Trouble Part 1

As she walked in the door, I knew she was trouble. Or at least, I knew that was what I was expected to think. Horrible stories written by authors who don’t know a thing about the job always started the same way. The woman walks in, and says something along the lines of: “You have to help me, my husband is in danger.” But they always end up coming too late, and then they fall in love with the gruff detective. The truth is: most women who walk in here are not “trouble,” they are trying to get as far away as possible from trouble. And they never fall in love with the detective, especially after they receive the bill. So this woman walks in, she looks as if she’s been crying a lot. The box of tissue on my desk is there for a reason. No one walks in my office with a smile. She’s about five foot six, brown hair, green eyes. She’s wearing jeans, and an old shirt with a university name on it, but the shoes don’t match. They are the expensive kind, and her purse, while old, was a very popular and expensive brand a couple of years back. When you see a lot of women walk in, you know what to look for. She’s rich, but she doesn’t want me to know. She’s also here anonymously, since I can see sunglasses poking out of her leather purse. It’s raining today.

Her husband must be cheating on her, or something. They usually come for this. She doesn’t look familiar, so this means that she is not a celebrity, at least as far as I know. She’s been here for 10 seconds, and already I know that her husband is cheating on her, she has that look in her eyes, and I also know that she wants some proof of said cheating, probably for her divorce. The world has changed a lot since the days of my father, and his business, our business, is changing. We don’t investigate that many disappearances and we don’t help the police force quite as often. In fact, it has become a hassle for me to carry a firearm. Nowadays, it’s mostly cheating spouses, Internet research, and electronic surveillance. She looks still ready to burst into tears. With the calmness that accompanies motions often repeated, I grab the box of tissues and hand it to her. I look at her with a comforting smile and say: “It’s alright, take your time. When you feel ready, you can start talking.” I return to my thrilling game of solitaire. Another thing about the private investigator business: it is slowly dying. Been doing this for as long as I can remember, the better part of the last decade without my father who decided that sunny beaches would be a much better place to hang around, and business is dying down. Who needs a P.I. when they can install webcams, and other surveillance equipment? The cheaters have also gotten quite sloppy. I usually find out more than I need simply looking at emails.

Something in her breathing has changed. She’s about to start talking. I open a document, and I’m getting ready to type everything. She takes a deep breath, and says: “My husband is cheating on me.” I try to feint surprise, she feints believing me. “He’s been seen by my friends in restaurants with strange women, and I want to have definitive proof. I heard you were the best in town.” I was also the last one in town but I won’t correct her. She gives me the usual, her name, it sounds familiar but in my business you hear a lot of names, his name, doesn’t ring a bell, the name and phone number of the friend who saw him with his mistress. She lives in a nice neighbourhood. I know the place, been there often. The richer the houses, the darker the secrets. Because they can afford secrets. She also makes the unusual request of wanting to know all of his assets. Smart girl. She doesn’t just want proof of his infidelity, but she wants to take his money as well. This means that I can also charge her a bit more. I start telling her my price, but she stops me. She doesn’t care about money; she has more than enough as it is to pay me. She wants to know everything. I still make her sign the form that says she was informed about my pricing. Saves me a hell of a lot of trouble when they no longer are in a vengeful mood. I ask her about his job; he’s involved in companies, owns a lot of stocks everywhere. He’s a rich guy, but she does not know how rich. He may also have been lying about a lot of stuff; she mentions that early on in their marriage, he was already distant and seemingly obsessed by work. However, he was seen sharing an apparent intimate moment when he was supposed to be at a meeting. She can’t trust a thing he’s said. Poor girl. We make some arrangements, she gives me her cell phone number, and she leaves. As I usually do, I start my investigation on the Internet. His name doesn’t get me any good results. When I look her up however, I realize why her name was familiar. I turn around and look at my collection of books. In the novels I read in moments of boredom I see her name.

She writes these horrible P.I. Walker books I read to laugh at all the misconceptions. I already like her a lot more.

[Well, this one is a lot more interesting than I expected, which is why I am not gonna call it "over". I couldn't do it anyway, the story is just starting. Dunno when I'll work on part 2, but so far I like it more than my other attempt at making a longer narrative. Hopefully my 3 or 4 readers will agree.]