GREG MOODIE

This particular anagram, ‘Jackal dines,' was perplexing in the extreme. I didn't want to get into it but once again LaFlamme had skilfully manipulated my free will. Now I was compelled to consume large quantities of bourbon and decipher my client's cryptic note.

Thoughts of ravenous jackals raced through my fevered mind. I say ‘raced' but ‘wandered pointlessly' would be more apt. These jackals were in no hurry. The only thing that ever raced through my mind was bewilderment.

Suddenly LaFlamme stirred. "I hate to say this but... Jack Daniels," she declared.

"No, no more for me thanks."

"No, Dumbo, Jack Daniels is the answer!" I thought for a moment she was about to burst into song. And I wasn't sure I liked her tone.

"It's MISTER Dumbo if you don't mind," I corrected her.

"You can be Emperor Dumbo if you like," she replied. "Don't you see? It's been staring us in the face. Literally."

She hovered the JD bottle before me, as if practising hypnosis, and slowly it began to sink in. But LaFlamme needed no practise. I'd been hypnotised for years.

An Unwelcome Cure For Laziness

February 6, 2009

I always thought anagrams, like jigsaws, were for people who had never discovered laziness. Why would I waste precious loafing hours trying to fix something that was deliberately broken to keep you people and your overactive lobes happy? This particular anagram, ‘Jackal dines,' was perplexing in the extreme. I didn't want to get into it … Continue reading →

LaFlamme continued to analyse my client Spore's cryptic note - ‘Jackals dine' - for it's anagrammatic possibilities, with increasingly silly results. With Spore himself still unconscious or even dead in the doorway, this could have been viewed as negligent. But I decided in Spore's case it was ok.

"Perhaps we need a drop of liquid inspiration," she suggested, and I visibly winced. LaFlamme had administered this type of inspiration to me before with devastating results.

"I'm not sure I can handle being inspired right now," I protested, feebly - I knew it was a lost cause.

"Nonsense," said LaFlamme and poured two massive belters of bourbon. Why she didn't just get a funnel and inspire me to death was beyond me.

Inspiration In Large Measures

February 3, 2009

Despite LaFlamme's confident assurance that my unconscious client's cryptic message - ‘Jackals dine' - was an anagram, she didn't appear to know of what.

Crosswords were never my forte and after thirty minutes putting pen to paper, all I could come up with was ‘Jackal dines.'

"It's just as well you're pretty," said LaFlamme, making a hollow knocking sound against the top of my head. "Better leave the thinking to me."

I happily relinquished the task as I feared any further brainstrain would surely lead to a hernia of the head.

It gave me time to reflect on the events leading up to this moment, the unusual sequence of mishaps and misadventures that left me in this confused state. But without reviewing previous posts I'm not that sure what they were.

The Hollow Sound Of My Head

February 1, 2009

Despite LaFlamme's confident assurance that my unconscious client's cryptic message - ‘Jackals dine' - was an anagram, she didn't appear to know of what. Crosswords were never my forte and after thirty minutes putting pen to paper, all I could come up with was ‘Jackal dines.' "It's just as well you're pretty," said LaFlamme, making … Continue reading →

LaFlamme wrenched the piece of paper from his fingers and read it aloud.

"Jackals dine," she said mysteriously. We both stared at each other blankly across Spore's gangly frame.

"Jackals dine? What the hell does that mean?" I asked.

"I might have missed all the other anagrams in this story, but I'm not about to miss this one," LaFlamme replied confidently.

I had no idea what she meant, but at least the story was back on track.

My Client – D.O.A.

January 27, 2009

Spore lay unconscious on the floor having stumbled in seconds earlier, clutching a slip of paper. I tried to determine whether he was still breathing. I may not like my clients but I don't want them dead. It's bad for business. LaFlamme wrenched the piece of paper from his fingers and read it aloud. "Jackals … Continue reading →

"You should have stuck with the Da Vinci Code," said LaFlamme in her best I-told-you-so voice. "Then it wouldn't have taken you a month to write this next instalment."

I had to agree that the book had been the source of some of my finest jests and that having abandoned it during a particularly silly passage, what I was now missing was real comedic inspiration.

I tried watching the movie but despite being equally feeble I realised it was no match for the book's poor character development and shallow plotting, and again my interest tapered off midway.

"How can such a large book be so insubstantial?" I asked LaFlamme, as if she knew all the answers. Generally she did know all the answers, at least ones that would satisfy a dullard like me. This time was no exception.

"That's part of the skill. If you can prattle on for ages about cornerstones and priories and make people think it's important, you've cracked it."

"I suppose so," I conceded. I always think if I have to endure a 300-page tome it better explain the meaning of life at the very least.

"Let's try and kick-start this baby," LaFlamme offered, and sat down to type in her inimitable floor-shaking manner.

‘Suddenly there is a knock at the door,' she began, ‘and the client Ignacious Spore stumbles in and collapses on the floor, a slip of paper clutched in his outstretched hand.'

"That's quite good," I said, although I suspected it was from the Maltese Falcon. At least Dashiell Hammett was worth ripping off.

