It's been a while... some eclectic thoughts

Yeap. I figured this thing could use an update, since so many people have been linking to me, only to probably see the last few posts of a story that could have used a lot of work, and an update that's about 2 months old. Not that it's been much of an update either.

Been sick recently - I suppose it's the perfect accompaniment to the stress of having so many bullshit assignments to do. I don't know. Maybe it's the weather that gets everyone down in more ways than one. A lot of people aren't feeling too great, physically and emotionally. What can I do?

"You have to be a good guy, since there're way too many of the bad."

I love that line. It's from Preacher, which Kitten got for me for V-day. Another thing I probably should have blogged about, but oh well. Heh.

It's just a month of school left. I don't quite know how I'm going to spend the 2 months before I get indoctrinated. Which I'm not exactly looking forward to either.

I don't know about you, but strangely, despite all the things in life that should be dragging me down, I don't feel as down as many others are. Maybe I just don't think about it as much? Hard to say.

Like a scream, but sworn to silence.

Left foot, right foot... left foot.

It's the end of the world as we know it, but I feel fine.

part 12

Not again.

I couldn't help but feel a strong sense of deja vu as vision came swimming back. For the second time in recent memory I'd gone unconscious. A very annoying habit that I swore wouldn't have to continue. This time, though, I found myself at the business end of a high caliber firearm. The kind that took your hand off, and that's if you were holding the gun. As I shook the cobwebs from my brain, I noticed whose hand was holding the gun.

She laughed. Sent a shiver up my spine, and not in a good way. If I could find a way to describe the feeling I got from that laugh, it'd have been something like a rattlesnake's death rattle.

"Welcome back."

"Woulda preferred to stay asleep if you don't mind."

"I think we can accede to that request."

I saw her finger tighten around the trigger. Crying out, I dove behind a counter and cursed as I landed badly, twisting my ankle.

"Don't."

I stiffened as I heard the voice. It was... Rancini?

"Yuh pull the tregguh and the cops'll be onnis place like i'wuhs nuthin'."

"Yes, sir."

This development was too much. Nothing made sense anymore. At first, I'd suspected Bouchard had dropped in from out of town, working for some rich consortium. Then I find out she'd worked for Rancini before, but skipped town when they fell out. Now this servant-boss thing had my mind in boy scout knots. I needed, no, HAD to get to the bottom of this. That is, if I lived.

"You can come out now, Mr. Garrett. Hands up. Mr. Rancini wants you alive."

Putting my hands behind my head, I'd have to comply if I wanted to learn anything. Standing up slowly, I met the steely, gaze of Bouchard, followed by the blank, yet menacing, glare of Rancini. Rancini spoke first.

"Garrett."

"Rancini."

"Glad you could make it."

"Yeah, I- wha?"

"Shocked, aren't you? Things aren't always what they seem, wouldn't you agree?"

"I've... had occasion to find that out for myself. Anyway, what the hell is going on?"

Rancini laughed. Now that he wasn't what he'd seemed, he was a lot scarier. Of course, a stunted old man wasn't too scary to begin with. Now that he was standing, well... I'd forgotten what a big man he was.

"A miracle of science. You remember when I became half-paralyzed, don't you? Turns out I'm all better now. Had the finest surgeons in the country flown in to fix me."

"But... when? And why continue to put up a sham?"

"My.... empire was beginning to crumble. Small timers like Louie Two Fingers, the Russian mob, moving in on MY territory. This city is MINE! I built it from the ground up, and I'll be damned before I let others take it from me! They all thought I was weak, my... disability hampering my ruthlessness. No more! I gotta take back what's rightfully mine, and crush anyone who tries to defy my law! Yes, their complacency'll be their undoing. They'll never know, like bugs on your shoe, until the moment they die - until it's too late."

Rancini had quite thoroughly snapped. It was like he was speaking out of cliche, like all big villains gripped in-the-throes-of-madness do.

"But why involve me?"

Rancini glared at me, as if angry that I'd interrupted his lengthy ranting. Then his features softened, and he grinned.

