Odysseus Case-files

The increasingly disconcerting absence of Odysseus Snelling PI

2011-04-04T12:48:00.002+10:00

I came to in an inky blackness, the faint smell of petrol lingering around me. Disoriented I looked around for the familiar glow of my alarm clock, hoping for some clue of when and where I was, but there was just the blackness. It was something else, primordial and raw, like being intestines of Behemoth or Leviathan; for a moment I wondered if I was Jonah (or was it Noah?) locked away in the great belly of something, waiting for a reprieve from some cosmic deity.

A few more moments and I could feel that sickly claustrophobic feeling that comes with involuntary imprisonment. At least my hands were free, I groped around in the darkness, trying to find something that might hint at where I was. Beneath me was carpet, and in front was steel... unless I was very much mistaken I had found my way into the boot of a car.

I tried to remember what had happened the night before, why I might have climbed into the boot of a car and shut the hatch. Such risky, juvenile behaviour was usually beneath me, but in the heat of a chase I'd do anything to get my man (or, on more social occasions, woman). All I could gather was that I'd been out and about, possibly looking for someone, and that I'd had too much to drink. Even now I could feel the slightly giddy sensation, the boot began to spin in circles, the lateral Gs turning my stomach and disorienting me. I'm no light-weight when it comes to drinking, I'd held my own in many a drinking game, but last night something had been funny. I couldn't even remember where I'd been... or why!

I kicked out, hoping to be able to bust open the back seats of the car, but the latch held firm. It was freezing cold, which made me suspect that night had fallen again. The cool winter day had meant I wasn't disturbed by the car heating up, but if I didn't get out and get warm soon I was going to freeze... suddenly time was of the essence.

I scrambled around, pulling at the edges of the carpet, hoping to find the boot release cable. I crammed my fingers every nook and cranny they could find, but turned up nothing. At some point I was going to have to accept that I was trapped, that the darkness had swallowed me, that someone had left me in here to die.

From outside, the sound of boots came crunching across the gravel car park. There was someone out there.

I shouted, in the vain hope that whoever was there might hear and, hopefully, release me from my bondage.

The footsteps stopped right next to me...

I shouted again, knowing that they had to hear me.

Let me out!

The boot popped open and a face came in to view.

Looks like someone has been out, getting themselves into trouble again.
Jess... I always knew she'd be the one who would save me...

Where on earth have you been Odysseus? You up and leave one day three months ago, no forwarding address, no contact details, no hints about what's happened... and now, out of the blue, you show up in the boot of your old car with the keys still in the lock, at a motel miles from home, that I just happen to be staying at with my new boyfriend; just what are you trying to pull?

I groaned a little... she reached down and helped me out.

Still as eloquent as ever I see... come on, let's get you inside. You're just lucky I had to come out to get my other bag, or you'd have had to stay here all night. How am I going to explain this one to Doug?

You'll think of something... you're good at talking off the top of your head.

And what's that supposed to mean? I have a good mind to lock you back in there and throw away the keys, see where that gets you! Hypothermia most likely...

Can we just go in and get some whiskey?

Sure... but you have some explaining to do young man!

For one beautiful day...

2009-09-06T08:36:00.002+10:00

Finally work had slowed down and I found myself with time on my hands again. There was some stuff I'd been trying to avoid and so I'd been throwing myself into my work. Normally I liked to take things a little easier, I guess that's why I liked working for myself; as my own boss I could work at a pace that worked for me. It was just convenient that work had been flying my way.

Suddenly work had dried up... it usually did around the start of spring, everyone is too caught up in the changing season, everyone feels good about life; my line of work tends to feed on human misery. With the extra time on my hands I wasn't really sure what to do with myself, so I just drove... not far, but far enough to get away from my flat, come office, above the pub.

It was a little on the cold side for my liking, but that aside it was the kind of day that was almost perfect for driving. Days like this I wished I owned a convertible, but then I remembered those days when bullets rained down on me like raindrops in a storm and I was glad that I drove an '65 Chevrolet Impala. It wasn't the best car in the world, but it's solid body provided great protection from bullets.

I found myself at a waterside park. Families were having their first picnics of spring. The laughed, ate cold meats and salads and paddled in the shallows of the lake. Teenagers basked in the sun, trying to rid themselves of the emo complexions they'd cultivated throughout the cold, sunless winter. Young couples in sarongs and chinos and polo shirts sipped champagne and stared deeply into each others arms, deflowering each other with their eyes, you could smell the pheremones from the car-park. I wandered around until I found a little spot in the sun where I could lightup a cigarette without disturbing anyone.

I watched the people, maybe wishing that I could be one of them. Maybe the guy over there you'd just slipped a diamond ring into his girlfriend's champagne glass. She was a looker: dusty brown hair, green eyes and a great personalities. He was a lucky guy. I turned back to my hip-flask and cigarette. A frisbe landed just in front of me and a family called out for me to throw it back. I dragged myself to my feet and returned it...

Dusting myself off, I finished my cigarette and headed back to the car... there was no point hanging around, this was a place for happy people not the sad and lonely. Sometimes you just have to go somewhere familiar. I headed back into town, to a little bar with a candle in the window, put an epic 80's ballad on the juke box and settled down with a scotch on the rocks... comfortable with the familiarity and hoping that someone nice would walk in and join me...

The train ride home...

2009-06-28T12:44:00.003+10:00

There's a great feeling that I get when I walk away from something, like all the angst and misery that were tying me to that place are suddenly gone and I could talk a walk through the clouds. My whole body feels as light as air. I guess, ultimately I'm a free spirit, and that's why I chose my line of work.

That night was different... that night I noticed things. For the first time in as long as I could remember I was aware of what was happening around me, rather than wandering through like a zombie... like them. But the thing that stands out most of all was the girl, sitting across from me.

I sat there and tried to focus on what I was supposed to be doing. I put my head down and tried to write, but I couldn't, the best I could do was try not to stare. But humans aren't made like that, we're intrinsically programmed to look at, study, seek to understand the things that attract us. We want to stare at the girl on the train, but we can't because we're not allowed... you can only get away with that shtick in movies.

I put my head into my notepad and pretended to work, glancing up at her every so often to see what she was doing now. She was gorgeous, dark hair just past her shoulders, blue eyes in the kind of shade you only ever hear about and a summer dress to drive me crazy. I knew that I wanted to be with her... Was this love desiring consummation or desire consuming love? Who knows... the only way to tell is to jump head first into it and hope for the best, remembering that the best may not be what you expect.

My station came and went, the train carried on without me and I shall never know which it was but this time I felt heavy as I walked away...

Case 0180 pt. 2

2009-05-07T12:44:00.005+10:00

Case Number: 0180
Type: Debt Recovery
Clients: Sammy Morello
Case Status: Abandoned

God... I hate having to get up early in the morning. The bitterness exacerbated because it was Sunday and I knew that the only ones foolish enough to be up this early were myself and some devout Catholics. I cursed the dawn right through my shower and into my clothes. Even coffee took too long at this time of the day; still, I was out the door, travel mug in hand, at 4:30 am, not too shabby all things considered. Still I was more than a little rough around the edges... but for what I was about to do that was probably preferable.

The fact that this was The Big Man we were dealing with, a man who knew me personally, I decided to try and slip in and out with as little ado as possible. There was a cab waiting for me outside... friends in high places, I'd called him the night before and promised him a nice tip for helping out, knowing I could always charge it to miscellaneous expenses. We rode in silence through the pre-dawn dark into the neon noon of the casino.

I ducked in the back entrance, straight into the hotel lobby. The concierge napped with his feet up on the desk while a bored looking bell-boy lazed about the sofas looking longingly at the clock. I made my way over to him.

"Hey, buddy, what's up?"

He looked a little confused, like I'd just summoned him from a thousand miles away. "Huh? Oh, nothing much... Can I help you sir? Check in isn't until 11 am but I'd be happy to get your bags while it's quiet. We can put them in the staff-room for safe keeping."

