the ramble dump

It was a codename: Quiet Fish.

I had to find him. Or her. Or maybe I'd find out it was a whole damn organisation. I grabbed my long coat and stylish hat and took to the streets, swishing this way and that like a man with a purpose. It's what I was good at.

I went a few places, gleaned some intel from the hotspots for rumours. I asked them all the same: 'Do you know Quiet Fish?' I could sense it--the question was unwelcome. Some eyed me suspiciously; others took a step back. Occasionally I dispensed with the method of cautious enquiry and blurted the name straight out. Turns out that got people looking pretty shocked. Eyebrows leapt so high they haven't been seen since.

I tipped my fedora at the barman in a sleazy bar downtown. The place was filled with grim neon and smoke, and the same old sly, saxophonic blues. Once he'd slid my seventh whiskey across the bartop, I asked the barman, 'Do you know Quiet Fish?'

'Quiet Fish?' He looked contemplative. 'Well, detective, I never even heard about a fish that talked.'

'You think it's hiding something?' I prompted.

The barman looked uneasy. 'I don't think fish can talk, detective,' he replied, rag and glass in his hand. 'They just...' He paused to demonstrate, staring glassy-eyed and forming a small circle with his mouth, which he opened and closed a few times.

'Hm,' I said.

'I once knew a shark,' said a bearded man beside me, leaning drunkenly forward on his stool, 'who, everywhere he went, was accompanied by these same couple of notes over and over. Kind of like you and your saxophonic blues,' he said, nodding at me. 'After a while it pissed him off. I heard he got violent. Terrorised some island village.'

I grunted and knocked back the whiskey. 'Well, thank you, gentlemen,' I said, tipping my hat once more, this time at a more roguish and not entirely sober angle.

I stepped out onto the street. Saxophonic blues hung off me like cigarette smoke, and I saw what he'd meant.

'Quiet Fish, Quiet Fish...' I muttered. I stumbled jagged lines down the street, trying to figure out the problem of my legs.

Quiet Fish watched me from the shadows. His eyes and mouth were perfectly circular, and he stared after me as I fell stylishly onto my face.

Labels: fish

# posted by Chris @ 8:42 PM 0 comments