"Theo Garrett, best and only detective in Lost Haven. Gets where no man can. Where no man has gone before! I needed you, and I have my daughter to thank for that." Then, almost maniacally, he smiled. "You're the example I'm going to make to the rest of them."

He raised his gun. Everything happened in a blur of motion. Rancini's finger tightened around the trigger, but before it could fully depress it, Bouchard spun, and aimed her own gun at his head.

A gunshot.

When the figurative smoke cleared I found her standing over Rancini's body. What was left of Rancini's head was staining the carpeted floor. A pool of blood slowly spread out, and was slowly absorbed.

"Is.. is it true? What he said?"

"About me being his daughter? Yes. I mean, no. I mean... a long time ago. I might have meant something to him once."

"What happened?"

She smiled, sadly.

"You weren't paying attention, were you? Him and his stupid empire. At first I'd thought that once he had control of the city he'd ease up, treat me like I was actually family. But it never happened." She looked almost wistful as she continued. "So I left. Naturally, he wanted to control everything in his life and didn't allow me to go. I... I-"

Faintly in the background, sirens began to scream. "I... I understand. Cassandra. I... you'd best be leaving. Flee. Get out of the country, don't come back."

"No, you don't! With Ranci- my father dead, the power vacuum will be too large to fill! The city will erupt with in-fighting, and-"

The sirens sounded like they were about ten blocks away now. We'd have to get out of there quick.

"Cassandra! This isn't the time for reflection! Move!"

She snapped back to attention, surprised. Whatever she was thinking on the inside, she managed to hide for the moment. She fled for the fire escape. I watched her shrink out of view, then made my own way down. I ducked into an alley, just as the police came around the corner. It was over.

Epilogue

I stood on my balcony, savouring the metropolitan air. The television set droned in the background.

"-nd with crimelord Rancini's death, the city of Lost Haven has become a warzone. Today, eleven people were ki-"

It was the same news about Lost Haven since I'd left. That was about 2 months ago to the day. Screw them.

I sat back on my deckchair and rummaged around in my cooler for a beer. As it opened with a pop and a fizzle, some foam surged up and spilt over. Didn't matter, the cleaning lady'll handle that.

The sun rose over a beautiful skyline. I took a swig, and toasted the morning.

The End.

part 11

The elevator doors slid soundlessly open. The air here felt different, like stepping out of a steambath. Felt... cleaner. Unconsciously, I caressed the holster at the side of my leg, not knowing what to expect. Stepping out of the elevator, I wasn't surprised at seeing Bouchard standing there waiting for me. She reminded me of a Porsche - sleek, sexy and ultimately hazardous to your health, if you didn't know what you were doing.

"Why Mr. Garrett, what brings you here?"

"Social visit. Wanted ta see if you were staying here while you were in the Haven."

I couldn't let her know I was onto her scam. No telling what details I could miss out on if her guard was up. It was chilling how innocent she looked, but was capable of more malevolence than she let on.

"How very nice, Mr. Garrett. Would you care for a drink?"

"Bourbon, if you got it. No ice."

"Sounds very strong, Mr. Garrett. You sure about that?

"Just oiling the machine, Cass."

She disappeared behind the bar of the penthouse suite. Never realised how much opulence and extravagance this suite had. I made a mental note to sneak in more often, just to forget the stark contrast to the city. I sat down at the table. Carved out of mahogany, with a shimmering sheen to it. I let out a low whistle as I marvelled at the place.

Bouchard reappeared, carrying two glasses and a familiar, welcome sight - A big bottle of the good stuff. This was the kind of thing I treated myself to when I had cash. This stuff was the out-of-town stuff - It'd been a long time since I'd even seen a bottle of it, let alone buy one.

"You've got good taste." I said, managing to take my eyes off the bottle.

"Good taste? It's the only taste I know!" She laughed and set a glass in front of me. Through it, I noticed how warped and distorted everything seemed through it. It made me think about how easily manipulated anyone could be, given the right circumstance and material to do it with. I wasn't an exception at any rate. Bent over backwards like a Slinky for cash. It was downright embarassing, is what it was.

