The Stag Gem: Part 1 Chapter 1

“Bradley!  Bradley!”  The boy sprinted up the tiled staircase, taking the steps two at a time.  “We got the case!”  He ran down the long hallway passing by office doors painted with signs reading Flocott Dentistry, Gander & Sons Tax Adjusters, Meinocle Spectacle Repairs, and Madame Ogra, Pet Psychic. “We got the case, Bradley!”  A mousy looking man with thick glasses peered out of Flocott Dentistry.  His curiosity faded into annoyance once he found the source of the disorder that flew past his office.

The boy crashed through the office door that had Bradley Brackett: Investigator of the Mysterious and Unsolvable embossed on a copper placard next to it.  “Bradley, I got the message you sent me to…”  Before the boy could finish his sentence he was greeted by a tall, blonde, disheveled man wearing a half-buttoned striped shirt with his finger over his mouth.

“Shhhh,” The man pointed over across the musty, dimly lit office to a desk.  Resting among the papers, empty coffee mugs, and dusty picture frames sat an intricately constructed castle of cards that cautiously measured four feet in height.  The man opened his hand up to the boy, “I only have seven cards left, then the whole thing will be finished,” he whispered.

“What is it, Bradley?”

“It is a replica of Dunvegan Castle in the Isle of Sky; completely made out of playing cards, Keegan.  And it only took sixteen decks.”

“Why are we whispering?”

Bradley looked down at Keegan, “I don’t know,” he said quietly.  “It just felt right, I guess.”

Keegan pulled out the message the man in the black car handed him.  “We got the case, Bradley.”

Bradley turned back to his desk, gently placing the last few cards on the delicate model.  “Go ahead and read it to me.”

Keegan ripped open the envelope, “Okay, it says here…”

Dear Mr. Brackett,

I hope this letter finds you in good health.  A colleague of mine you recently worked with in Stockholm recommended your services.  He informed me that your investigative skills were instrumental in retrieving his stolen egg.  I have also had an expensive and sentimental item recently purloined from my possession.  The possession I am referring to is the ancient Inuit treasure commonly known as The Stag Gem.

I will be able to delve into more detail once we meet, but I have been advised to inform you that the thief who made off with this stone was none other than the elusive and dangerous international criminal, “The Girlfriend.”

Although I do not wish to discuss the exact payment I am willing to propose in a written form, I can assure you that I will be willing to offer you a sum of money in the seven figure range.

I have already taken the initiative in providing a train ticket with a departure time of 9 am tomorrow for your convenience.

I look forward to seeing you,

                                                            C.  Cantaloupe

Keegan finished reading the letter and peeked up past the sheet of paper for a response.  Bradley slowly turned away from his castle of cards and locked his eyes onto the note.  Keegan found his expression hard to read.  His mentor rarely showed any great emotion.  Fear, surprise, anger, excitement, and inebriation all had the same face:  mouth slightly open and eyes staring away in foggy thought.

“Seven figures,” Keegan assumed it was this part of the letter that provoked the detective’s reaction.  “That means we’ll get paid at least…”  Keegan quickly counted with his left hand, “a million pounds!”

“The Girlfriend,” Bradley slipped the letter out from Keegan’s hand and looked over the message again.  Keegan misread the expression.  Fear, not excitement.

“Who is she,” the boy asked.

“The self proclaimed Queen of Crime.  The Duchess of Death.  Lady Larceny.  The Baroness of Broken Bones.  The Princess of Pure Pain.  Her evil knows no bounds!  She is actively hunted by the C.I.A and Interpol; her picture is in every post office from Auckland to Anchorage.

Fear.  Yup, the expression was definitely fear, Keegan thought.  “So are we going to take the case?” 

“We, No.  Me, Yes,” Bradley proclaimed.

Maybe the expression was excitement after all.

“Aw come on Bradley!  You said the next case that came along I could help you with!  That’s why you sent me to get the letter in the first place!”

“I’m sorry kid; I wasn’t expecting to be hunting down an international crime lord for my next job.  I thought maybe it was going to be another lost cat case or something.”

“Well, why does she go by the name ‘The Girlfriend’ anyway?”

“She targets wealthy men and uses a wide variety of techniques to lower their guard.”

“How does she do that?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re thirty,” Bradley removed his hat and overcoat off of Keegan and slid into them.  If the situation permitted, he would have commented on the wet clothes, but his own excitement and Keegan’s incessant questions created a strong enough distraction.  “I need to get packed if I need to catch that train tomorrow morning.  You can stay with Madame Ogra while I’m gone.  I’m sure she could find some work for you.”

“Madame Ogra!  No way Bradley!  Not her!”

“What’s wrong with Madame Ogra?  You’ve stayed with her before.”

“She is too environmentally conscious and her hair smells!”

“There is nothing wrong with a little recycling,” stated Bradley.

“So does that give her the right to wash her hair with goose pee?”