LOST IN AMSTERDAM STARTING AGAIN

Starting again, Noteboom said;
“Take it from the top and try to clean it up this time. I need something to go on.”
“Then a body rolled out the convertible.”
“What body?’
“It must have been a woman or a maybe small guy in drag.”
“What kind of convertible was it?”
“Powder Blue and I think it was a 1957 Thunderbird, one of the first ones Ford made. It was small, sorta like a sports car.”
“Did you get the license number?”
“Are you kidding? I sure as hell wasn’t in any condition to notice anything other than watching to see where the body went and try to stay out of the ditch.”
“You must have been tail-gating to get all this useless detail and miss the important stuff.”
“Yeah. Well, whoever was driving that convertible just sped up around the corner and the body bounced on the shoulder rolled down into the ditch and disappeared in the brush and tumbleweeds.”
“OK. Where exactly did this happen and where are you calling from?”
Noteboom had set up shop with all the best of intentions to help any and all clients who might have a need to find someone, anyone or anything. It was furnished with nothing to sit on and an old used orange crate for a make-shift desk. The orange crate was also serving as a night stand alongside where he had flopped down a couple of old quilts on the unplaned pine board floor to sleep on when not looking for runaway relatives, criminals or other escapees from the main stream of society.
His new office had one window looking out on the outhouse in back of the ram-shackled wood frame office building, The public convenience was a sturdy and deep three holer originally built to serve all the business renters, their hired help and anyone else who might have an immediate need. It was clear that this recent turn of events certainly wasn’t going to be anything that could be solved by a relaxing trip to the outhouse.
Before the phone rang, Noteboom had spent the last three nights and days moving into his Amsterdam office/living quarters, He felt used up. He had been lying on the crumpled quilts trying to fall asleep and mulling over catch phrases to use in case the phone ever rang.
From the foggy recesses of his sleepy, muddled mind came;
“You lose ‘em, we find ‘em,”
“Lost and Runaways, our Specialty”
“Domestic, Foreign, Alien or whatever!”!
Now, here it was, a call, real business made to order with his name on it.
“Well it happened just shy of the corner of Buffalo Jump and Shady Rest Roads. When I couldn’t find the body I turned around and went home. – – I thought since I had spent the morning nursing a colossal hangover, maybe it was all a bad nightmare complete with hallucinations.”
“What were you doing driving around in that condition?”
“I was scouring the county roads looking for her.”
“Looking for who?”
“The one they all keep calling about.”
“OK. What’s her name?”
“Doornspijk. Ameli van Doornspijk, and believe me she’s one jab in the ass thorny woman.”
Trying to think past this nonsense and being new to the inbred political dynamics of a small town, Noteboom is ill-prepared to play a pivotal role in this current escapade of KarlWillem vander Vogelpoop,.but play it, he must.

“If I’m going to make a go of it here, I better play it to the end”, he muttered to no one in particular.

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