The Da Vinci Code And Other Comic Gems

January 25, 2009

"You should have stuck with the Da Vinci Code," said LaFlamme in her best I-told-you-so voice. "Then it wouldn't have taken you a month to write this next instalment." I had to agree that the book had been the source of some of my finest jests and that having abandoned it during a particularly silly … Continue reading →

"Why would my client want to kill me?" I asked LaFlamme. "I'm not that bad a designer."

It was often hard to gauge what the raven-haired minx was thinking behind the wraparounds, but I never had long to wait for an opinion.

"Spore has you heavily insured," she replied a little coyly. "You're worth more dead than alive to him."

"Insured? How can my client have insured me without my knowledge?" I demanded, confident now that I could get this whole case to unravel like one of the Admiral's bobbly cardigans. "Shouldn't I have some say in that?"

"Clients have all kinds of rights these days," she said matter-of-factly. "They need to protect their investments. It's standard procedure now." She paused to take a full-throated blast from the troublesome red, tamed now in her hands. "In fact the underwriters treat it like pet insurance."

It was hard not to feel humiliated by the notion that my life could have been quoted for alongside the family budgie's. But there it was.

"Don't worry, Spore didn't insure your talent," LaFlamme added.

"That's a pity, because he could have claimed last week when it deserted me." I paused and then spun around to face her. "So what did he insure?"

LaFlamme looked up. "Your soul," she said.

Insurance: The New Rock’n’Roll

December 23, 2008

"Why would my client want to kill me?" I asked LaFlamme. "I'm not that bad a designer." It was often hard to gauge what the raven-haired minx was thinking behind the wraparounds, but I never had long to wait for an opinion. "Spore has you heavily insured," she replied a little coyly. "You're worth more … Continue reading →

: LaFlamme's take on murder.

"Murder?" I asked LaFlamme. "Who's dead?"

"That's not important," she replied.

"You're telling me my design client is framing me for murder but it doesn't matter whose?" Ordinarily I'd have thought that the subject of any murder might be a critical point but LaFlamme disagreed.

"There's no death," she stated plainly.

"Murder without death?" I fired back. "That's even more unusual." I often begin these conversations with a quest for knowledge and end them settling for a quiet life.

"We both know Spore's a slippery character," LaFlamme continued, now in full flow. "He gave you the world's worst logo knowing you could never work with it. Nobody could. He figured the case would drive you crazy and then he could pin a murder on you."

"But whose murder?" I persisted.

"Yours."

Scenes Of Graphic Violence

December 22, 2008

LaFlamme's take on murder. "Murder?" I asked LaFlamme. "Who's dead?" "That's not important," she replied. "You're telling me my design client is framing me for murder but it doesn't matter whose?" Ordinarily I'd have thought that the subject of any murder might be a critical point but LaFlamme disagreed. "There's no death," she stated plainly. … Continue reading →

A week has passed since my last communication, and my state of confusion has deepened. LaFlamme once again lulled me into a false sense of security by plying me with her sherry-like substance until my whole body radiated with a thermo-nuclear glow.

My graphic design talents, shaky to begin with, were now being tested to the maximum with the challenges that the world's worst logo presented me. And LaFlamme's book deal was galling enough without the realisation that the publisher was responsible for the very logo I'd been commissioned to investigate.

"Y'see, kid" she began, taking an ordinary household corkscrew and tackling a particularly troublesome red. "Your client may not have been entirely honest with you." The corkscrew snapped off, leaving a stump of metal still engaged below the surface of the barely dislodged cork. "Metal fatigue," she explained, plunging the cork into the bottle with her thumb - a method much favoured by desperate art students, and proof that art college education is extremely practical.

"My client's never been honest with me," I said, referring to the lowlife Ignacious Spore. "If he ever tried, I'd think he was up to something."

She took a swig from the cork-infested bottle - she was a class act alright.

"Yes, but did you know he was here last night trying to frame you for murder?"

The Truth About Art College Education

December 19, 2008

I visited LaFlamme with the sole intention of grilling her on her knowledge of my client Spore's nefarious activities. Instead I was dealt a sherry-like substance and a copy of her five-book publishing contract, along with a reminder that my life still sucked.

LaFlamme had out-manoeuvred me again, and what appeared to be an impending revelation about my client made me all the more uneasy.

"Notice anything unusual about the logo?" she asked, nodding in the direction of the contract. Years of graphic design torture had left me immune to the charms of my own trade, to the extent that I now mentally blanked out anything that wasn't 10-point Times.

I took a second look at the document header. And there it was: the world's worst logo. The one that Spore asked me to investigate in the first place.

Now I may not be the sharpest guy around. In fact the Admiral described me as a ‘halfwit', but after thirty minutes in his company a man's likely to lose a great deal of his wit, along with most of his will to live.

But I can put two and two together and get a number between three and five. I gathered all my cognitive powers in an attempt to demonstrate my intelligence and perception at its most devastating and incisive, and with everything I could muster said, "I'm confused."

A Crisis Of Intelligence

December 10, 2008