She poured some bourbon into first my glass, then hers. Clinking our glasses together, I gulped down my shot of bourbon and poured another. Bouchard sipped at hers delicately.

"So, Mr. Garrett, how is the case going?"

"It's... fine. Got a lead I'm working on right now."

"I'd love to hear about it, M-"

"Theo, please."

"Haha, Theo it is then. Enjoying your drink?"

I was beginning to feel drowsy. Her words were getting drowned out, began to boom. Soon, all I saw was black.

part 10

I don't know what I expected when I opened the suitcase. Maybe for the money to be gone, replaced with stacks of blank paper. Maybe torn-up, specks of decomposed paper that used to be money. So when 2 and a half million dead presidents stare back up at you, you can't do much but smile. The money was still here.

I had to find Bouchard. The when was now, the why for revenge. Where was the tricky one. Where to start? I looked back at the card she'd given me. Staring at it as if for some divine inspiration. Damn it. Well, if I wasn't the stupid one. She'd have to stay at the Hotel. It was the only place someone like her'd consider decent. The only problem I should conceivably have was finding her room. It was a small enough place that even trial and error wasn't a bad way to go.

Some time later I stood outside the Hotel. It wasn't that I was lazy or didn't bother to find the name. It really was called "The Hotel". Leave it to Lost Haven residents for the creative names. An ugly mass of neon letters composed the Hotel's name. Of course, several letters were shorted out, leaving a blinking sign that said "heel" instead. Appropriate, in a way. On the wall around the corner some hoodlums had made their ugly mark the only way they could. Graffiti wasn't uncommon in these parts. Some time ago the mayor announced a campaign to clean up all the graffiti, but it reappeared as soon as it was gone. Uglier, louder, messier. The door groaned in protest, almost as if protesting actually having to work properly. If anything, the Hotel was nicer on the inside. Then again, considering what it had to start with, that wasn't really saying much at all. Somehow ugliness had a way of attracting itself. The receptionist was snoring away in some corner, leaving the guest book in the open, but more importantly, unwatched. I was right on both counts. Bouchard WAS here.

Penthouse suite. Somehow I considered that ironic. If it was a confrontation I was after, at least it'd be done with nothing to hide. Surrounded by open air. Nothing to hide.

Stepping in the lift felt like putting my head on the gullotine block. Whatever happened would be at least one of two things: Life changing, and irreversible. Outside, the wind howled with a fury I'd never seen. Nothing was stopping me, though. One way or another this was going to end.

part 9

My head whirled, making the headache even worse. As the gorilla in my cranium grew to King Kong proportions, I got the rest of the sordid story from Rancini. Bouchard was working for Rancini a year back. She quit under uncertain circumstances, but not before putting a bullet into Rancini's spine, freezing his body in the delightful, twisted way it is. Bouchard disappeared until recently, when she reappeared in Rancini's trophy room and liberated the Esprit. Bouchard finds me having breakfast the day after. My headache reached levels hitherto and untracked by Man.

Back in my office, I pondered. Who was Bouchard working for? Why did she turn on Rancini? And the million dollar question, Mr. Philbin, was why she offered me money to track down something she already had? The only logical thing for someone to do was to try to get something for as little as possible. Even... something for nothing. Was all I was for was a simple distraction? Maybe she wanted to get me distracted so I focused all my attention on tracking the artifact, and none on the client. Classic. Maybe even hire me before Rancini did. All I knew was the chessboard pieces were scattered again. Pawns to queens, and crippled kings, whereas I was, and still remained, a pawn.

A shrill ring shattered my reverie. It was Phelps.

"Got summin' for ya Theo."

"Can't hurt to hear it I guess."

"Huh?"

"Just shoot."

"Oh, uh, right. This Cassandra Bouquet-"

"Bouchard."

"Whatever. She usedta work for the Rancini mob."

"I know, and?"

"Doncha get pissy with me Garrett. I hang up now and you're hung out to dry."

