I have to pay the rent.
No, I am not complaining, per se. Everyone pays rent or a mortgage, or whatever.
That’s life. But I have to pay rent AND I am a Private Investigator.
It’s a shit job. But, beggars can’t be choosers. I want to work in Law Enforcement and since the FBI door slammed shut (my fault, I know), well, it’s better than waiting tables.
I wish I had a patron, like on Magnum P.I. But that’s a total fantasy.
This is more like Rockford. Shitty trailer and no one pays their bills. Only, I don’t live in a trailer.
I had to move out of Seattle proper. Thanks Amazon. WAY too expensive.
Sea-Tac is a dive but it’s cheap. And it’s close to the city. Not that I ever get much work IN the city. I seem to get mostly divorce cases.
Which I hate. No one wants to hire a P.I. because it means the end of something sacred. And guess who gets to be the bad news messenger?
Yep. This gal.
Bad news means grumpy clients. Grumpy clients are not too happy when the bill comes. Then come the excuses. Blah Blah.
So, this sucks.
Then the phone rings.
Landline. I never give my cell to a client.
“Hello? Bobby Kwan.”
“Um, hi.” A meek voice.
“Is this Bobby Kwan, the Private Investigator?”
“Yes.” I just said that I was.
“Oh, you’re a woman.”
I get this all the time. Bobby. I get it.
“Yep. I’m a woman.”
“Sorry, I just got confused for a moment. My name is Maggie. Maggie Johnson.”
“What can I do for you Maggie?”
“Do you handle missing persons cases?”
I didn’t expect that.
(don’t get excited, don’t get excited)
“Ahem, yes. I most certainly do.”
“Oh, thank GOD. Um, how much do you charge?”
Well, it was good while it lasted.
“Well, tell me some details and I can. . .”
“NO! I don’t have time. He’s missing, and I am terrified!”
“Ok, Ok. It’s alright. $250 a day plus expenses.”
(told you it was just like Rockford)
Here it comes.
“Oh, thank GOD.”
“No, it’s just, WOW, you are SO much cheaper than. . .well, never mind, that’s great. So, you’ll take the case?”
Hang on. Cheaper? Than who?
“Yes, I’ll take the case.”