, McQuinn. Godspeed."

With that, we wished me luck, clinked our glasses, downed our bourbon, and I grabbed the binder and my fedora on my way out.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Back at my office in Clinton (formerly known as Hell’s Kitchen), I confided in Roni. “I’m thinking I might be in over my head in this case, Roni. I skimmed the K-Binder on the subway coming back, and I still don’t get how the Adspin Throcket-149 works.”

She said, “It optimizes precision blade-whirl necessary for high-clarity picture flow.”

“Meaning what?... And how the devil do you know this stuff, anyways?”

"Kazzler Enviro has mounted clean-energy producing WinDazzler wind turbines atop metropolitan highrises, coast-to-coast, each equipped with 24 blades modified to project moving pictures in much the same way frame-by-frame movie film does it. I Googled it. A trick, which one day you too can do, McQ, once you learn to operate the office computer I made you buy."

"And how, pray tell, does Elon Kazzler make billionaire-bucks doing that?"

"The clean energy produced by the WinDazzlers pays for the whole set-up. The revenue-producing green ads he runs between MED’s, which, when clarity-enhanced by the Adspin Throcket-149, will yield windfall profits.

“ … MED’s?”

“Mini Environmental Documentaries, hosted and captioned, promoting Global Warming Reversal, for Jack and Jill Public to gaze up at and learn how they can make a positive difference. Got it?”

"Got it, Roni, thanks." ...Of course, I didn't, but a paper clip's still a paperclip ... right?

All in all, Roni’s a treasure. I’m not sure how I ever managed without her prior to the Case of the Cheeky Parakeet.* Knockout gorgeous too. You don’t believe me? Just take in one of those old 1940’s B&W flicks with Veronica Lake in it. A dead ringer. Tiny, tenacious, cuts through gobbledygook like nobody’s business.

“And when we find the misplaced 149,” she said, “we’ll have potentially made an environmental contribution to be proud of.”

And, have potentially made $3900, or more. What's Kazzler stock selling at today?"

She punched it up. "$39.10, why?"

"Yes! $391,000, potentially!"

"What are you talking about, McQ?"

Grab your sweater, toots, I’ll fill you in on the way to Kazzler HQ.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The Kazzler Enviro building was in the West Village with a view to the Hudson River, 96 floors with a WinDazzler mounted on top, whirling and projecting a fuzzy MED, hosted by a fuzzy blonde. We viewed it from across the street while we waited for a cop to clear up a vehicular-pedestrian mishap in the crosswalk. A pony-tailed man was getting up from the pavement, dusting himself off, giving the stink-eye to a brunette getting out of her car, cursing him.

In R&D we were met by a precocious young man with eyes for Roni.

“The MED Host interviews are on the twelfth floor, Miss. One peek at you and HR can stop looking. Tell them Taylor sent you.”

“You’re sweet, Taylor, and the name’s Roni, but McQuinn and I are here to see Jamal Carver.”

“Where’s his office? I asked.”

He cast me a look, like he hadn’t noticed me until then. Pointing, he said, “Thataway down the hallway, corner office, his name's on the door, I’ll take you.”

“We can find it, Taylor.” I said. “Thanks.”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

“Elon's a legendary visionary,” Jamal Carver said to Roni, offering her a bottle of sparkling K~Water, but like most geniuses he’s absent-minded.”

“ … Oh?” I asked. "How so?"

He looked at me like he hadn’t seen me follow Roni in. “Care for a K~Water, Mr. … ?”

McQuinn. Does it come in flavors?”

Natural Lemon, Orange and Guava.”

“Guava, please.”

Roni looked at me like maybe I didn’t know Guava from grapes.”

I didn’t. I just didn’t want Carver thinking I didn’t.

It was pinkish and sparkling. I liked it, and I told him so.”

He smiled. “Another one of Elon’s brain-children. Natural juices, recyclable bottles.”

“Back to the Adspin Throcket-149, Jamal,” Roni said. “You mentioned Elon’s absent-minded?”

“Yeah, he leaves things lying around. My techs will often hand him a PID, Product In Development, to inspect, and right away he puts down the PID he’s been inspecting, and plain forgets about it."

She asked, "How many are you currently working on?"

"Dozens, in all areas of environmental concern. Clean energy, clean air, water, you name it. I check his office daily, after he’s gone home, to gather up PID's he's scattered about.”

“Did you gather up PID's yesterday, before he went home,” I asked.

“No, I had to leave early. My Abby was playing her first middle school basketball game, didn’t want to miss it.”

"Is Mr. Kazzler in now, Jamal?" Roni asked. "It might help us to have a quick look around his office."

"Elon's down in Legal taking care of a nuisance matter, Roni. I'll have Taylor let you in."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

“This is the boss’s office,” Taylor said to Roni. “Mr. Kazlo’s a Brain, but just between you and me, he’s a bit untidy. Thank God for our K-Cleaners Staff. A good bunch. They deserve better than to be stuck in their basement digs.”

I scanned Kazzler’s top-floor corner digs. PID’s everywhere … on his desk, on shelves, on his juice bar. Not an Adspin Throcket in sight.

