Mulberry

There's other compensation than money for a job well done

"Lightning in a bottle! Lightning in a bottle!"

Jake glared at the parrot. "God damn, would you shut UP!"

The bird made a noise that sounded to jake suspiciously like a chuckle. "Mulberry, one of these days you're going to end up on a plate!"

Parrots are mimics, not conversationalists. Jake knew this; but there were times that damn bird seemed to understand Jake. This was one of those times; Mulberry decided to keep his beak to himself.

Jake sneaked a flask out of the desk drawer and covertly tipped it. He was alone in the room, but still— "LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE!" Smartass bird!

Mulberry was an annoying old thing, both ornery and entertaining. He was still in the office because he had saved Jake's life twice. Parrots make great alarm systems. The problem was that you could never really shut the damn thing off all the way!

Jake knew he was living an almost pretentiously noir life. His office was a crappy little thing with no AC— just a bunch of filling cabinets and his big wood desk (with his "Lightning in a Bottle" in the center drawer). He worked with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms and carried a .38 in a shoulder holster. And he was always almost broke.

Just as his ruminations were turning gloomy, a magnificent woman with lush red hair whom Jake had never seen before strode purposefully into his office and up to his desk.

"You saved my sister's life, Jake!" She came around the desk and kissed him—one to remember! She dropped a thin letter on his desk. "Thank you." And she walked out, leaving Jake with nothing but questions and a smile.

"God damn! Lightning in a bottle!"

Jake sighed, smiling.

"You can say that again, Mulberry."

(Word Count: 299)