(Page 1 of 3) Miller and Stowes: Prt. 1 by Micah McQueary
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SUMMARY: The first page or so of my next project. Takes place in London."My life is meaningless without something, Stowes."
"Your life is meaningless anyways, Miller"
"Well, that's not my fault..." Shuffle shuffle, "... They don't appreciate my kind of work."
"What kind of species does that occupation branch off of in your ‘tree of life', I am inquired to ask?"
Miller sighed, giving off a notion as if he had to repeat his explanation to a furry mothball without an efficient amount of brains to do something as simple as to "inquire".
"Listen, have you read Sherlock Holmes?"
"Oh, don't you dare bri-"
"I believe it went something such as ‘if you eliminate the impossible, then surely the answer will be the one left. No matter how improbable it is'?"
"Even if that is what he said, that still doesn't explain why you tried to convince that poor old woman that her missing husband of five years had, in fact, been stuck inside one of the ventilation shafts at the mall in Tower Street."
"Stowes, let me tell you a little story. When I was almost eight years old I went shopping with my grandmother at a local grocery shop. I saw a little kitten hidden behind a nearby fruit bin and I wanted to pet it. Little did I know that there was a ventilation shaft hidden from view, and as soon as I tried to squeeze through and nab the little bugger, POP!" Miller exaggerated the pop to such an extent that Stowes jumped nervously, "I was stuck. Couldn't get back out. Devastated, I was."
"And yet life goes on..."
"You don't get it Stowes! I was a strong lad, and I couldn't get out of the ventilation shaft without having to scream my lungs out in the women's lavatories. Caught a few nasty sights at that too..." Miller shuddered horribly for a second or two, "... Listen, the point it that, however ridiculous it may be, it HAS to be. My last customer understood that, and paid me gratefully..."
"He was a fruitcake. A wackjob. You could have convinced him that his best friend had been killed by a Japanese transistor radio."
"I didn't ‘convince' him, Stowes. Lord knows those things have something fishy about them."
"Miller, the thing is that he actually believed you. Now the poor old rag of rat bones is going to boycott anything Japanese. Think of the publicity, Miller!"
"Yes, won't it be wonderful?"
"I can see it now. ‘Underpaid Private Detectives Convinced of Ravenous Radio'"
"And how true that would be..."
"Which part, eh? Underpaid? Or Detectives..."
"You have no sense of justice do you?"
Stowes stood staring blankly at Miller, his jaw slacking and eyes bugged out. Miller continued to sway his shoes left and right on the table; watching them as if trying to catch himself in a trance or something. Suddenly, Miller stopped and looked back up at Stowes who was still aghast at whatever had shocked him to bits.
"Look, you're going to drool all over my carpet and catch flies. Do something useful with it, and tell my secretary to grab a packet of cigarettes. I've ran out. My gray cells depend on them."
Stowes fell out of his stupefied glare. "You don't have one, Miller. I'm the only one here."
Again, it fell silent.
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