He had a point. I'd come to the stage where I let my anger at being used be shown for all to see. I needed to regain composure, or the case would just fall apart.

"I-I'm sorry Morgan. Go on."

"Right. Anyway she disappeared 'bout a year back, think she skipped town or summin, weird shit like that. Anyway, get this: she was some kinda researcher or a scientist."

"What's so special about that?"

"Ah, 'ccording to this she was about ta develop summin' new. Instantly-degradable plastics, it says here."

"That... that makes a whole lotta sense Morgan. Thanks."

"Actually if you ask me it don't, really. I mean, plastic's wunna those things that ain't s'posed to break down or summin' like that right? Right?"

I let the dialtone answer his question. I had to check. I ran over to the suitcase Bouchard had left the other day, tucked into the corner of the room. I hid it with the luggage, thinking it'd be more camouflaged that way. With trembling hands, I slowly slid the tumblers into place. With my hands shaking as they were, it took me the better part of a minute to get all three into the right combination. The case sprung open, and I damn near had a heart attack.

(sorry for the late entry. was really busy last night.)

part 8
I was creeping around the outside of Rancini's house when the world went black. At first I thought the moon had denied me its last shred of light, or that I was creeping further and further into darkness. Me opening my eyes told me I was wrong on at least the first count.

Rancini's ugly mug loomed in, and I wished I was knocked out again.

"Wha' ya doon ou'side m' house, Garrett? Yuh wan' yuh shuh die or somethin'?"

My head throbbed. Had a headache the size of a gorilla, and the monkey wanted out. The stench emanating from Rancini's mottled lips and teeth wasn't making it much better.

"Aaaah, god.. whaddya hit me with?"

"Whaddit mattuh?"

"Nothin', nothin', just curious. I gotta golf club sized lump on my head from what it feels like."

"Whatevuh makes yuh feel bettuh, Garrett... But yuh wunn be feeling bettuh anytime soon if yuh dunn tell me wha' ya' doon on muh lawn."

"Would you believe I was lookin' for somethin'?"

"Iss nadda first time, Garrett."

"Might not be the last time too."

"Wha' ya lookin' fuh now?"

"Espirit de Renard... heard of it?"

Rancini flinched, and I knew I hit a nerve. They called Rancini the unfeeling man, not only because of his ruthlessness in doing... business, but also because he literally couldn't feel. The entire left side of his body was stiff like me waking up with a hangover, and that contributed to his unique articulatory traits. Not to say his tennis game was a pushover, at the very least.

"Iss guhn, Garrett. Guht stolen."

Now there was news I didn't want to hear. I felt like I finally had things in my grasp, only for things to slip away again. And again. Somehow I felt life was a twisted mirror of myself, distorting and shifting once I thought I had things under control.

"Any idea who took it?"

Any weakness in Rancini's demeanour vanished. His features hardened, even more than I thought possible.

"B'shard."

part 7

I decided I needed to make a house call. I stood outside the gates to Rancini’s house, I was on the outside, looking in. I despised Rancini and what he stood for. His beautiful life acquired through ugly means, his house built on the backs of broken men. Usually I stayed out of his way, and he out of mine. Though maybe he thought me nothing to get worried about at all. I figured that even if Rancini didn’t have the Espirit, he’d know where I could find it. And who I’d have to get it from. I wasn’t in the business of museum robbery. Figured something with that kind of reputation would go to someone’s head, just another trophy locked up and admired in someone’s cabinet. And then a new trophy is acquired, and the other one is forgotten. I’d seen it all before.

I vaulted over the wall, landing behind some bushes. The grass rustled beneath my feet, whispering silent warnings to those who would care to listen. The clouds shrouded my movement, denying all but the most persevering the faintest sliver of light. I had to make my way to the house silently, and lemme be the first to tell you that’s not an easy thing to do.

You need to start walking on your heel, then slowly roll your foot from the back to the front, on the ball of your feet Anyone who’s seen this being done or has done it before can tell you: You look like a damn fool doing it.

