01-19-2012, 07:41 AM
77 Days.
That's how long I'd been searching for this dame. 77 miserable, frustrating, seemingly endless days. I wasn't even sure she existed. But my client, oh boy, he didn't care. The sign on the door said "Rex Steele, Private Investigator" but I was sure my mysterious client read it "Merlin, Magnificent Wizard" for the work he expected me to do. I'm a patient man, dogged even, but my patience has a limit and boy, I was drawing to it. "It should be pretty easy," he'd said. "She's from Japan, good figure, smart as a whip. She's in the transportation industry, if you catch my meaning." I did, sounded pretty tame. Most of those oriental broads were pretty simple to understand. "And, she's got dark blue hair." Well why do you even need me? I'd thought at the time. "Sounds like the kind of woman who'd stand out in a crowd," I said, through the smoke-laden atmosphere of the bar my unnamed client had insisted meeting me in. "Y-yeah," he stuttered. "When you see her, you'll know right away you've found her."
He reached inside his jacket, with drew a small pouch. It jangled when he tossed it on the table. "That's your retainer," he whispered. "It's yours whether you find her or not, but if you do, there's more where that came from." I opened the pouch just a fraction to see what was inside, and the bright yellow reflections from within nearly blinded me in the dusky bar. "Gold." I said. My mystery man nodded. Looking closer, I could make out an eagle...and below the eagle, I let out a hiss when I finally identified the symbol in the wreath. I nearly shut down the deal right there, and in retrospect I should have. My last big client had been months, and the makework I'd been doing for a local native american tribe had been more trouble than it was worth. I needed the money. "Are you out of your mind?" The sweat on his brow coalesced into a drop, and ran down the side of his face. It wasn't that hot in here. "It's...a family heirloom. It's all I have. Please, you can melt it down into bars and fence it that way. I know it wouldn't be worth as much, but it's still gold!"
I reached into my own pocket, glaring at my fat, sweaty client. My Colt Government, free from it's leather cage, slammed on the table. "Listen here you puke," I hissed. "You got a lot of nerve trying to sling that shit to me." He glanced left, right, trying to gauge how much help he'd have if he started squealing. But he'd chosen this venue for its discretion, and that's exactly what he was getting. "P-please. I'm in love. I have to find her! Mr. Steele you're my only hope!" I leaned back in my chair, the cold blue steel of the colt punctuating my body language. "Please," he begged. I wanted him to think I was considering walking, but I'd made my decision the minute I walked in the bar. And the gold didn't hurt. It might be forbidden, but it was still gold. And the gods knew I needed gold.
"Alright. We're done here," I said, putting the colt back in its home under my jacket. "But I'll expect triple this on delivery. You good for that?" He nodded sharply, sweat slinging off his forehead. I grabbed the gold pouch off the dusty table as I stood, enjoying the warm weight of the coins inside. "I'll call you," I said over my shoulder.
That was 77 days ago. This bitch is a ghost.
That's how long I'd been searching for this dame. 77 miserable, frustrating, seemingly endless days. I wasn't even sure she existed. But my client, oh boy, he didn't care. The sign on the door said "Rex Steele, Private Investigator" but I was sure my mysterious client read it "Merlin, Magnificent Wizard" for the work he expected me to do. I'm a patient man, dogged even, but my patience has a limit and boy, I was drawing to it. "It should be pretty easy," he'd said. "She's from Japan, good figure, smart as a whip. She's in the transportation industry, if you catch my meaning." I did, sounded pretty tame. Most of those oriental broads were pretty simple to understand. "And, she's got dark blue hair." Well why do you even need me? I'd thought at the time. "Sounds like the kind of woman who'd stand out in a crowd," I said, through the smoke-laden atmosphere of the bar my unnamed client had insisted meeting me in. "Y-yeah," he stuttered. "When you see her, you'll know right away you've found her."
He reached inside his jacket, with drew a small pouch. It jangled when he tossed it on the table. "That's your retainer," he whispered. "It's yours whether you find her or not, but if you do, there's more where that came from." I opened the pouch just a fraction to see what was inside, and the bright yellow reflections from within nearly blinded me in the dusky bar. "Gold." I said. My mystery man nodded. Looking closer, I could make out an eagle...and below the eagle, I let out a hiss when I finally identified the symbol in the wreath. I nearly shut down the deal right there, and in retrospect I should have. My last big client had been months, and the makework I'd been doing for a local native american tribe had been more trouble than it was worth. I needed the money. "Are you out of your mind?" The sweat on his brow coalesced into a drop, and ran down the side of his face. It wasn't that hot in here. "It's...a family heirloom. It's all I have. Please, you can melt it down into bars and fence it that way. I know it wouldn't be worth as much, but it's still gold!"
I reached into my own pocket, glaring at my fat, sweaty client. My Colt Government, free from it's leather cage, slammed on the table. "Listen here you puke," I hissed. "You got a lot of nerve trying to sling that shit to me." He glanced left, right, trying to gauge how much help he'd have if he started squealing. But he'd chosen this venue for its discretion, and that's exactly what he was getting. "P-please. I'm in love. I have to find her! Mr. Steele you're my only hope!" I leaned back in my chair, the cold blue steel of the colt punctuating my body language. "Please," he begged. I wanted him to think I was considering walking, but I'd made my decision the minute I walked in the bar. And the gold didn't hurt. It might be forbidden, but it was still gold. And the gods knew I needed gold.
"Alright. We're done here," I said, putting the colt back in its home under my jacket. "But I'll expect triple this on delivery. You good for that?" He nodded sharply, sweat slinging off his forehead. I grabbed the gold pouch off the dusty table as I stood, enjoying the warm weight of the coins inside. "I'll call you," I said over my shoulder.
That was 77 days ago. This bitch is a ghost.
1987 Oldsmobile Cutlass 442