"No... that's fine... I'm just looking for a friend, had a big win at the tables last night, he's been having a big party but I was stuck at work until just now."

His eyes lit up. "Oh, you mean Mr. Rollins... yes, he's been partying up on the 10th all night. There was this girl you see, she asked me to go, but I'm not off until six. You know the kind; red hair, perfect smile, lovely... um... that is..." He floundered and went the kind of red I imagine when they talk about beets.

"Assets?"

"Yes... um, lovely assets. Look if you see her up there, let her know I'll be up in an hour or so."

"Will do... thanks... um..." I looked frantically for his name-badge. "Kid..." I said in pathetic resignation. He smiled, goofily at me, in that strange labrador way that only teenagers seem to be able to manage. I made a b-line for the lifts, punching the button for the tenth when I stepped in.

The trail of destruction, passed out people and loud music made it pretty obvious which room the party had been in; trouble was it didn't really look like the party was going any more. Oh well, you can't always choose the situtation you have to confront people like this under, all you can really hope for is the chance to minimise the risks. Being in the Rollins' Casino had me on my toes.

The Rollins are people you REALLY don't want to cross. Lovely, salt of the earth (if by salt of the earth you mean the sort of people who taint everything/everyone they touch), but people that weren't to be triffled with. I did work for them occasionally, which meant they came to me when they needed help, but generally left me alone. I always got the feeling the Madame Helena had a bit of a thing for me, although she'd never act on it.

I talked to myself as I walked down the hall. "Remember Odysseus, you can walk away at any time. If Sammy Morello tries to give you any trouble you can handle him, you're a big boy. If he starts getting heavier than you can handle just talk to Steven Rollins, he'll sort out the Morellos for you. Just don't do anything stupid that's going to piss Steven off. He pays good money and generally leaves you alone. No need to upset the status quo over a couple of grand."

The room, which would have been a lovely room under normal circumstances, had been trashed. Empty bottles, overturned furniture, unconcious bodies, everything that would let everyone know they'd had a fantastic time, even though they couldn't remember what they'd done. Sure a few would wake up and instantly regret what they'd done.

I picked my way through the room, checking each face to see if it was Jimmy, but he didn't seem to be anywhere. Finally I checked the master bedroom. Jimmy was there, surrounded by hookers and blow. Looks like they'd had a hell of a night.

I dragged Jimmy out of bed, he half complained but was still too addled to put up a proper protest. I turned on the shower and put him under, hoping the icy cold water would shock him into some sort of wakefullness. As I was dragging him back into the bedroom I heard the music go off and voices in the main part of the aparment. Thinking fast I walked back into the bathroom and flushed the toilet, splashed some water on my face and stepped back into the bedroom, praying the Jimmy hadn't seen my face.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOI...?" Steven Rollins stopped short. "Odysseus, what are you doing here?"

"I was in the casino last night and this girl who was hanging out in the bar told me there was a party up here. She was kind of cute so I thought I'd see where the night led." Not the most creative lie I've ever told but it was the best I could come up with on such short notice so early in the morning. Steven didn't look like he believed me.

"Look, I'd love to stop and have a chat with you, I need some advice on a... delicate matter, but right now I need to have a chat with my nephew here about what happened last night. Strictly family business... you understand."

"Certainly... you know where to find me when you're ready."

"Yes I do..." I hesitated in the doorway. "Was there anything else Odysseus?"

"Yeah, while you're talking with your nephew about the trashed hotel room... you might want to talk to him about what he's been getting up to with Sammy Morello..." The question just hung there and I felt like the room had dropped about 7 degrees. Steven's eyes narrowed and I tried to shrug it off in a 'don't shoot the messanger' kind of way. Finally Steven broke his gaze from me and turned back to his nephew.

"I'll send for you..."

I walked out the doors and out of the casino, without once looking back... somehow I think I'd just made things worse for Jimmy, but I'd made it out alive and that was something to be thankful for.

Case 0180 pt.1

2009-03-29T11:58:00.005+10:00

Case Number: 0180
Type: Debt Recovery
Clients: Sammy Morello
Case Status: Abandoned

Most people go into private investigation to save the world, one heart-broken housewife at a time. Unfortunately there's only so many favours you can accept as payment, PI's have bills to pay as well. Sometimes you have to do some things that we prefer not to talk about, for people we prefer not to talk to. Of course, if you're good at what you do, or willing to break the rules a little then there's muchos mulla to be made.

That's how I'd found myself in Big Man Sammy Morello's office. Sure he wasn't the most dangerous man in town, but he certainly wasn't one of the petty crooks I preferred to deal with. Turns out one of the Big Cartel leaders has a nephew that had dropped a lot of money in an illegal high-stakes game and now he's refusing to pay up.

"Why can't you take care of this yourself... your boys look big enough." I inclined my head towards the gorillas who stood either side of him.

"It's not, Mr Snelling, a question of whether or not my boys are able to make him pay up; but, rather, whether they are able to make him pay without injuring his person. You see, Mr Snelling, I am in a rather precarious position. I'm a small fish in this pond, rather like yourself, but unlike yourself I haven't yet been able to attach myself to a larger organisation to ensure my..." he looked at my ragged appearance, "... survival."

"So why is this my problem to sort out?"

"Because, Mr Snelling, I'm going to make it worth both our whiles. You see the Cartels want to expand their operations and I'm in a position to facilitate part of that growth... but because this job involves the family of one of these cartels I can't just entrust this to these two muscle-heads."

"But why me?"

"I hear you're the best..." Incredulity crept through me... "OK, it's because I hear you're in the good books of the biggest man in town... something you did a while back, though no-one seems to know what... whatever it was doesn't matter, all that matters is that you're in good with the biggest man in town so if anyone can get away with this it's you." I kept looking at him, "All I need you to do is get cash or good out of this punk equal to the 15 grand he owes me."

"You make it sound so simple..."

"That's the beauty of it, Mr Snelling, for you... it is!"

The petty thug thought he had me pinned... and pretty darn well. Trouble was nothing is ever as easy as someone else makes it out to be. Standing on the outside they can't see the intricate patterns that hold everything together, all he could see was that I was in a position he could exploit. What he didn't realise was that my position was more spider caught in the middle of the web than it was lone wolf invited to the pack for dinner.

"I'll see what I can do..."

"That's the boy. Joey, take this guy outside and find him a cab." One of the gorillas moved and pulled me from my chair and "escorted" me to the door; shoving me out unceremoniously and slamming the door behind me, without the summoning of the offered cab. If this was how these guys treated a man doing them a favour I was glad I hadn't been called in for stepping on their toes.

The sun was sinking as I picked myself up from the pavement outside the warehouse. I didn't know much about Jimmy Rollins, I knew that he was the only son of Steve's younger sister and so he felt a certain obligation to look out for him. I also knew that he found him, most of the time to be a burden. The kid was useless, more interested in living the playboy life than getting into the family business. Still Stephen let him keep one of the Casino's Hotel rooms as his personal quarters and there was a line of credit set for him every week, which he promptly gambled and drank his way through.

I suspected that Stephen wasn't going to be very happy about this little round of trouble that Jimmy had gotten himself into, but family is family and I also knew that whatever sucker was sent to collect was going going to wind up in a dumpster with just enough life left to pass on a message to that effect. It really didn't matter who it was, examples had to be made in this business or else power was lost.

I decided to head to the Casino to check out Jimmy's moves and try and work out a way to play this one out.

Jimmy wasn't easy to find, mainly because he was kind of disappearing behind a crowd that had gathered around the craps table he was shooting at, and for a change it looked like lady luck was on his side. There was a huge pile of chips in front of him. I sat up on the mezzanine sipping a scotch sour, just watching. For years I'd thought that Patience had several virtues and couldn't work out why my grandmother said she was only one, but then my mother had explained that patience wasn't just the girl next door.