With regards to human companionship, I was pretty much as good as alone. A lifetime of solitude and preference for the bottle pretty much helped in that regard. As much as the loneliness hurt, I had my own companion by proxy. I called her Ender.

She was my trusty revolver. I removed her from her leather bed and held her hand delicately yet firmly. I called her Ender for a reason. As much as I ached for the companionship, I never fired her. Every time you pull that trigger, every time you end someone’s life, a piece of you dies too. Every bullet fired ebbs away at your soul, until there’s nothing left but animated flesh.

I held her tightly as I inched my way to Rancini’s.

Author's note: decided to update the story every Monday. Don't bother checking daily for updates.

part 6

The person on the other line was Morgan Phelps, big kahuna of cops in Lost Haven. He used to be my partner when I was on the force, and he used to look up to me. Now it's my turn to look up to him, and all I get are nosebleeds whenever I try.

"Hey, Phelps."

"Theo. What'dya want?"

"Guy can't call to catch up wit' their old partner?"

"Get to da point, Theo. I'm busy."

"Right, right, fine. Need a favour from you. It's really urgent."

"I'm busy here. Hurry the hell up."

"Need to find out more about this dame who gave me a case today."

"What kinda case? Briefcase?"

"No, a job. Listen, you got anything on a Cassandra Bouchard?"

"Sounds classy. Like French or something."

"Yeah, I figured. When can I get this?"

"Soon as it's done, Theo. Bye."

The phone slammed down on the receiver, leaving in its wake a series of monotone. Outside, the rain had stopped. Down on the street, the people slowly resumed their routine, like ants from a hill. Never stopping to pause for breath or a refresher. Above, the sun shone, just like it did everyday. And in my office, as always, I was clueless. I pulled open the grime-streaked window for a breather and winced a little. Sunlight hurts the eyes of those not used to it. If nothing else, I needed a breath of fresh air. Down on the street, Rancini's boys were roughing up the cornershop owner, while the other ants continued on, following the path of the other ants before them.

You know how everything seems clearer after it rains? The rain washes away all the smog and the dust, and for a while it seems like a new day.

Rancini, the local crime magnate. He was a hard man, and that same policy oozed through in his boys. The family never did anything the soft way. Among other things, Alberto Rancini was a liar, a cheat, and a lousy husband. For all his influence, he never did realise his wife was sleeping with about twenty guys around town.

More importantly, though, he collected antiques.

Rancini was the key.

part 5

“You’re kidding, right?” The look on his face told me he wasn’t. Jimmy was a lot of things. Most of them would get him beaten up by less tolerant folks. But you could always tell when he was dead serious. Ah hell, I hate puns. His eyes and lips set in a grim stare.

“Theo, where’d you come across something like this? Normally this kinda thing is way over your head.”

”It’s part o’ the job. And hey, thanks for the vote of confidence. Really. I needed that. Now you gonna tell me about this thing or what?”

“Oh, oh, right. The Esprit de Renard used to be the property of Hunter Renard, the guy was some kinda high-profile thief or somesuch. Some kinda lucky charm I think. Then I don’t know how it goes but ‘parrently the amulet’s cursed, bad things been happenin’ to those who got hold of it. You ask me this Hunter fella don’t want nobody touchin’ his old lucky charm.”

Now, I wasn’t really one for this Mother Goose crap. Fairy tales were for kids and people who didn’t know they were kids. You ask me, most of this ghost, or curse hoodoo was made up by people who wanted their fifteen minutes of semi-obscurity. Say what you want, but to me real mysteries are why people can’t stay married, why no one cares about the everyman’s suffering. Tell me why that happens and I’ll probably die happy. Then again, probably not. But at least it answers questions.

I thanked Jimmy for his help. He responded by slamming the door in my face. Can’t fault the man for hospitality. Above, it started to rain. Raindrops splattered to the surface like dreams shattering when you wake up. It was bitingly cold. Elsewhere, a young couple ran for shelter as the rain came pelting down. A hobo cowered under his flimsy cardboard shelter as what was left of his protection crumbled around him. I turned up the collar of my coat and walked back in the rain.

