So.. here i stand in some kind of Twilight Zone-ish place while a woman who calls herself Agent 40 tells me that the parrot statue i’m holding belongs to Sherlock Holmes. My brain hurts. I mean, granted this woman is out of this world sexy, but where am i? I feel like i’m on another planet. I got to this bar by climbing a weird set of stairs in a coat closet in a dumpy apartment. I only wanted to get this statue back for my boss, who said it rightfully belongs to his wife. The parrot told me to come up here. Well, not this parrot i’m holding, per se, but i heard a parrot’s voice tell me to open the closet door and climb the stairs. And clueless me opened the door and climbed the stairs. This is a pretty cozy looking bar though, and like i said, Agent 40 is hot. Plus she’s someone Mike Hammer would call a classy dame. But i can’t call her that. Not in 2016… so, while i’m thinking all this, Agent 40 is still talking. She says.. Hey Max, are you paying attention? … ( i still don’t know how she knows my name or how she knows who i work for) And anyway, last i checked, i might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but isn’t Sherlock Holmes a fictional character, like Mike Hammer? I have a lot of questions for this dame.. oops, i mean woman. So i ask. I say, hey Agent 40, what’s your name and how do you know me? Cause i wish i knew you, but i don’t. She smiles again. I think she must smile a lot.. and she says, let’s sit, have a drink, and i’ll fill you in.
So we sit at a small table close to the bar and she says, Agent 28, would you bring me a bee’s knees.. and what would you like, Max? I’ll have an Old Fashioned. … And an Old Fashioned for the man. Agent 40 still has a big smile on her face. She’s having a great time. I’m still confused. And does anyone up here have a normal name? Or are they all numbers? I should ask my drinking partner, but i might get the runaround.
Agent 28 brings our drinks. My drink, at least, is perfect. The only odd part is that the rim of my glass has been dipped in purple colored sugar. Same with 40’s. Guess that’s what i’ll call her ’til i know her real name. She says to me.. That statue you have there, Max.. the one i want back.. has something vitally important in it.
Like what kind of thing? I ask. Like diamonds? Rubies? A million dollars? Copies of Trump’s income tax returns, so we can show the world he’s a crook? The money he owes all those contractors he didn’t pay? What?
Another big smile from 40. I think this woman never stops smiling. It’s a potion of some kind. I can’t tell you the whole story yet. That’s up to Watson.
Wait a minute! Holmes and Watson are fictional. Just like Poirot, Wolfe, and Nick and Nora. What gives, 40?
Well first of all, i guess you can call me Tex.
So you’re from Texas?
No. I’m from Ohio. I just like the name. Anyway, you finish your drink, then i’ll show you around here a little. It might be better if i show you rather than tell you. Oh, and i want to tell you how sorry i am that Donna broke up with you. I know you cared a lot more than you let on.
Geez. How do you know all this stuff?
Come with me. 40.. i mean, Tex, leads me through a door behind the bar that goes into a long hallway. And at the end of the hallway is an elevator with glowing purple doors. An elevator? And i say to her.. you’re definitely not in Ohio anymore, Tex. Where does this elevator take us?
Back to 1896. To 221B Baker Street. It’s time for you to meet Sherlock Holmes. Then you’ll see that he’s real…
By M Raynes