I shifted in my seat for a better look when I noticed that the crowd was beginning to break up. At first I thought that Jimmy's winning streak had broken and his casual aquaintances, turned best friends, were abandoning him once more. But then I saw Jimmy throwing chips around to everyone.

The party made its way to the elevators and disappeared. I watched the indicator above the door rise to 14 and then pause as the lift stopped to let everyone off. I downed the rest of my coctail and made my way outside; the casino was open 24 hours and they revellers would be partying well into the morning. I'd come back later, when Jimmy was feeling a little the worse for wear and make my move...

A Day at the Beach

2008-11-06T16:13:00.006+10:00

**n.b. this story is probably going to come after the first novel, which I've just finished writing. there's no plans to publish it just yet, but we'll make this as read alone as possible (besides it'll fit in with the flow of the blog anyway). Thank you for your patience**

Recent events not withstanding I was in desperate need of a holiday. Space and time to think about space and time to think about space and time... I was caught in a feedback loop, trapped in cycles of thought and I knew it was throwing my perceptions out of whack. Sleep was troublesome once again, taking it's time to fall and being unfulfilling when it did come.

I left the office and headed for the train station, trying to get across town, near the water and just spend a little time by myself. I picked up the paper on the way, for just a few moments the papers were reporting a new era of hope, the doom and gloom of recent months pushed to the margins for a day, a celebration of something big but something that wasn't fully clear to anyone yet. I could feel the hope flowing into me as well. I was excited by the prospects of a bright new world.

But underneath that I felt a sickening dread. A tension headache rose and I could feel nausea sitting underneath it. I didn't have any pills to knock it out of me so I was going to have to sit tight until I got off the train. I kept reading in the hope that the good news would settle me down, praying that some of the positivism would have a run on effect, that I would be excited about something again. The train pulled into a station, another nameless destination but not mine. A girl in a black dress got on and sat beside me; I gave her a sideways glance, trying not to get caught staring but trying to admire her all the same. She came and went, the train carried on down the line. Finally my stop... not a nameless destination, the beach; but first I made a b-line to the shops for some tablets and caffeine.

Medicated and feeling a little better I walked up and down the sand for a while, enjoying the view as the weather started to turn to summer. Girls out and about, seeking out a golden tan on bodies that had turned white through a winter that robbed them of exposure to the sun. I sat down on the sand and pulled out a camel, inhaling the warm, dry smoke before blowing it out in a long steady stream. I felt better, the warm sun beating down on me made me drowsy and I could feel my eyes closing.

I didn't want to leave, because I knew that going back would mean I would have to face all of the heartache and misery that I was trying to leave behind... maybe Madame Rollins was correct, maybe I should skip town for a while, give things a chance to blow over and then return to normality, my life of mystery and intrigue... ok, not so normal, but normal for me. I walked back to the train station and headed for the central station, credit card at the ready to buy a ticket for a surprise destination. I didn't even stop to pack my bags...

Case 0067

2008-08-18T13:25:00.002+10:00

Case Number: 0067

Type: Domestic Dispute

Client: Roselee Thorn

Status: Unresolved

One vaguely abusive phone call can ruin your day... a vaguely abusive phone call and a domestic dispute with your landlord can destroy it! It's the kind of day hat my client had had, and now she was coming to me to try and help her sort out the mess.

It's hard to explain what she wanted... even now I'm not entirely sure that I understand what she wanted, I guess the case will never truly close on this case, but I'd like to think that I did something that helped... even a little.

She came to me around midday, I was just coming back from the office after breakfast and a few to many cups of coffee at a local cafe. She was a small lady, she cut an unassuming figure, if I had to suggest an animal it would be one of the small marsupials, definitely not a femme fatale. She didn't have a lot of money... don't get me wrong this wasn't a Probona case, she paid, just not a lot.

She was in trouble, her landlord was trying to kick her out of the room she rented in a lodging house. A dodgy place, decrepit, not vermin ridden but definitely far from clean. Unregistered from what she told me; the landlord was living on the “tax free” income, I bet the ATO would have liked to know about it.

I told her I'd see what I could do... but I didn't promise anything. That was the first rule I learnt in this business; never promise results because if you can't follow through someone is going to be calling for your blood in small-claims court. It's a saps life, but it's the one I choose to live.

She gave me a number where I could reach her and the details of the house she'd been living in. I told her I'd call her when I had more info...

She scurried out of the office and off to find some place to lay low for a while. It was the kind of case I didn't want to rush into so I headed out to an internet cafe I knew nearby. A busy place, the kind of place you could get some real privacy while the world rushed on by. Sometimes I'd just sit there and watch the world pass me by, surfing through the news services, watching the update themselves, trying to see the patterns that were supposed to be there... sometimes I thought I'd found it, but most of the time there was nothing there.

Today was one of those days... it was sitting there in front of me, begging to be found, but it just wouldn't come. Bored I flipped over to a Real Estate site in the hopes of escaping the dive I'd found myself in. Flicking through the few properties that were in my price-range I noticed one which looked vaguely familiar... it was the lodging house that Roselee had told me she'd been staying at.

Intrigued I scribbled down the contact phone number and ordered a long-black from a passing waitress...

I called him that night and set up an inspection for the following afternoon. He sounded nice enough, but after what Roselee had told me about him I wasn't so sure.

I showed up at 3:30, a little the worse for wear but it didn't seem to matter, the landlord didn't look much better. His clothes were crushed and his hair uncombed... at least I could cover most of my sins with a hat and a pair of sunglasses.

The house didn't live up to the advertisement. The landlord was clearly having delusions of grandure when it came to his house. Instead of the glorious sweeping property I'd envisaged it was just a huge, unkempt house, a sad relic of better days. It reminded me of those novels about stately homes that fell into disrepair when the lords of the manor could no longer afford to keep them, but had too much pride to let them go. Every corner was inhabited by cobwebs and there was a smell, not quite musty, that permiated every cobweb.

He took great delight in everything he showed me... as if in a faerie realm where feeble human eyes mistook decay for glory. The history he weaved as if he himself had lived through it, and judging through the lines on his face he may well have. He seemed oblivious to the harsh reality around him. But there was something else about this place that didn't feel quite right, I just couldn't put my finger on it at the moment... I needed time to think.

I thanked him for showing me the house, and told him I'd be in touch. I went off to have a look at tenancy law.

As I sat in the library perusing the articles the Reference Librarian had pulled up for me something clicked in the back of my head... despite being a lodging house, with all wooden interior, I hadn't seen a single smoke detector. I flicked back to an earlier article...

I rang Roselee that evening... I apologised... there wasn't anything I could do but suggest some alternative accomodation. She seemed disappointed... downcast... but she didn't seem surprised.

I hung up and poured myself a glass of scotch... I reread the email that I'd received from the fire department and police ensuring a full investigation into the housing-code violations... I shut that one down and started typing an email to the ATO... a smile crossing my face.

Too long have I waited...

2008-07-05T09:37:00.006+10:00

The Division Bell by Pink Floyd... a classic example of my experiences lately. The sense of alienation and loss, blindly wandering through the world without any idea of where we/I (in the proverbial sense) are going. It's overwhelming most of the time, but in those few moments of blinding clarity you feel more alive than you ever have or will... just like the album.

I stumble, once again, into the bar with the single candle burning in the window. The atmospheric strains of Pink Floyd drift through the air like a thought in the back of the mind... tantalizing and tempting; at once depressing and hopeful. It's hard to explain... but it's perfect for drinking.