“Thanks, Taylor, you’ve been a doll,” Roni said, running a finger along a shelf for dust and coming up with a clean finger. She wiggled it for me to follow her out.

“Keep the MED Host job in mind, Roni,” Taylor said, accompanying her to the elevators, me trailing along behind. “I mentioned you to our HR Director, Myles, who says you have an open interview appointment, anytime you want it.”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Trudging the basement with Roni, checking nooks and crannies for the K-Cleaners digs, I grumbled, "Apparently, your ever so helpful Taylor doesn’t know the basement from his--"

"K-Cleaners is right around the next corner, McQ."

“How the devil could you possibly know that?”

“Because we’ve looked everywhere else down here.”

It was just around the next corner. We knocked and went inside. I asked a pretty Latina if she was in charge, adding, “I’m McQuinn, an investigator working a case for Mr. Kazzler, gotta a minute, Miss … ?”

“Cabrera, Lucia. For you, handsome, I’ve got all the minutes you want."

Roni said, “We’re looking for a mangled paperclip from Mr. Kazzler’s office, Lucia. K-Cleaners apparently cleaned his office last night--no dust, nice job. I’m thinking one of your staff maybe tossed it, thinking it was--”

“A mangled paperclip?” Lucia said, looking at Roni like she hadn’t noticed her accompany me in.

“Yes, Lucia,” I said. “And, we’re hoping you might still have it around someplace, mixed in with other waste.”

Lucia wiggled a finger for me to follow her. “Let’s me and you go to K-Shipping, Guapo. Maybe last night’s bags haven’t been enviro-sorted and offloaded to City-Pickup, yet.”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

“This must be the little critter,” Lucia said, holding up what very much looked like a bent-back paperclip for me to take. “It was right here in the Elon bag mixed in with his crumpled-up doodles, just as I thought it might be.”

The Elon bag, a medium-sized brown paper recyclable, looked like all the others in Pre-Pickup, except for its green-not-black twist-tie.

“You said, you thought it might be in this one, Lucia,” Roni called from a corner, refilling her bag. “Yuk.”

Lucia side-slid me a wink. “Just wanted me some alone time with the McQuinn, Miss … ?”

“Disgruntled!”

“You’re a doll, Lucia, thanks” I said, carefully pocketing the Adspin Throcket-149.”

“Come back ‘n see me sometime, Guapo, when Miss Pint-size isn’t hangin’ on you.”

“I heard that, Lucia!”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The next day, 4:15 pm ...

“D****t, you would have made a stunning MED host, Roni, just like young Taylor’s been telling everyone in HR,” Kazzler said, “if only we weren’t about to declare bankruptcy, what with all the lawsuits and State Removal Edicts suddenly smacking us.”

“ ... Lawsuits? ...Removal edicts? ...Bankruptcy, Elon?” I asked, between bourbon sips.

The three of us were in his library, gazing out over Central Park.

“Oh, hiya, McQuinn, kinda forgot you were still here. Yeah, another pedestrian was hit on the street in front of HQ yesterday, process server was just in. The hundred and ninetieth, and as many lawsuits, and 49 edicts, since we roof-topped our WinDazzlers nationwide. People are looking up instead of watching where they’re going.”

“A crying shame, Mr. Kazzler,” Roni said, patting his shoulder. The clear-picture WinDazzlers would've made a meaningful contribution to our global warming crisis.”

"Thanks, Roni, and please call me Elon."

I said, "Not to be indelicate, Elon, but can I assume we'll still get our 10,000 shares of Kazzler Enviro for retrieving the Adspin Throcket-149?"

"Sure, if you still want them, but they'll cost you a hundred grand."
" ... Cost us? I don't understand."

“Kazzler Enviro plunged to minus-ten at Market-Close fifteen minutes ago.”

“ … Can a stock can go below zero?”

He nodded. “First time in Exchange history, I’m told.”

“Damn.”

"Please tell me this doesn't spell your demise as the Enviro Gadget King, Elon," Roni said.

“Not hardly.“ He stepped to his desk, brushed the Adspin Throcket-149 aside and picked up a PID resembling a pasta strainer. This little baby’s going to clean up the Seven Seas."

Roni smiled a dazzler."And, it will reconstitute the salvaged waste into

MED-outfitted neighborhood Composting Bins, nation-wide. I admire your dedication, Elon."

He blushed. "I’m doing a test-launch off Atlantic Beach, a week from this Sunday. Perhaps you’d care to join me, Roni, and help me christen the KazzlOceans-11 in style.”

“Sweet of you to invite me, Elon. I’d love too.”

" ... I'm curious, Elon," I said. Which State didn't smack you with a removal edict?"

"Colorado, the Rocky Mountain State. Folks there are always looking up."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

“Why’d you accept a date with Kazzler, Roni?” I asked.

“It’s not a date, McQ, it’s a launch.”

“It’s a date, and how the devil do you know so much about KazzlOceans-11, anyways?"

"I Google. Try it sometime."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"I still say it's a date, Roni."

"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t, McGuapo."

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