More to that Uncle Z story.....

[winneganfake]

It was 1922 when I first met Uncle Zanzibar- shortly after his stint in the French Foreign Legion, but after he'd already taken over ownership of the infamous Bombay Sapphire Club. I, of course, knew nothing of that at the time, however- having only set up my own offices in Cairo a few short months ago. That night, I'd gone to the Bombay to celebrate a far different occasion- three months without so much as a single case. My plan, such as it was, had simply been to drink myself into oblivion, if not outright death. Thus, from the moment the bouncer pulled me upright by my collar, until I was herded through a back door leading into the tight hallways behind the main floor of the bar, I mistakenly believed myself about to be thrown into the streets for my own drunken behavior. The sudden arrival into the rather opulent back offices instead of the streetside gutter had more of a sobering effect than one would anticipate.

Obviously, the new owner of the club had taken no shortcuts when renovating the back rooms of the space- as it was, I still to this day cannot figure out how exactly the office itself fit inside the rest of the building- the room extended upwards the full length of the club's three stories, all eight of the walls (save the entrance itself, of course) covered over in solid bookshelves full of old leatherbound tomes and other curiosities. In the center of the octagon stood a singularly huge desk- teak, topped with a slab of marble a good two inches thick, covered in assorted documents, ledgers, and the like, behind which stood an equally large leather chair, which was, at the time, turned away from me. The bruiser behind me quietly shut the door, leaving me alone (or so I thought) in the quiet solitude of this magnificent space. I turned around at the sound of the door clicking shut, only to be confronted by the portrait hanging just above the door- A large, heavyset man in his middle years, barrellike chest barely contained in hunting khakis, corded arms gripping the stock and barrel of a .505 Gibbs rifle with the ease of long familiarity, and of course, the most distinct feature itself- an elephant's head and trunk where the Great Hunter's head should have been portrayed, complete with a cigar just visibly protruding under one tusk. It appeared to me that whomever the club's owner was, they were sparing no expense at furthering the rumors about the actual owner of the Bombay Sapphire.

"I really should have that bothersome thing taken down," came a deep and rather melodic voice from behind me. British accent , I noted at the time, but not a strong enough accent to decent any kind of regionalism.

"I imagine it causes all kinds of problems with the staff," I replied, without turning around.

"Oh yes, bloody intimidating thing that it is. Has the natives bowing and scraping worse than usual." I could hear footsteps behind me now as well, as the speaker approached me. "And, of course, the eyes- the artist just didn't quite get them right." At this, I turned around, and beheld my soon-to-be-employer. Looking up at him to meet his gaze from my own not inconsiderable height of six foot-three, he loomed. Resplendent in a charcoal three-piece suit holding a lit cigar in his left hand, and extending his right in greeting was the very figure from the portrait itself. His hand enfolded around mine (which must have simply been hanging in the air from pure shock) as my own hand would have engulfed a child's. His trunk reached into an inside pocket of his vest for a moment, extracting a bronze cigar case. "Care for one?"

I must have stammered something affirmative in response, as moments later I was seated on a stool in front of the desk, taking a deliciously long pull from those hand-rolled cuban leaves. My host in the meantime, had re-seated himself in the chair behind the desk- with the solidity of that piece of furniture between us at least, the situation was gradually feeling less and less like some drink-induced delerium. "Now," he began again, "Let's put the introductions aside, Mr. Black. You may call me, as many of my employees do, by the name Uncle Zanzibar. You are here in my offices for the simple reason of expediency. I have need for someone with the talents and abilities of a private investigator, yet without any of the... corruption so rife amongst the locals who have been working in such fields for years now. You relative inexperience in Cairo as an investigator leads me to believe you'd do well in such a cause, and your previous records in Britain and America do you credit as well." I straightened rather uncomfortably at the mention of those other countries- until recently, I'd hoped my own past wouldn't be catching up with me too quickly. "Relax, Mr. Black. No mention of those activities will reach the authorities here, regardless of whether you accept the job I'm offering or not."

"All right," I said, finding my own voice at last, "But, if you've dug up that much on me already, it makes me wonder why you'd be willing to hire me at all, considering the details of some of those events. or, for that matter, why you'd even need a private investigator, since your intelligence-gathering resources are capable of sniffing out so much."

"My resources," said Uncle Zanzibar, "While extensive, are limited when it comes to actually tracking someone down. In your case, it was simple, pure luck that you wandered into my own club tonight- as it was, I was going to be sending Aziz out to collect you from your office in the morning, but your arrival here tonight means we can begin much sooner than I'd anticipated."

"Fine. So, then, what precisely is it you need?"

"Last night, my office here was burgled by a female acquaintance of mine. Some cash was stolen, roughly two hundred thousand American Dollars worth in various currencies," my eyes widened at the amount, "as well as a number of different objects, some of which are quite dear to me. The money I could not care in the slightest about, but the recovery of the stolen items is key, and the sooner, the better. I'll provide you with a full list of those, as well as everything I know about the woman. Your pay will be fifty dollars a day, plus expenses, within reasonable limit. If there's any further help, material or otherwise, that my establishment and I can provide, you simply have to ask for it."

"You're aware that I won't carry a gun while I'm working this case? Or any weapon for that matter?"

"I assumed so, given your history. Your answer?"




Again- you want more, let me know. You got critiques or comments? Let me know.

Comments

Engrossed

[mectech.livejournal.com]

I vote for more please, as other demands permit.