Scotch on the rocks: the thin, almost reedy taste drifts across my palate and down my throat. It's cool and refreshing, I order another. The track changes, one of those moments of clarity comes on. A brunette drifts in, her perfume drifting, filling every corner of the bar, turning heads, warranting a second glance before the bar-flies return to their glasses. Her hair is cut short and she wears a dress that clings to her form, curves accentuated in a sultry fashion underneath the fabric. Is it love? Who knows, I don't want to judge just yet, it's certainly attraction and who am I to judge whether or not love can form at first sight?

It's cold outside, she's probably come in to escape it, she's dress for a night out... not for the cold. She orders white wine and leans against the bar. Those curves...

She looks at me, fire in her eyes. I look away, not wanting to be caught staring. I wish I had a book to look at, I'd have a reason to look away. I glance up again and she's staring at me... the track changes again and we're caught in a dream world, somewhere far away. A field at night, it's black and we're the lovers running to each other across the field of stars; we meet and embrace and the world falls into place around us... put it's a dream and I can't break far enough out to get out of my seat and talk to her so the dream goes on.

The heavens house and protect us. On the edge of a lake, where to moon rises and we can watch its transit over-head. It could fall on us and all would be well... she was perfect and I was happy to be surrounded by her perfection.

In spite of this I was unable to get past my own hang-ups and talk to her. She was ideal but I knew it wasn't going to happen, the muse had my heart held firmly in her hands and wouldn't let go. But that's the way of the muse I guess, once she has you it's hard to extricate yourself from her.

I downed the last of my second glass of scotch and headed for the door... Bella would be waiting.

Case 0128: Train Ride

2008-03-22T08:37:00.009+10:00

Case Number: 0128
Type: Assassination
Clients: *********
Status: Closed

Kill them, and make it look like an accident... for once I'd like them to say that I could just kill them outright, no conditions. The service wouldn't hurt the hip-pocket quite as much as an "accidental death"; and rightly so, it's much easier to just put 3 bullets in someone's head (although the get-away is always much harder).
We'd been scoping this one out for weeks... the target was a small-timer but the pay was good and it was going to pay out double if the coroner found it to be "death by misadventure". He was a shift-worker at a nearby state-run industries and had been fingered by a spy who'd recently been brought in by Internal Security. Trouble was they knew he was stealing state secrets but they couldn't prove it, so they'd come to me and put a juicy proposition on the table. Now it was my job to liquidate an asset that had become a liability.
Tonight was our best chance, he was working the graveyard shift and was catching the train into work. This kind of job required two heads to set up properly so I had brought Bella along for the ride. While I rode the only train this hour down the line Bella was waiting for the mark at his usual station, I was waiting for her call to confirm that he'd be on the train. That way if he didn't make it I could jump off at the station before and wait until he poked his head out.

It was a gloomy night; raining, but not heavy enough to warrant the excitement that came with a storm. Bella was pacing the train platform, her red trench-coat the only splash of colour against the gray night. Heels, fish-nets and a stripe of crimson lip-stick completed the look... the original femme fatale, an unlit cigarette between the red lips, waiting for some man to come along and light it for her; and when he did he'd light the fire in her eyes as well.
A man trudged wearily up the stairs to the platform, clutching a ticket and hot coffee in a feeble attempt to ward off the cold and tiredness. Bella turned with a come-hither glint in her eyes and the slightest of girlish pouts, I never did work out how she did that and still held onto the cigarette.
"You got a light?" He shoved the ticket into his top pocket and patted himself down, searching for some matches. Turning up nothing he shrugged. "Shame..." Bella responded, a hint of what he was missing out on creeping into her voice. Now she was positive that this was the mark; she turned and whispered into her radio.

On the train I opened my briefcase and took out a silk-scarf, the perfect tool for a job like this. I folded it as if to wear it as a guard against the cold evening. A quick twist and I was ready. I looked up and down the carriage for witnesses, the only other person was sleeping at the other end; not much of a threat, probably too drunk to remember anything in the morning anyway. The station was coming up and I was hoping that Bella was in position... ready to overload the fuses and plunge the station into darkness, if she hadn't this was going to be a train-ride to hard time.
The train slowed and I got into position, waiting at the door... we pulled up to the platform, the doors opened, the mark stepped on and the platform was plunged into darkness. The carriage was still lit but the drunk was still asleep. Quick as a flash I hooked the scarf around the marks neck and stepped off the train. As the doors closed behind me I pulled the scarf tight, trapping it in the door...
With any luck they'd find him at the end of the line, hung by his own scarf which had become caught in the door... a tragic accident. Anyone who knew him would want the surveillance tapes checked... he hadn't been wearing a scarf when he stepped onto the train... but he was a solitary man and the only people who knew him were the ones who had hired us to kill him.
I fumbled in my pockets for a Camel and my Zippo. The rush of nicotine to my brain released the pent-up tension. I felt warm breath in my ear.
"Got a light?"
I turned and held out the flickering Zippo's flame to her, the warm light accentuating her lips and cheek bones.
"You know there's better ways to unwind after a job..."
The proposition hung in the air, tantalising, the words written against the clouds and the things to come flashing through her eyes... I never did learn how to resist a woman in fishnets...

Case 0086

2008-03-14T13:21:00.006+10:00

Case Number: 0086
Type: Extortion Prevention
Clients: Justice I Q M*****
Case Status: Closed

No femme fatal... just two men sitting around a cluttered desk at three in the morning. Sleeping at the office had its benefits, sometimes all it got you was a sore neck, but other times it got you work! Sure I still had a sore neck, but this pay-out was going to be big. He'd come to me because he needed someone he could trust... it didn't matter that he didn't know me or my reputation, he'd come to me because I was smalltime. The firms had enough weight that, if they decided, they could turn against their employer... me, well I was insignificant enough that he could bury me under a mound of legal trouble so huge that I'd never see the light of day. It made me nervous... but I needed the work!

The basic run-down was simple, he'd been keeping a mistress for a number of months. His wife had become suspicious and so he'd dropped her like a hot potato, seeing her as a political liability in his race for the high-court bench.

Problem was she'd kept records: love letters, emails arranging rendezvous, photographs, videos... she had the whole works and she'd threatened to release them to his wife. The initial threat hadn't worked, but earlier that evening she'd rung up to let him know she'd arranged to meet with the media and was planning to reveal all. A few calls and he'd gotten in contact with me and he wanted me to do some serious damage control for him, and had to be untraceable.

Basically it came down to preempting her actions meaning there were two things that had to be done: 1. I had to remove the evidence and 2. I had to discredit the target. There also had to be nothing linking my actions back to the Justice... all cloak and dagger stuff. Nameless invoices, total disavowal of action... OK so payment wouldn't be made into a numbered Swiss bank account opened by the client for me... but it was that kind of thing.

I decided to scope out her regular haunts and find out what kind of girl this was. Rumor had it that she was a regular feature at a club near my office, so I decided to check it out.

It wasn't my scene, to modern... it was dominated by a dance-floor, not enough dark corners to drink in for my liking. I spotted my mark on the other side of the room and made my way over to her, not sure of the protocol for this kind of thing... so I offered to buy her a drink. She looked intrigued.

Soon I found myself back at hers. It was a slick, modern apartment with room for a small circus to take up permanent residence. I could really go for a place like this, but a PI's income doesn't pay these kind of bills. She fixed me a drink, scotch on the rocks, and I had a change of heart. I told her everything... who'd sent me, why. She agreed to talk, if I'd act as the go-between. Now if we could only get the old man to agree to her demands, then Bella and I could live an easier life!

Lost

2008-03-07T16:39:00.002+10:00

It's been a long time since I've come to this place, probably before Bella and I got together. The old haunt has drawn me back, the candle in the window and the old slippery steps. I walk in and chuck some money in the juke-box, find some music that will soothe my tortured soul. I need time to think is all. The last few weeks have been rough, I can't get it together... I need a scotch.

I walk up to the bar and the barman nods in recognition, handing over a glass without me having to say anything... does he remember...? Or does he just recognise the look of a man defeated, nowhere to turn... no options left... all he can do is carry on, but first he needs to wipe the slate of his mind completely clean.

