1:34:21.
Clouds were rolling in off the lake. Big clouds. Black clouds. Ominous clouds. Clouds that hung in the sky like a swarm of killer piranha. Look; I like water as much as the next guy. Sure, maybe more. But, when clouds like that are in the sky, I try to stay off the streets, just to be on the safe side.
The name is Laframboise...Johnny Laframboise. You could say that when people have big, black, ominous clouds hanging over their lives, they come to me to dispel them. Or, you could just say that I'm a private dick. That's what I would say, in French if the money was right.
I was on a case, perhaps the smallest of my career; a doll with a lot of money and very little business acumen asked me to investigate her soft drink. Seems it had been seen around town in a new can, and the word was that it had changed its taste. My client wanted to know why.
I immediately made an appointment to see Jeff "Rusty" Fairbank, an old friend. I'd helped him out on a case a couple of years back (you may have read about it: "The Rise and Fall of the Roamin' Umpire"). Jeff was in the numbers racket: stocks, bonds, Investment Retirement Annuities, pigs knuckles futures, selling short - he had a hand in every deal that went down on Bay Street.
To the general public, he might have been known as a stock broker, but I say that a racket is a racket.
We met at his club. I ordered a scotch rocks double, Jeff ordered an Orange Crush. "How can you drink that stuff?" I asked, burning my throat with the brown heat for emphasis.
"You know that I can't drink alcohol while there is money to be made in the world, Johnny," Jeff replied. I guess it had been longer than I thought. "Now, what can I do for you?"
"I need some info on this Coca Cola scam," I said, "And, fast!"
Jeff looked surprised. In fact, he spit up a mouthful of his Orange Crush. He had a tendency to do that when he was surprised. I had forgotten that that was how we had gotten his nickname.
Damn! - I should definitely keep in better touch with old friends.
"I'm sorry," Jeff said, wiping himself off as best he could. "It's just that, you're the twelfth person to ask me about that this week..."
"Then, it's true?" I asked, offering my handkerchief.
"Of course," Jeff answered, returning to his drink. "Coke is definitely not the same as it was..."
I turned the information over in my mind, although I had known it all along. My mind has a slow rotation period, you see... "Who would do such a thing?" I asked.
"Roberto Goizuetta," Jeff told me, his brown eyes twinkling like...well, something brown that twinkles. You think these metaphors are easy? "Chairman of the Coca Cola corporation."
I didn't recognize the name, but, then again, this case was outside my usual area of expertise. "Why would he change the formula that had worked for 99 years?" I asked.
Jeff shrugged. Fortunately, he had put his drink down. "I'm not sure, but it seems to have done something. Trading in Coca Cola shares has gone crazy. The stock is up...umm, quite a lot."
I finished my drink, disappointed. "You're sure there's nothing more to it than that?"
Jeff hesitated. "Well, there is a rumour going around, but it would probably be unethical for me to -"
"Jeff," I interrupted, hoping to stave off a long and pointless discussion of stock market morality, "rumours are my business...my bread and butter...perhaps even my raison d'etre. Don't hold out on me now!"
"Okay," Jeff said, lowering his voice. "The rumour is that the Coca Cola Company is preparing to bring back the old Coke if the new one doesn't work out. In fact, some people think that the whole thing was a publicity gimmick, and that they're going to bring back the old Coke no matter how the new Coke does.
My mind reeled - fortunately, I've got quick hands. "So, either way, Coke will end up with a bigger share of the soft drink market. That's what this scam is all about!
"That's about it," Jeff agreed, finishing his drink.
I jumped to my feet and headed for the door. "Where are you running off to?" Jeff asked.
"To stop a woman's heart from breaking," I responded over my shoulder as I broke through the doors. Jeff shouted something about the bill, but I didn't catch much of it. Oh, well - he did owe me a favour, remember.
I was halfway to my client's place when I spotted the cover of one of the local rags sitting in its box, and my heart sank. The word was splashed in four colours: the old Coke was back.
Now, what?
