From Belarus with Love - The Case of the Stranded Striptease Artist

Posted By John Campbell

I knew she was trouble the moment she entered my life.

"Scram, lady, can't you see I'm occupied?" I barked, and slammed the stall door.

When I returned to my office she was leaning against the cabinet, blowing smoke rings. The Olympic kind. She was good.

"Sorry, lady, you can't smoke here. City bylaw."

She put out her pipe and tapped its contents into the waste paper basket. I don't have a waste paper basket so she must have brought it with her.

As she put out the fire, I studied her closely. I'm a private eye. It's what I do. I gave her the once-over twice.

She had a bosom downhill skiers would die for and legs that took their sweet time to get up to her waist and beyond.

I could tell by the way she carried herself she had a touch so delicate she could pluck a snowflake off her lapel. Wearing mittens.

She spoke with an accent I couldn't quite place - Ameliasburg? Madoc? Tuckers Corners? - but on looks alone she had to be from Foxyboro.

She topped even me on the sultry meter.

Turns out she was from Belarus, here in Canada on a six-month work visa.



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