It's funny isn't it how things that you thought were important can become lost in the sands of time... Sometimes despite all your good intentions and efforts the sheer magnitude of life comes crashing down upon you and the things you intended to do. Circumstance won't let you get away, you're chained to it and so something has to go. Small things... temporal things... the things you meant to say... the books you meant to read... all lost. If you're lucky something triggers the old synapses and you'll have a brief moment when you realise that you've forgotten it. Other times it's just gone.

They used to say that there was no time like the present... and maybe they had something there. So often it's seemed like those things that weren't acted upon when they came to mind have slipped by... so many times the things that should have been said weren't said in the moment, the moment slipped by and *poof* that thought was gone.

Other times the moment went on and the thought was agonised over. But even with the raging conflict inside, and perhaps because of it, the thought never became action... and without action there is no reaction.

I look across the bar at the girl I always meant to say hello to, meant to learn her name. I meant take her back to my place (or hers if she preferred), to throw her down on the couch or bed or floor and to let my actions speak louder than my words. The old sadness returns to my smile as I reflect on the legion of girls that I never confessed to, a glint in the eye (a tear that never comes, why should it? It's my own stupid fault). But still it all has to begin with a word, a thought, an action... tongues must be involved.

I down the Scotch and get up to leave, a little dizzy because my stomach is empty so the Scotch bounces around inside me. As I walk up the stairs I can hear Fleetwood Mac singing Rhiannon over and over again... and she becomes just another girl that was lost.

Case 0139 (finale)

2008-01-12T12:01:00.000+10:00

I guess it's all a bit hazey and I should start at the beginning if we're going to understand what's been going on...

I'd met her through a friend... well, more of an acquaintance, but one known well enough to warrent an invitation to a Christmas party. It was some sort of arty do, in a gallery; normally I wouldn't have gone but they told me there'd be free booze and canapes. Who am I to resist free alcohol?

I'd always been a bit of a wall-flower at this kind of thing: skulking in the corner, awaiting the inevitable inquiries about occupation and the raised eyebrows at mine. The reactions were genuine, mostly pity and shock, but the questions were the same old shit. That's what you get when you choose my path in life though... you get used to it.

She was trying to hide in a painting and I'd spotted her wall-flower technique. With nothing to loose and the chance of a lonely, Christmas hook-up on the table, I decided to give it a shot.

She'd come back to mine, and surrounded by the mess and decay of my living room we'd let our drunken hands wander. Movements becoming more desperate we began to shed each others clothing. The sensation of skin against skin served only to intensify the situation.

The next morning I awoke and she was gone. A scrawled note, left on the kitchen counter, an expression of gratitude and a number, signed: ;) Bella.

It had been going well for a while, but recently things just hadn't been going so well. Work was slow and I was down. I began to spend more and more time at the office, sitting through days soaked with gin, looking back over the old cases, trying to make sense of what was happening to me.

It wasn't like I didn't have any feelings for her; they were there, or at least they had been. Maybe I just wasn't listening to her enough, no there was something more than that, something deeper. Maybe I just didn't want to listen...

Case Number: 0139 (continued)
Type: Infidelity
Clients: Ms. Jonson-Smythe
Status: Closed

She'd been so desperate to get out of the marriage that she just wasn't listening. Maybe she didn't want to hear what he'd been saying, maybe she'd heard it all before. The simple fact was that there wasn't an affair to find.

I'd been to blinded by our fucking to realise this. Weeks were wasted in high level surveillance when it was us who were getting busted. He'd set us up.

It all made sense... he knew the ins-and-outs of his pre-nup, he could have written it in his sleep. His eye had been wandering (sure who's didn't?) but he was far too smart to do anything before the divorce went through.

He'd made her think that he'd been having an affair, knowing she'd throw herself at the poor sap who took her case and in doing so he'd gotten his "Get out of jail free" card. She was getting nothing in the settlement and I was left to invoice a client who would never pay. Fuck...

My client had been burned, and I'd gone down with her, dragging my reputation into the mud and ensuring business would be slow. It also meant that now I had to deal with the underbelly. From now on there wouldn't be any cushy jobs, just jobs for the most unsavoury characters this town could throw at me...

Bella had been having an affair, and I knew about it. That's why I didn't want to listen... I needed time to work it all out... time to get over it... I didn't want to leave, things had been to good, but with work the way it had been since case 0139 and her stumble I wasn't sure if I could keep it together. Only time will tell, I just have to wait to see what this relationship is going to throw at me...

Case 0139 (continued)

2007-12-29T11:58:00.000+10:00

Case Number: 0139 (continued)
Type: Infidelity
Clients: Ms. Jonson-Smythe
Status: Closed

... her voice was lowering like a seductress in a D-grade porn flick, "...and I could make it... worth your while."

Who was I to resist a woman putting herself on offer? Plus the bill was going to be massive, infidelity for divorce is a lucrative game because you can bill for a percentage of the settlement. Jobs like this didn't come around every day, so it's best to take the offers while they stand. The job was a simple one, people involved in infidelity always think that they're brighter than everyone else, that they won't get caught. This one was basically in the bag.

I asked her for all the usual information: phone numbers, home and business addresses, favourite bars and restaurants. I needed copies of phone bills and credit card invoices too; if infidelity was to be conclusively proved. She was very obliging. "I just want this all to be over... I didn't want it to turn out like this."

She broke down... I put my arm around her to comfort her.

"Odysseus," we'd agreed to meet at a local cafe for brunch. I was sitting in the sun smoking a camel while I waited, memories of an old case floating through my mind. It looked like she was here. She came around and sat opposite me, reached over the table to take off my sunglasses so she could look at my eyes.

She just sat there looking at me and I began to feel uncomfortable. I looked down, letting my eyes linger on her lips for the briefest of moments and the across her body. I finally settled on a place just left of her, and stared into the infinite that was opening up before me.

"I can't go on like this... you're never home and I miss you. I know that we've been having a bit of a rough time but we can get through this... I just need you home. I need you beside me." Her voice was cracking. It was sultry but it was sad, not sexy. She wiped her eyes on her blouse cuffs.

"I don't know if I can... I just don't think I'm ready for this to happen the way you want it too. Its not fair for me to hang around while you wait for me to be ready so I need distance and I think you do too."

She broke down... I stubbed out my camel and walked away.

Sleeping on the Couch: Case 0139

2007-11-02T09:59:00.000+10:00

I awoke with a start. The world was a blur and it took me a few moments to realise the phone was ringing on the lampstand beside my couch. I reached up to grab it, glad of the darkness my office blinds offered on mornings like this.

"Are you up?" The voice at the other end had a familiarity about it the felt unfriendly. I looked around for a clock, the analogue face difficult to read through the haze of a hangover. I sat up and a bottle rolled across the floor.

"Yeah." My voice was almost unrecognisable, low and edgy from a combination of drinking and the most unwelcome morning.

"Where have you been?" She sounded upset, like I'd done something to hurt her. I probably had. "I've been trying to call all week, but you weren't answering. You haven't been home all week. I was worried."

"Well I haven't been here." I lied, I had been here. I was the only place I could go, work had been slow and I didn't have the money to pay for a hotel. Truth was I didn't want to go home at the moment so I'd been camping out on the dilapidated sofa I kept in the corner of the office for such eventuallities. "I've had a bit of work to do that's kept me out of town. Should be getting some money soon, which'll be nice." That was true, I'd done a job recently which was going to give me enough to pay out the rent on the office for the months owing and a couple in advance, it'd be a new experience for me. PI's make bugger all, and rent is a luxury not an expense.

"That's good, you're doing something." Tears edged into her voice, she was holding back; I wasn't sure if she could hold it for long. "Odysseus, we need to talk."