Somehow the rain managed to mirror what I thought inside. I was being paid millions to recover somebody’s trinket. Not that it was very hard to find – you gotta know the right people first. But it was the reputation that bothered me. Jimmy’d told me about all the guys who’d gotten their hands on the Esprit de Renard. One died, his car swerved into a tree. Another fell out of an open window. Yet another drowned. The last one went insane. Some track record. Who was Bouchard to the Esprit and why did she want it?

It was still raining as I got back to the office. I shook the rainwater off my coat and tossed it on the chair.

I made a phone call.

part 4

The bell above the door tinkled as I trudged my way inside Jimmy Hannigan's shop. Figures the coin landed the way I was hoping it wouldn't. But that's me. Jimmy Hannigan was a friend of mine, or what passed as friends nowadays. Still, he was one of the only people in this town who I didn't feel instant animosity towards. Jimmy ran a business, though maybe not quite the business that most people'd be accustomed to.

He glanced up at me from above his newspaper.

"Get outta my shop."

"Come on, Jimmy. Can't a guy drop by to see a friend?"

"Some friend. What'd I tell you about coming back here after what you pulled with my wife?"

"I told ya, Jimmy, she came onto me! What's a guy gotta do?"

"Her? Come onta you? HAW!"

Jimmy didn't have the greatest tact in the world, but he had a heart of gold. At least, I like to think he did, it just made his personality a lot easier to stomach.

"C'mon Jim, I really need your help this time."

"You always 'really need' my help everytime, Theo. What's it this time? You need money? Booze? What?"

"I got lost things that need finding Jim, you're my man for these kinda things."

"Oh, you finally got a job, didja? What'choo gotta do? Find a lost puppy? Petshop's down the road, Theo!"

Jimmy burst out laughing, though I felt like making him burst in another kinda way. The kind that involved lead plugs and leaking bodies. But he was a friend, dammit. An important one. And I wasn't in the habit of plugging friends. Not even moronic ones. Regardless, I reached into my coat. Jimmy flinched a little. He was a good man, fought in the Great War. But thing about wars is it makes you jittery like a cat on cocaine. He'd had his fair share of being plugged once or twice, though not enough to kill him. I'm still convinced the lead did something to his brain, you don't go through something like that and survive with all your marbles.

I pulled out a stack of paper and tossed them onto the table. Jimmy visually relaxed, then took a long hard look at the papers as if sizing it up for prey.

"What's this?"

"With luck, a big fat paycheque."

He took up a stack of the papers and furrowed his brow as he concentrated. Finally, after what seemed like forever he glanced back up at me.

"You know what this is?"

"Was hoping you'd tell me."

"The Esprit de Renard, you fool. You know what it is?"

"Ah... nope."

"It's DEATH!"

To be continued

part 3

I sat back in my chair in disbelief. The chair groaned, and inwardly so did I. To hell with the chair, I thought to myself. I could buy hundreds of goddamned chairs. I could live somewhere else with this kinda payout. Somewhere nice. And I didn’t even have to lift a finger, I coulda just taken the money and run off somewhere. But I was thinkin’.

Seems the dame had some expectations, for me to find the things she wanted. Now, I figured that if she had the cash to throw around like that, she had ways to make sure I played ball. Seemed less and less like she’d just come into the money to me. I could run away with the money. But something told me that if I did I wouldn’t live to spend it all. Didn’t help that I had something which most of this city didn’t have, an odd reversal of the norm. I had morals, I had standards. Kinda explained my current situation. But I’d rather die poor without guilt than rich and scummy. Which was why I was an idiot.

I looked over the broad’s name card. Cassandra Bouchard. Didn’t recognize the name. Could be an alias. I flipped the card over and over idly in my hand while my mind wandered. I’d need to grill my sources on this one. Normally I hated calling in favours but I figured since I got presidents behind me, I had more power than I usually did. I sighed, and pulled the stack of paper out from the envelope again.

I started to look over it again, just like I had the last four times. I stopped. Already knew what the gig was about, and all the pieces on the chessboard – why was it bothering me that I didn’t know who the players were? I couldn’t stand unanswered questions.

