The Blue Wheelchair

Valentin has arrived at the world renowned BBWC Detective Agency, seeking a consultation with the head of the firm, Mr. Wilson. Led by Mr. Wilson’s harpist, he painfully makes his way through the pitch dark tunnel to Mr. Wilson’s office suite in a former bomb shelter and is told that he must shower before Mr. Wilson will see him. In the following excerpt, Valentin has just emerged from the mandatory shower. Valentin felt a hundred percent better after his shower. “You’ll have to hang your bathrobe up before you leave the shower room,” the harpist said. He pointed to a row of hooks at the side of the massive door before them. They were a bit more ornate than the ones in the shower room, but no larger. “You mean to say I’m going to meet Mr. Wilson without any clothes on?” Valentin asked. “For security reasons, no one is allowed to wear clothes in Mr. Wilson’s office,” the harpist replied. ”As you’ve already seen, the rule also applies to the music room. Mr. Wilson intends to have metal detectors and x-ray machines installed by the end of the year, but he and his partners decided that until then this is the best way to prevent anyone from smuggling in any dangerous weapons.” Valentin reluctantly removed his bathrobe and hung it on one of the hooks. “Aren’t you going to take yours off?” he asked, when the harpist didn’t follow suit. “I won’t be going into the office with you,” the harpist replied. “I have to get back to my two lovely ladies to finish our rehearsal for Mr. Cone’s birthday party tonight.” He motioned Valentin to step to the side and pressed against the side of the door jamb. The heavy door creaked loudly as it swung open, forcing the harpist to raise his voice in order to be heard. “Your name tag should be on the table at one of the place settings,” he said. Then, without another word, he turned abruptly and sprinted back toward the shower room. Valentin stood uncomfortably before the open door and tried to work up the courage to enter the office. He had been in more than one unusual situation during his life, but none quite like the one he found himself in at that moment. He was troubled by the thought that the hardships he had suffered in order to get that far might have been in vain. In the last analysis, it wouldn’t matter whether or not Mr. Wilson was qualified to track down Bernice’s blue wheelchair, or if he considered such an assignment to be beneath him. No one could really blame him for thinking such a thing. A detective who was world famous for locating missing persons could hardly be expected to spend his valuable time hunting for a broken down wheelchair. Valentin turned on his heel and was about to race after the harpist when a voice made him pause. “Aren’t you going to come in, Mr. Vasquez?” He wheeled around to see an elderly bearded stranger standing in the doorway. The latter was naked except for a bright yellow loincloth. “You’ll be able to get one once you’re inside,” he explained, when he saw how curiously Valentin was staring at his loincloth. He spoke with a distinct Italian accent. “But the harpist said that I couldn’t wear any clothes in the office,” Valentin replied, wondering how the stranger knew his name. “He didn’t mislead you,” the stranger relied. “According to the BBWC Agency’s bylaws, a loincloth less than eleven inches square isn’t considered clothing. That particular amendment was Mr. Birdwell’s idea. Being a very shy man, he didn’t think he’d be at his best in a meeting if he was totally naked, particularly if there were women present. The other partners were against his suggestion at first, but he convinced them that a loincloth doesn’t sacrifice security since there’s no room under it to put any weapons other than the ones we’re born with.” He flipped the corner of his loincloth up to expose his genitals and let out a vulgar laugh. “So come on in. Mr. Wilson is expecting you.” He paused and added, “By the way, I’m Yuri Gogol, but if you wish you can call me by my professional name, Mario.” Valentin carefully stepped across the threshold. “This can’t be Mr. Wilson’s office,” Valentin said, as the heavy door creaked shut behind him. It was more a question than a statement. If anything, the room he had entered was even smaller than the waiting room. An unshielded light bulb hung from the ceiling at the far wall, barely illuminating the metal file cabinet beneath it. “Of course it isn’t,” Yuri replied. “This is the office closet. The office itself is on the other side of the file cabinet. Before we go in, though, I want you to select a loincloth for yourself.” He stepped over to the file cabinet and beckoned Valentin to join him. Above the file cabinet was a photograph of a boot that looked just like the one he had seen in the waiting room. Yuri noticed that Valentin was staring at the photo. “It’s a copy of my prize winning photo,” he explained. Mr. Wilson bought it and a few others in a little art shop in Copenhagen when he was working on a case there. He’s so fond of it that he also has one in the conference room and another in his bedroom at home.” The pride in his voice was palpable. He pulled open the top drawer. “The men’s loincloths are here.” Valentin peered over his shoulder as Yuri rummaged in the drawer and shook his head. “I’m afraid the only ones left are beige,” he said. “If you would prefer a different color, I’ll go into the office and ask Mr. Wilson if he has any in his desk drawer. He usually keeps a few there for emergencies.” “Beige will be fine,” Valentin replied, anxious to get on with the meeting. “Wonderful,” Yuri said, lifting a loincloth out of the drawer. He turned and handed it to Valentin. “It comes in two pieces, one for the front and one for the back. Once you have both sides in place, pull the drawstring and tie it the way you would a shoelace.” Valentin carefully adjusted and fastened the loincloth as directed. When he finished, Yuri looked him over and smiled. “Perfect. You look just like Tarzan,” he quipped. “Now we can go in and take our places at the table. It shouldn’t be very long before everyone who has been invited to the conference will be here.” “Conference?” Valentin repeated. “What are you talking about? I thought I was going to have a private meeting with Mr. Wilson.” “If this was a routine missing person’s case, Mr. Wilson would have handled it that way, but the search for the blue wheelchair has proven to be much more complicated than he anticipated. After lengthy and frequent consultations with his three partners, the unanimous decision was made to hold a conference attended by all of the parties concerned.” Valentin was stunned by the disclosure that Mr. Wilson was already searching for the blue wheelchair. How could such a thing be possible? The only explanation was that Bernice had hired him already, and that she would also be at the conference. “You mean to say that my ex wife is here?” he asked, fearing the answer. Beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead. “She hasn’t arrived yet, but we expect her any minute now,” Yuri replied nonchalantly. When he saw how upset Valentin was he added, “Don’t worry. I can assure you that she won’t be able to do you any harm. Like the rest of us, she’ll have to follow the conference room dress code. If she feels too self conscious wearing only a loincloth, she’ll be given a pair of pasties to cover her nipples. But nothing else. For obvious reasons, the women’s loincloths are about half the size of the men’s, so it will be impossible for her to conceal anything under it except what she was born without.” He laughed and winked. She was a siren, all right, beautiful and deadly. With this thought in mind, he squared his shoulders like a gladiator about to enter the arena.