THE MCJ

THE HOUND OF THE INGHAMVILLES

A new "Chris Johnson, Anglican Investigator" adventure.

Chapter One - Who Let the Dogs Out?

I have to admit that Nicole's been really good for me.  I haven't made an honest woman out of her yet but the two of us have been extremely busy.  After she quit ECUSA and moved back here, she started working with me, I've been teaching her the basics of Anglican private investigation and our caseload's been extremely heavy. 

Nicky's helped me in other ways.  She hasn't gotten me off the sauce but she has upgraded its quality.  "You've got the money," she said.  "At least  mix in an 18-year-old Glenmorangie or a Cognac now and then."

And the office looks great.  "Chris," she told me one morning.  "You're far and away the best Anglican private dick out there."

"True," I said.

"Then why the hell do you work in an office that would have to be completely remodeled to rise to the dignity of a warehouse?"

I took out the Johnson Investigations corporate platinum card and slid it across the desk toward her.  "Go nuts."

"Don't you want to come along?  I would think that you'd want some input into..."

I held up my hand.  "You've known me for a long time, babe.  Have I ever had anything even remotely resembling an aesthetic sense?"

She stared at me for a bit and then said, "Later," as she spun around and walked out.  She did a really nice job with the place.

That particular day, Nicole and I were sitting around the office.  Just back from our latest triumph, the recovery of Frank Griswold's stolen clue("The Case of the Purloined Perspicacity"), we were planning on taking some time off.

I'd just finished pouring both of us the first Remy Martin of the afternoon when I turned around and saw a man sitting on the client side of my desk staring at Nicky.  "Who are you?!" Nicole demanded.  "And how did you get in here?!"

I smiled.  "You've got to stop doing that, Binky.  Freaks people out.  And close your mouth, bro."

"Sorry," Binky replied in that monotone of his.

Nicole smiled.  "No sweat.  I'm used to it.  So this is the celebrated Binky.  What's your real name?"

"Binky's like Lohengrin, sweetie," I quickly said.  "Never ever ask him his name."

"Why?  Because he'll have to leave?"

"No, he's just never been that crazy about it."

"Fine," she said, scowling at me.  "One more thing: how did  you get in here?"

"Before he went into the priesthood," I said, "Binky spent five years in an a top-secret elite Canadian special forces unit based at Mississauga and commanded by Captain J. M. Heinrichs."

"Top secret, Gracie?"

"Told you I was the best."

"But...you...you...actually penetrated Canadian security?" 

I ignored her dumbfounded, hero-worshipping gaze.  "Cognac, Binks?

"Thanks."

I poured him one and sat back down. "So what can I do for you?"

"We need your help on a case."

"I'm not taking any cases right now, Binks.  Nicky and I are taking some time off."

"I think you're going to want to take this one."

"Why?

"Last week, a congregation of orthodox Anglicans worshipping at a BC Catholic church was attacked.  They contacted me and I realized I had to contact you."

"Attacked?  How?"

"The attacker entered the church during the service, walked up and down the aisle, growling and snarling at people.  The kids were terrified beyond measure and most of the adults tell me that they're having trouble sleeping at night.  Most of them are in counseling and the congregation hasn't met since.  They're too scared."

"Anybody hurt?"

"No."

"Come on, Binks," I snapped.  "Some crazy man walks into a church service and you want me?  The BC police can handle this."

"It wasn't a crazy man."

"A crazy woman then?"

"No."

"Then what are you talking about?!!  What was it?!!"

Binky gulped down the last of his Cognac.  I didn't think it was possible for a Canadian to show such fear.  "Chris," he said in a whisper, "it was a gigantic hound."

Next week: A Dog's Life

Posted on 1/11/2008 4:49:37 PM , 7 comments