Who were ‘they’?

I stood up from my chair and shuffled over to the window. Streaked with grime and caked with dust, it’d seen its fair share of hell. I couldn’t bear to clean that window. Would’ve felt too much like painting this shitty city up in makeup and giving it high heels. I didn’t like living in Lost Haven and I didn’t make a secret of it. Which was why I was tempted to take up the job – 5 million would let me live comfortably in somewhere nice and classy. Like Manhattan.

Like a kid’s mother, though, I wasn’t comfortable with things that I didn’t know where they came from. Call me paranoid. But I had a habit of looking in the mouths of gift horses. I sighed, again. Did it really have to come down to this? I made a choice the only way I knew how.

I flipped a coin.

To be continued

part 2
In walked trouble, brunette as usual. She walked – or rather, glided into the room. The kind of broad that made you sit up and then some, but that’s not saying much, especially for me. Wasn’t that I didn’t want to. Despite all that she was the innocent, rich kind, the type whose shit smells like roses. Black dress. Funeral, or one of those classy broads. Red leather purse. Gaudy enough to tell me that she just came into money. No classy dame would wanna be seen with that thing, I knew. Suitcase… Holiday? I could tell this would be a good day.

“I was in the area and I saw your sign. Are you a detective?”

“You don’t look the type to just drop by, missy. And the door coulda told you just fine.”

“Haha! They said you were a witty one.”

”Who’re they?”

She ignored my question and went straight for the crux of the matter – no one ever had a sense of humour anymore. Makes me wonder why I bother.

“I need you to find something for me. I’m told you’re good at that sort of thing?”

“Yeah? That the same ‘they’ you were talking about?” Before she got the chance to offer the witty rebuttal they all seemed to like giving, I continued.

“Look. I’m a busy man here… I ain’t got time ta look for whatever it is you lost. Call lost and found or something, yeah?”

“Busy enough to doze off in your chair? Look, Mr. Garrett, I’m very willing to make this worth your while.”

Maybe the realisation that she’d caught me napping stung me. Maybe it was the ‘worth your while’ comment. Or something else. All I knew was that she was right, I had nothing better to do, so it was down to playing findsman. I HATE playing findsman. But then again, I also hated eating leftover Chinese. Left a bad taste in my mouth. Wasn’t the only thing.

“How much?”

“How fast can you finish the job?”

“Depends on my motivation.”

The suitcase sprang open, and I decided maybe findsman wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

“I am prepared to offer you 5 million dollars, Mr. Garrett. Half now, half upon completion. The details of the job are included inside the case. Have a good day, Mr. Garrett, and I hope to hear from you soon.”

Just like that, the chick was gone. Reminds me of my last relationship. Make that only relationship. Details.

Details. I dug through the suitcase and found a manila folder tucked underneath a wad of bills. An array of photos and text greeted me as I opened it up, looked pretty open and shut to me. So why get me to do the dirty work? Looked pretty foolproof, but then again fools had a rep for defying expectations. Then I got to the gist of it.

To be continued

part 1

The sun rose with practiced bravado.

That made two of us. I staggered off the couch and towards the liquor cabinet for some breakfast. My head throbbed like I'd gone ten rounds with Tyson, or maybe ten shots of cheap tequila. Looking over at the clock I realised that I'd been asleep the whole of yesterday. Not like I'd missed anything important though, life had a way of going on without me. I downed the most important meal of the day, grimacing at the rancid, cheap, vodka burning its way down my gullet. I looked back at myself, empty, distorted, and fragile. Mostly empty, though. Story of my life.

I tossed the bottle in the trash and sat down in my chair. The ceiling fan spun lazily around, doing nothing more than blowing hot air back down at me. In case I hadn't been blowing my trumpet enough, my name was Theo, Theo Garrett, private eye. That is, I would be one if I could get a case. Right now the only case I was interested in was one filled with my friend, JD.

The door rang, springing a spark of false hope that the sign on the door wouldn't be a lie after all.

