Storytime edit

This is Not Your Average Redheaded Girl, Charlie Brown.

It had to be her. I could recognize her anywhere. But why is she here?
Is it possible she's involved with the Red Rock project? No, not a
chance, she is too level headed to get involved in something like
this. Maybe she's in trouble; needed some cash; was being blackmailed.
There's one way to find out. I'll just ask her.

I removed the newspaper from my face only to discover she was gone.
I must find out what she knows...

About now you may be asking yourself who is this guy and why is this
woman important to him. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Dave
Cannon. Arcacia, well, ALL women are important to me. Maybe you'll
understand if I tell you a story.

It was about five years ago that I opened my own pawn shop in Seattle.
I was real content to get out of the seedy life I had and become
legit. A short man wearing a brown trench-coat came in and was
desperate for cash. I offered him one hundred dollars for this fancy
jewellery box he had. He grimaced, took the money and left.

Curiousity came over to my counter and with a swat opened the box.
(Curiousity is my cat). I peered inside. I had doubted the existence
of any valuable items within. My eyes focused on a what appeared to
be a family ring. I valued it to be worth about forty dollars. That
is where I made my first mistake. I had also missed the seemingly
obvious fact that there was a small amount of a pink powdery substance
lining the interior of the box.

The rest of the day was somewhat unremarkably uninteresting until
I closed the shop. The last thing that I can clearly remember about
that day was heading into the back office, which doubled as my
room away from home.

Dave placed the box on the ledge of an open office window and sat back to
admire the fine workmanship and ornate trimming of the Rose-wood box.
After Dave had finished his Havanna Cigar (and copious quantities of Johnny
Walker Red Label) he drifted off into an alcohol induced sleep - That is
to say, He Passed Out!
While he slept, a storm blew into town (as is wont to happen in Seattle).
Much rain came through the still open office window and soaked the rose-
wood box. As the rain seeped through the minuscule seams in the wood, the
pink powder contained therein began to develop form. And a fine form she
was too. For you see the Pink Powder was, in fact, our beautiful Arcacia
in the freeze-dried form.

The box, was no where to be found when Arcacia came to full form.
And there she was. Lissome, long legged, full figured with long, lightly
curled copper hair wafting lightly in the breeze that bought drops of rain
through the window - drops that languished on her ample, up-turned breasts.
For, you see, Arcacia was naked.

This became obvious to her, when the hoards of white collar workers in the
building across the street began their exagerated panting, whistling and
jeering. Quickly, she turned away from the window. She saw the shabby,
dingy interior of Dave's office for the first time - then she saw Dave.
She reached for the nearest thing at hand, Dave's copy of the current issue
of the National Inquirer and through it over his face and then dropped to
her knees to hide from the animals across the street.

She crawled around the room, desperately seeking something which she might
use to cover her nudity. Near a corner of the office, on the opposite wall
from the window was a coat rack which held Dave's rumbled and dirty trench
coat. Reaching up, she grabbed the tail of the coat and pulled the coat
rack down. Arcacia threw the coat over her shoulders (it was very large,
but it would have to do). Then pulling Dave's umbrella from the inside
pocket she veritably flew out of the office. She needed to find a quiet
place to sit calmly and evaluate the situation. Things had happened much
to quickly.

Dave, on awakening at the slam of his office door, was in some confusion
himself. He had had a dream - something about the Red Rock Project, but it
was becoming less and less clear as the world came into focus. The only
thing he was clear on was the beautiful red-head.

"Fuck.!", he said. "What the hell are those guys doing?", he asked,
looking at the men across the street.

Dave reached for bottle as if he had an insatiable thirst and only
a hearty swig of whisky would cure him. Again, he was wrong. Each
drink only intensified his lust for more. The bottom of this bottle
came quickly and Dave was soon off to find out more about his
mystery dream.

Out the door and down the street. It was Cocoa's. That fascinating
hub of excitement. Some tables were overturned, and a crowd gathered
around a drunk lying on the floor. Dave moved in a little closer
to catch a glimpse of the souse. It was wearing a brown trench coat
and had a bullet like hole in its forehead. It was the man from the
shop, and he was dead.

Now, this was getting interesting. A beautiful girl, a dead body,
a mysterious box... sounds like the makings of a cheap detective
flick; all that was needed now was a detective.

Dave noticed a well figured body approaching him. There was no
mistaking those legs. They belonged to Julia Caine, the senator's
wife. But Dave had, on occasion, the use of those legs to excite
him. He remembers all too well the long nights at the estate while
Mr. Caine worked overtime. He also remembers the hot summer evenings
at the motel at the edge of the city where Julia used to love to
feign her act of mistress of the night. She always liked a little kink
in her sex, and Dave obliged her.

"There is something I'd like you to do for me.", she said with such
a sultry voice. Dave's will colapsed. He had no strength against her.
There was nothing in the world he wouldn't do for her. What did she
want? Where would he be able to find sheep on such short notice?

"Sure, what is it?", he asked.

"That man was working for me. I want you to find out who killed him."

"Which man?", forgetting about the man he had seen earlier. "Oh, right
... him, I really just got out of this kind of stuff. I've got a store
just up the street. My own store.", her eyes sank deeply into his, "But,
I can handle one more job."

"I saw a younger woman, wearing dark clothes, run out of the bar just
as I came in. I think she might be the one. She's been following me
for the last week.", she said. "Her hair was kinda reddish."

Dave followed up with a few other questions and then proceeded to his
car. A 78 Duster, 'The Pride of Daytona' he called it. Although most
people had other names for it. It was time to head towards the west-end.
That's where Jimmy the Con lived. He had the line on most of the
dealings in the city. Jimmy had owed Dave and now it was time to collect.
One last time. One last job.

Upon reaching Jimmy's place Dave pulled out his .357, not that he didn't
trust Jimmy, it was just because Jimmy sometimes didn't like company.
Especially company coming to collect favours.

Something looked wrong about the house. The door was kicked in. Dave
moved towards the open door. He then poked his head around the corner.
The front room was empty. Moving towards the kitchen he heard some
movement, like a scuffle. Gun in hand, Dave leap into the kitchen.

"For crissake, just don't stand there. Help me.", Jimmy grunted while
being pinned up against the wall.

"Sorry Dan. Thought you were a burglar", Dave said as he replaced
the pistol in its holster. Dan and Dave were good friends all the
way back to college where they played baseball together. Dan joined
the police academy and Dave lived on the other side of the law.
"Can I ask him one simple question."

"Make it fast.", the cop replied.

"Red-head, about five foot-six. In town for a hit. Who is she?", Dave
quickly spurted out.

"You bail me out of this mess and I'll tell ya.", Jimmy grunted while
his handcuffs were applied in the usual manner.

"Ya, but the faster I get this job done, the sooner I'll be able to
help ya.", Dave said in hopes of making a deal.

"She's in from Miami I hear, working for Giachi I suppose.", he
replied as he was hurried out the door.

It was now getting late. Time to check one more source before catching
a few zees. The Fire Mansion, Giachi's night club. The bartender there
would give you anything for a buck. This time it was Twenty, but the
information was good. This red-head appeared to be staying at Giachi's
estate. And it was time for some rest. Dave parked a block down from
the gate to Giachi's in order to monitor any activity first thing
in the morning. Before long, sleep overcame him.

Dave awoke prematurely. He noticed the red-haired girl sitting across
from him. It was apparent he was no longer in his car. He was on the
train. She looked at moi! as she slowly position her self beside me.
She was wearing a very seductive red tight leather skirt which,
moved up her long legs , showing a box so apparent , I had to
look away so as not to get caught.