The glass door outside of the
office reads, “Private Investigator. Paul Irons, P.I.” Inside behind his
mahogany desk is Paul Irons. Paul is a rugged man. He has a perpetual 5 o’clock
shadow. He is well built. To round out the stereotype he has an oversized
detective’s rain coat in the drabbest color of them all, brown.
Suddenly as if a story were
unfolding, there was knock on the door. Paul Irons puts out his cigarette and
heads towards the door. He opens it and there is a blonde woman who looks like
her shirt is about to pop with heaving breasts the size of cantaloupes. Paul
knows what he would like to investigate.
Next Paul questions, why did the
doorman not call to let him know that a beautiful woman entered the building? Due
to an arrangement Paul has with the doorman he is supposed to inform him of all
attractive women entering the building. It gives Paul a chance to hide in case
of actually having to attempt to talk to one. Actually, Paul remembers he is
late on his monthly payment to the doorman, but that is still rude the doorman
knows he is good for it. He invites the damsel in and asks her to take a seat.
He believes the woman is a damsel but she could be a dame. The difference is a
damsel is in distress and is willing to sleep with you. A dame wants you to
work hard with no sexual reward. Usually the project is boring and dangerous.
They make for great TV shows.
Her first comment is, “I didn’t
know there was a graduate degree for being a PI.”
I informed her that those were my
initials. I put them after my name like my doctor, Matt Davidson, and my
accountant, Craig Paul Anderson. She seems assured with Paul’s answer. Although,
she looks like she is questioning her decision to show up here. If there was a
degree in Private Investigating, Mr. Irons would have it. He has studied all
the greats, Sherlock Holmes, Inspector Clouseau, and the Hardy Boys. From his
studies, he learned the secret to being a good detective which is: making grand
leaps and connections, lucking into the right answer, and having easy cases
that even a child could solve.
She asks me to find her old Private
Investigator, Dick Riddle. This sounds like a troubling project. Why would
someone need me to find their old Private Investigator? Usually when a Private
Investigator disappears it is for one of three reasons: they are dead, they
think the person that hired them is crazy and pretended to disappear, or they
time traveled.
The next curious thing is who goes
by Dick anymore? I know Dick is a nickname for Richard and that when my grandpa
was young it was okay to be called Dick. Nowadays if you hear someone called Dick,
it is because they almost drove into you. And that is more of, “Hey, you Dick!
I am trying to drive here.” And what Private Investigator would go by Dick
don’t they know how corny it is to be a Private Investigator or Private Dick called
Dick. The last name of Riddle must be made up. He probably believed he could
solve any riddle. Too bad he couldn’t figure out the riddle that this dame is a
trouble. This was clearly a fake name created by some hackneyed person trying
to be a detective.
Anyway I could bore you with the
details of the case like how she hired this detective to find out if her
husband was cheating on her then she fell in love with the detective. Suddenly,
this dame turns into a damsel. Then she spoke of the crazy things her and Dick
Riddle did during stakeouts, and she went quickly back to a dame. No, damsel
can be crazy. The mark of a good Private Investigator is knowing which
beautiful women are crazy. Hint, if they are in a Private Investigator’s office
they are crazy.
I start to ask her about this
mysterious Dick Riddle. She goes on to describe the Private Investigator as a
normal looking person with no distinguishing facial features. Then, the dame
informs me she has bad vision, but thinks glasses make her less attractive so
she doesn’t wear them. Also her husband’s face resembles that of a shoe but
since he is rich she has figured out a way to live with it. Thankfully she is
rich and has a driver chauffeur her around town otherwise this dame would be
deadly making her a broad. This dame is the unenviable combination of selfish,
shallow, and some other words that begin with an ‘s’ I can’t think of right now.
The one distinguishing feature she says he has is his penis is shaped like a
corkscrew. It makes for an embarrassing party trick when he opens a bottle of
wine. Now, she is starting to be helpful.
Then she informs me of what the
Private Investigator found out about her husband and his affair, which he was
having with his secretary, his maid, and his fitness trainer. At least he hit
all the clichés. I asked her if Dick Riddle provided proof of these affairs or
just told her that they were happening. He gave her photos which she gave to
me. They were images form a porn movie. All three guys are different. Maybe we
are all better off with Riddle not around anymore. Lastly, the dame informs me
that her husband has been missing.
I told her that she should go to
the police if her husband is missing and that I would look into her missing PI.
This is where the story becomes interesting. I am a Private Investigator who
can time travel (da na na). Sorry, that is the sound that goes off in my head
whenever I hear the word time travel (da na na). If you don’t like it then stop
reading my thoughts.
Since the case of the missing Dick was in my
hand, I figured I would crank this case out. This happened to be the easiest
case ever. By being a time travelling detective I have the ability to find
anyone. Also, I have the ability to recreate myself. I used to be Dick Riddle.
After I met this blind broad I figured I needed to disappear in a hurry so I
did. I am glad I ditched that name for Paul Irons. If you are curious to where
her husband is he went on a business trip to Europe. He even told her that. In
a few days, when she comes back I can tell her that Dick Riddle is lost forever
in the ethos of this planet. Things sure are easy for a time traveling Private
Investigator.
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