Those four words could send chills down a man's spine from any distance. A collective shudder reverberated through all the men in the city. Some even crossed themselves and mouthed a silent prayer for the poor sap, name unknown. Nothing positive ever came from those words...

Case Number: 0139
Type: Infidelity
Clients: Ms. Jonson-Smythe
Status: Closed

She'd come to me late one steamy afternoon in December, the heat that summer was unbearable. She was a bored suburban housewife who had just wanted her husband home for Christmas, he had told her that it was impossible.

She was attractive, blond, probably in her mid-thirties. Exactly the sort of woman that was taken as a trophy wife and mounted on the wall of the den. I suspected that she spent most of her days in a gin-induced blur, teasing the pool boy by tanning topless in front of him. Her voice had a husky edge, sultry with just a hint of the sensuality which lay just under her facade of perfection.

"It's not like he's the sales-rep for a toy company, he's a divorce lawyer... and who the hell gets divorced over Christmas?"

I couldn't answer her question, I'd never been married and didn't have many prospects.

"See the problem is I can't just leave him. He pays me an allowance, which is enough to get by, but that'll dry up if I leave. The man is a cunning bastard, he keeps all of his income tied up in his firm so I can't touch it. If I can prove he was unfaithful his firm has to cough up enough alimony to keep me in the manner to which I have become accustomed."

"And you need my help to prove the infidelity?"

"If you could I'd be VERY grateful," her voice was lowering like a sudductress in a D-grade porn flick, "and I could make it... worth your while."

"... Odysseus... are you there?" I pulled out of the flash back suddenly when I heard her voice.

"Yeah, I'm here..."

"I'll come over and we can do brunch. We'll talk, just like we used to." I didn't want to talk, but it looked like I wasn't going to have much choice.

Another world

2007-10-19T12:58:00.000+10:00

Low pressure, high pressure... passing between the two feels like pushing through a doorway between dimensions.

The wind rushed up the escelator as I descended to the subway platform. Subways are always a strange place to visit. An entirely different dimension with a completely different feel. The world could end while you were down here and you wouldn't know until the police stopped you from exiting.

It's dank and unappealing but there's an entirely different eco-system down there. The overworlders drop their waste into the waiting tins of the scruffy looking natives, providing nourishment and warmth so that they can continue... they don't thrive but they continue. I take a seat and watch life cycling around me.

Aloof executives give off an intellectual air, reading the business and opinions sections of their chosen broadsheet. They nod at the conservative and seethe at the liberal opinions, oblivious to the reality of the world that surrouns them. They're narrow picture people and a panoramic world. All that exists to them is this platform and they're not even seeing all of that.

See, over there... at the top of the platform, there's a girl in a short skirt and a torn glitter top. She's heading home, while the others are heading out to work, and she hopes that this weeks pay will be enough to cover the rent... if she's lucky there might even be enough to buy something more than Weetbix as well.

A kid sits in the corner, using the wireless access point to play WoW, nothing else to do because no-one will hire him... he's given up trying so he's not technically unemployed. His mother thinks, at least he's out of the house, but she doesn't know where he is. Maybe he'll make something of himself one day, but not years yet.

Rail staff patrol the platform like some sort of mythical guardian of a great secret.

The hooker smiles at me and turns away, the glint in her eye not a happy one. She hides her sadness well, I don't really notice.

She didn't want her life to be this way, she just kind of fell into the situation. Maybe she left home to find a better life, or to prove something, or maybe she just didn't have anyone. However it happened it's just a distant memory now, a memory like her innocence. She tried to find "honest" work, but there just wasn't any for a girl like her.

Maybe they're all trying to find something... something better, but something that they can't hold onto. Maybe they had it once but something made them loose it, and they just couldn't find their way back. Maybe... but who knows?

Case 0027

2007-10-09T09:22:00.000+10:00

Case Number: 0027
Type: Private review of police investigation
Clients: Mr. & Mrs. McIvor
Status: Closed

Her parents called me early one morning. I had been sleeping on the couch in the office, a fortuitous event as it turned out, and was woken by the ringing phone on my desk. I answered, tired and disoriented; the voice on the other end told me that they wanted a consultation that morning. Looking at my diary for the day, a serviette from the place I’d eaten lunch the previous day, I said there wasn't any room in the schedule; you have to keep a good impression for the clients. They said they'd arrive in 10 minutes and they'd make it worth my while.

I looked across at the clock, 7:15... shit... who on the gods' green earth would want a Private Investigator before 7:30? Before noon? Most choose the cover of darkness to avoid the scandal of needing my services.

I put on the coffee pot in the corner of the office, lit a camel and ran downstairs to the little Vietnamese bakery to grab something to eat. There wasn't time to make myself look respectable, just enough to mask the smell of coffee, stale sweat and camels with some Brute and Listerine.

The case was simple: their only daughter had died recently while celebrating her birthday. They were unhappy with the coroner’s findings into their daughter's death and they wanted the case to be investigated independently. The coroner's investigation had resulted in a declaration of death by heart failure resultant of a drug overdose, no suspicious circumstances so the death was declared a misadventure. The parents were adamant she never touched the stuff.

"We're a good Christian family Mr. Snelling, this is not the sort of thing that people like us have happen to them. This is not how our daughter died, some dirty heroine addict in a gutter downtown. I mean, the Bohemian quarter, for God's sake... there's nothing there but drug dens and cheap hookers. Why would our daughter go there?" Champagne Socialists, born to Bourbon Conservatives, I thought to myself... Did this guy even know where he was?

They seem nice enough, upper middle-class (enough money to pay), but they seemed the snooty sort (you know, the ones that look over your shoulder constantly, "to make sure your doing your job properly").

I ask for any leads that they might have about the case and any personal items that might help me track her down. They hand over a photo: a young girl, probably about 21, with blond hair and dark blue eyes. Future echoes... It's the girl from outside the diner... They indicate that the photo was taken the night she died; they wanted a shot of her in the new necklace they'd gotten her for her birthday. It hadn't been on her body when they found it, and if at all possible they would like to get it back, it was made especially for her and they wanted it as a keepsake. I said I’d ask the police about it.

I asked for contact details of the friends that she was with on the night she died, hoping that they might be able to shed some light on the circumstances surrounding her death. Mrs. McIvor rummaged through her handbag, a L.V. rip-off from Thailand or some such place, and produced an address book.

"We just want answers, please find out what happened to our little girl..." she broke down.

"Mr. Snelling," he turned as he guided his wife out the office, "We are God fearing people, and we won't accept anything other than the God's honest truth about what happened to our little Christine. You'd better make sure that that's what you give us..." the door slammed behind them.

Preliminary investigations:
The girl was out on the town with her friends to celebrate her 21st birthday, away from the strict attitudes of her parents. She wanted to let her hair down and celebrate adulthood, an outdated concept in today's world, adulthood is there well before 21. All the friends statements agree, that they hit the bohemian quarter for the evening, found a beat bar, had a little space-cake and smoked. Most of them were spent by 3am, but the party girl had wanted to hit some clubs and the party until dawn. Most of them had headed home then, and her boyfriend had convinced her to get a hotel room because he really couldn't drive, he was too fucked up... They'd gone to a local place that rented rooms by the hour and crashed, he just didn't have a performance in him after a night on the town. When he woke up she wasn't there. I took the name of the hotel. Something isn't adding up... I need to get a look at the coroner's report and the police statements if I am going to find the truth.

I went to see a connection in the coroner's office; a guy I'd gone to school with, but had never really had much in common with. He said he'd get me what he could and fax it over to the office. Her photo sat on my dashboard as I drove around town, just trying to clear my head. I found myself just cruising the streets of the bohemian quarter, a couple of blocks from my office. I saw the alleyway where they'd found the body. I pulled over to take a closer look.

There's nothing special about it, just a bunch of flowers lying against the wall. It doesn't feel any different to the other alleys in the city. I decide to take a walk.