To be Continued

Heh. Been way too lazy to update.

Found some awesomely trippy sites over the past couple weeks.

http://www.weebls-stuff.com/

^_^

And http://www.ritsumei.ac.jp/~akitaoka/saishin-e.html will make your brain hurt, or your eyes melt. One of those.

www.addictinggames.com for all your boredom curing needs.

You are a noble warrior.
You belive there is no true evil, and that everyone
can turn onto the good side. You spare your
enemies when they admit defeat. You fight with
a passion. You save those in need, and put
their saftey first. You use a long sword, and a
shield.


What type of Swordsman are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Fight with honor, fight for justice!

... And stuff.

HW's guide to surviving SIP:

1. Skive at every possible opportunity.

Skiving is of course the best way to cure stress, fatigue, and pesky notions of working hard. Pick a spot somewhere secluded while you don't have any duties assigned. If possible move a couch there so as to ensure ease of skiving and maximise skive potential. Have a stash of snacks and food there in case you're snowed in and have to survive for 3 days before help arrives.

2. Get to know your co-workers.

Getting to know your co-workers is yet another vital step. Familiarising yourself with them is the best way to go, in case you're forced to skin one of them to survive in arctic temperatures. A big man is better for this than a small woman, though you can fashion weapons out of her bones to fend off predators. Also, getting to know them helps in finding people who sympathize with your plight and are willing to swear allegiance to you.

3. See the outside world as often as you can.

Seeing birds and the sun is far better than seeing dust mites and that flickering fluorescent light over your head that just won't stay lit. Also, getting fresh air just means that you breathe less of the hallucinogens that they pump through the central air-conditioning system. Beat the system!

4. Cherish your off days and free time.

Every hour that you spend free is one less hour for them to twist your mind and turn you into a finely tuned killing and filing machine. Also, free time away from the office is a chance to plan your escape and break free without their video monitors spotting you and sounding the alarms.

5. Remember the law of inverses.

The more you enjoy your time, the faster your SIP will seem to pass, and the greater chance that they'll hire you again, sending you back to square one. Of course, when you do go back to school you'll just wish you were at work again, where you 'didn't have to do no dang projects and homework'.

Remember, either way, you can't win!

King Crimson - Walking on air

Close your eyes and look at me
I'll be standing by your side
In between the deep blue sea
And the sheltering sky
If we find no words to say
To the rhythm of the waves
Then we'll both surrender there
Walking on air

And the worries of the day lie down

Under cover of the fading clouds
The secrets of the night
Come alive in your eyes
You don't have to hurry
You don't have to try
Cause you don't have a care
You're walking on air

Haven't really been doing much that warrants a blog entry. So we'll sing instead!

Another 10 reasons why I love you:

1. You're wonderfully kind and caring.

2. We're too similar.

3. You love animals

4. You go out of your way to treat me like a king

5. You've shown me many new experiences, opened me up to newer possibilities

6. You love food =p

7. You don't mind when I call you

8. You make me feel loved and important

9. You always surprise me day to day

10. I just do.

I feel pretty tired. Pretty much settled into work, is that what's brought on the fatigue? Resigned self to spending another.... *checks donut of misery* 139.97 days to go on SIP. Missed CCN day today because of a last minute job, too. Gragh! At least I get to spend next Tuesday with kitten... I hope. Must check the schedule when I get to work tomorrow. Speaking of which, I have the dubious distinction of having to work this weekend, while everyone else is enjoying the off day. Sigh. Must not let that get me down! I guess off days are off days in the end though.

Been feeling lethargic lately. Probably the early mornings, I'd say... Ah well. It's National Day tomorrow. What does that mean? To me it's just another day. I've pretty much lost track of normal week times, now it's either "working day" or "not working day". Heh.

Upside is that I've been seeing kitten everyday so far this week ^_^ Thanks love, I don't know how I'd have made it through without ya! You bring this joy to my life that nothing else can quite live up to. Also, I've been a shrink to a couple of friends - who turn away feeling lots better and praise me later for it =p
The doctor is in!