When I got back to the office there was a copy of the police report and the coroner’s findings waiting in the machine, a note let me know I’d have to wait if I wanted copies of the photos. I phoned and let them know that it wasn’t necessary at this time and settled in to read the report.

There’s inconsistency in the police statements, but there was very little when I went to talk to the friends. Someone’s trying to cover something up… The friends need to be re-interviewed, with just a little more pressure. Where’s the necklace?

I found her friends sipping lattes in a café on their university campus. I tell them that thanks to the information I’ve managed to uncover the coroner has agreed to reopen the case. It’s a lie… I ask them to contact me with any information that they might remember about the night and hand them all a copy of my card, they will have thrown the last one. Now all I can do is wait.

I head back to the quarter and just wander around, knowing that I need to let the kids sweat out the situation. Bored, I wander into a pawnshop to look at the guitars… I never have the guts to buy one; I wouldn’t know what to do with it if I did. I mean I can play… but what? I mosey to the jewellery counter and a unique piece catches my eye, so I ask about it and put the money down on the counter. I let the shop-owner know that it’s part of a possible murder investigation, flash my licence and ask about where he got it… Some bum came in off the street looking for quick money; the owner thought he could make a quick turnover on it if it was processed fast so took deal. I ask if he knows where the bum is now.

He thinks he’s one of the locals, comes in most days with junk trying to get money for coffee, so the owner tries to help out when he can. I ask when he comes in, usually towards the evening, so I ask if I can wait.

Just before closing time the bell about the door rings and I get the nod from the storeowner… this is the one. I spin around and throw him against the counter, shouting questions at him. Where did he get the necklace? What did he do to the girl? Why? The old man under the filth is crying, shouting back that he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong or why he’s being subjected to this interrogation.

“Just let me go… I’ll tell you anything… Just let me go…” the fear in his voice is real.

“Come on,” I growl, hauling him out the door and into my car for a ride to my office.

In the office I make him coffee and let him wash up a little before I start asking the questions.

He’d been sleeping a bit further down the alley that night when he’d heard a group of people come crashing in. They were loud and clearly under the influence of drugs. He decided to go and find out what they were up to. When he caught a glimpse they were cooking up hits and he had seen Christine take one. The effect was immediate, she began to fit and the friends freaked. He rushed over to help but before he could do anything they scattered from the scene. He found Christine, delirious and clearly overdosing. He’d tried everything he could to keep her alive, but once she passed out he couldn’t do anything for her. He searched quickly for anything that he might be able to sell for some quick cash and wandered down to the pay phone outside the diner and reported her death to the local police anonymously; he knew that they wouldn’t let him keep the necklace if he waited to tell him what he’d seen.

Final Report:
Investigations concur with the coroner's findings. From the reading of the coroner’s report and private investigations it appears that the deceased did in fact die of drug related heart failure, and although there appears to be a gross violation of due procedure and care on the part of her friends, there is no reason to pursue legal action against them. Eyewitness accounts and friends testimonies confirm this to be the correct sequence of events.

I called Mr. & Mrs. McIvor in to go over the findings with them. They weren’t happy.

“We asked you for the truth Mr. Snelling, not this fanciful story of youth gone off the rails. That was not our daughter Mr. Snelling and you do her memory a disservice by suggesting that she died in that way. Our daughter did not die an heroine addicted liberal in the arms of a homeless man…” They got up and left without pausing to pay their account.

It’s funny how we often believe that what we want to hear is the truth. Sure in those occasions when we don’t have a preference either way we’ll accept the first thing we hear, but when we’re truly convinced of something we will accept what we want to hear and all else is lies. Even the most conservative, realist thinkers will become unknowing relativists when they are forced to hear what they don’t want to. Why can’t we accept the truth? It can’t be that we know the truth in our heart of hearts because then there would only be one reality and all people would, when they can’t ignore it anymore, subscribe to it. What is it about truth that we find so confronting, even when we ask to hear it?

Champagne Socialists

2007-09-28T15:03:00.000+10:00

The Bohemian quarter: dilapidated but artistic, run down but lively, sedate but seething. You can find anything you could want to find here, a network of garage doors and alleyways make up the black market. No bazaar here, no colourful umbrellas protecting the vendors from the elements, they are the elements. Everything is for sale here: gunmen, private investigators, prostitutes, contraband of every description, anything that your heart desires. This is capitalism at its finest. The seediness of the place manifests itself in a visible layer of grime and yet despite all this it’s the hub of the avant-garde within the city.

Every spare centimetre of the brick buildings and tin doorways is covered in street art. Some people call it graffiti, vandalism, but there’s a certain beauty inherent in its form.

Latte sipping, champagne socialists glide down the footpaths; they’re the real deal now they’ve been to the quarter. Berets and woven wool scarves sit next to leather jackets, while the real inhabitants of the sector are huddling close to their food warmers, either in second rate diners or portable food stalls. The rich kids are slumming-it, they love it because they know that when the evening’s entertainment is over they’ll be returning to city-view, studio apartments and shagging away the last few hours until dawn; those that belong here face eviction from buildings that should have been condemned a decade ago. They think it’s quaint… it’s hell, the amusement park. I should know I work here.

I light a camel, inhale deeply and then quickly stub it out because the waitress has just given me a dirty look. I hold up my mug for more coffee and turn to look out the window of the diner where I’m having my tea.

There’s a group of out the front, probably trust-funders by the looks of them, out looking for cheap thrills and alternative culture. They’ll find a dive, somewhere to discuss political science while eating space cake and listening to beat-poetry. They’re so young… one of them catches my eye. Not so much her as the necklace she has on. An unusual design, probably one of a kind… almost definitely a present from her parents for her 21^st birthday; it still looks brand-new.

I look up and as I do I catch her eyes. They’re blue, like diamonds… an unusual shade, deeper than normal, as if there’s a depth to her character that just isn’t communicated in her outward demeanour. For a moment a flash, almost like recognition but more like déjà vu… I’ve never seen her before in my life.

They disappear around the corner and I’m left to stare at my coffee. I drink slowly and watched another world pass by. The streets clear as the champagne socialists hit the clubs. I pay the bill for a burger, fries and 3 cups of coffee and head back to the office.

She’s not going home to her parents home tonight, sneaking in and trying as she might to be quite while they fuck in her bedroom. The birthday party that they’ve been planning for the weekend will become a wake. The garbage men, or a homeless person looking for an out of the way place to sleep, will find her early the next morning.

Who can understand the manner in which fate lays out the cards? Is it a deliberate process like in a game of 500, choices made based on the desired outcome, or at “random” like a gypsy dealing out a tarot reading, creating a random daisy-chain of events? If a butterfly flaps its wings…? Jesus H. Christ… give me strength! All I know for sure is that she’s a cruel mistress with a sadistic sense of humour because it’s all too absurd to be anything but a universal joke at our expense. Bitch!

Case 0001

2007-09-21T08:56:00.000+10:00

Case Number: 0001
Type: Missing Persons
Clients: The Honourable & Mrs. Peterson
Case Status: Unsolved

They came to me late one summer afternoon. It was a Friday, around the time that the cafe districts were opening for the early diners out for a night of red wine and cinema. The heat was stifling and I would have killed to get out of the office and get a drink, but my options were limited; I needed the money.

It had been a couple of months since I’d opened my doors to the public, but no-one had come through. Now sitting before me was my first wind-fall, and they’re oozing the right sort of stuff… he’s a judge and she’s the trophy wife. Get this right and I’ll be set for life. Repeat business, flow on from their friends, rubbing shoulders with the rich and elite at the Christmas parties of thankful clients.

Why have they come to me? They could afford any firm that they want, one with real contacts, one that could afford morals. So why me? Sometimes the wealthy need a little discretion and discretion is my middle name. Well that and if I decide that I need to go public with their little “problem” they can always discredit a small-timer with no reputation, it’s a little harder to do when you hire a firm with a name and a reputation.

They told me that they’d come to me on a matter of up-most importance that also required the up-most discretion. I jokingly tell them that that’s my middle name. We laugh. The conversation turns serious quickly. It’s clear that they don’t like being here; my office is in the more “affordable” part of town and they’re way out of their comfort zone. Sure they like to slum it like the rest of the upper-class, but this is the real deal. Back-door dealings, pimps and pushers operating from the offices next-door, this is real and they’re out of their zone. They’ll never find anywhere quite like this!

Their daughter has gone missing and they want me to find her. A teenage run-away they say. No clues, no warning signs, no notes. Watch her step into the box *Poof* she’s gone. But, in this trick, when the magician opens the box again there is no happy returns.

No milk cartons, no posters, no cops. They don’t want a scandal, they just want me to locate her and let them know where she is. That’s how this one has to go down, it’s stipulated in the contract that he’s drawn up. It’s airtight and I hate it, but I need the cash and he needs my under-belly status. If I break any of the stipulations I loose my fee… Something about the case bothers me, but I sign. I ask them to bring in any personal effects that might have a clue…

Week 1:
Preliminary enquiries yield no results… it looks like she’s just fallen off the planet. There’s no chance of a TV appeal, it’s in the contract.

Week 2:
This case is going no-where fast, I need to get a look at her personal effects, so I go up to their residence on the other side of town. My clapped out MG looks so out of place among the new and shiny Porsches and Ferraris. They want me out of there fast, so they push me through the door to her room.

The place is a mess, nothing unusual for a teenager. A photo of a smiling family, photogenic like all “perfect” families should be. I spy her laptop beside the photo and decide to misappropriate both in the interests of the investigation. I fire it up and have a quick look at the contents of the hard-drive, but nothing stands out. Sighing I sit down on her bed and fall back, spreading my arms out and just taking a moment to slow the think.

My hand slides under her pillow and finds her journal. I pick it up, notice it has a lock and so quickly slip it inside my overcoat for later investigation.

I leave… Mrs. Peterson seems happy to see the back of me so she can get back to her Margaritas, it’s 10:00am but who am I to judge? She doesn’t even question me over the lap-top.

I take the diary and lap-top to a café to have a brunch. Bruschetta with buffalo mozzarella and latte to chase. When I finish eating I pull out the diary and a paper clip and quickly pop the lock open. Papers fall out all over table; mostly teen angst poetry, but as I gradually shift through everything, trying to keep it in order to return it to the file, I find an 8*10 glossy of a smiling boy in graduation gowns.

I light up a cigarette, inhale deeply and let the stream out slowly as the waitress brings me a long-black. The cogs are ticking slowly, there’s no moment of enlightenment so I turn back to the poems.

If only you and I could be,
Together,
Happy family,
My pain would slowly slide away…
Slide away…
Slide away…

But dreams were never meant to be,
And mine is no exception to the rule,
I’m just a fool,
A fool who once thought something could be…
Just a fool…
Just a fool…

But maybe, somewhere, hope remains,
A way,
For us to be, you and me…
Together…
Together…

Teenage run away… I look through the diary.

It’s not like I’m too young to make my own decision. Mum and dad still treat me like a child; they forget that I’ve grown up while they’ve been off building their public image. I’d be going away to college in a year anyway…

I flip over to the back to take a look at the address list. The usual list of school friends and acquaintances, favourite take-outs numbers and travel agents, one number stands out of place. A little motel in a town a few km’s down the road.

I take a drive, and decide to check in, making sure I get a receipt so I can claim the cost back as a case expense. I get the key to a room a couple of doors down. All I can find on the TV are bad tellie-movies so I decide to give the lap-top a closer look.

Her email is full of correspondence to friends, not yielding much more than the local gossip. As I scroll through the list I find one, the subject line citing the name of the motel. It’s addressed to a boy. I decide to hit a local bar.

A few bar-flies sit on stools, but it’s a little early for the 5pm rush. She’s working behind the bar; the boy is strumming Bryan Adams songs on a guitar on a make-shift stage, he can’t stop looking at her. She looks just like she does in the photo with her family, photogenic and happy. But something is different… I just can’t pick what it is.

I order scotch from the girl and go and sit at an open table near the back of the bar just listening to him sing. To him, she’s the only one in the bar; and she’s oblivious to the leers and jeers of the bar-flies because she can only hear him.

I check out of the hotel and drive back to the office. As I drive down the high-way I realise what was different… she’s genuinely happy. Not the fake happy of a family photo, but genuine happiness, she's found her reason, her meaning, and who am I to judge? I know what I have to do…

The club...

2007-09-14T16:06:00.000+10:00

No neon sign marks out the dingy basement; just a darkened doorway and a candle in the window to let those who know that they’re open. The banister beside the stairs is made of rotting wood and the stairs, constantly wet, are slippery making the descent into to club treacherous. The door is only ever open in those summer months when the humidity rises and the choice is to suffocate, it must be a sturdy door because you can only hear the music at street level on those days. It draws a few side-ways glances but rarely any extra patronage.

There’s always a girl sitting at a table in the centre of the room. Intermittently one will leave and a new one will come, but there’s always one there. Sometimes she wears jeans and a knitted jumper or t-shirt and other times she wears a summer dress, light and airy, that catches the breeze under the table. She sits opposite a man, probably a date, but maybe not, and she gazes at him adoringly while he talks on, seemingly oblivious to her adoration. You can tell it’s love by the look in her eyes, they’re not looking into the future or the past, they’re in the moment and she’s a million miles away, with him at her side. The decay around her doesn’t seem to bother her, because she doesn’t even notice it’s there; she’s too young, she still has a taste for living on the edge… she thinks it’s bohemian. Sometimes I wish I was in that guy’s position, beautiful woman hanging on every word. Maybe, sometimes, I am, I’m just too oblivious to notice.

When there’s no band, most nights of the week, the juke-box blares out a combination of broken-hearted blues and power-ballads from the 1980’s. Most of the bands do covers in a similar vein, giving the place a very comfortable feeling of heartache and alcoholism. At least it keeps us off the streets. Occasionally one of the bands will try something new and the patrons don’t mind, but the place almost inevitably returns to what it knows; this bar just doesn’t have the glamour factor that attracts new bands or the hot set.

I order a scotch on the rocks from the bar and some songs from the juke-box, find myself a seat with a good view of the area and I settle in to watch. Sometimes I watch the feet of people passing on the pavement, sometimes I watch those who come in. Mostly regulars, but occasionally someone new will be drawn in but the sound of music floating through the open door. I like to watch people: how they interact, the way they carry themselves, what they drink… A flaming red-head walks into the bar, and orders a drink from the bar-tender. She turns around and I think I see her sneaking a glance at me, out the corner of my eye. I’m never sure though, so I just wave shyly at her and leave it at that, quickly turning back to my scotch. I withdraw and watch the world passing me by.

I’ve played through the scenario in my head so many times. I walk up to her and sweep her off her feet with all the things I just can’t say to her. She gazes at me adoringly; like the girl in the middle of the room, the one who’s dancing with her date, a contented smile on her face and a “this one’s in the bag” grin on his. But unlike him I know how she feels, and I feel the same. We’re in the moment, but a million miles away, in the Mediterranean without a care in the world. Hopes, dreams and fears have all melted into the warmth of the moment, the warmth of the sun overhead. Nothing else matters: just that this moment never ends, that we hold each other while we watch the world closing in on itself.

In a flash the image is gone, the sun becomes the candle in the window again as the bar comes back into focus. Crowded House wafts from the juke-box… She’s laughing with someone else, up at the bar; she sneaks a glance again but I don’t notice, the dream has slipped away; once again the magic is gone.

It's late and I'm tired but I decide to head back to the office just to write... I don't know what, I just need to write to clear my head...