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Edited on Sat Oct-20-07 01:49 AM by Gilligan
.... it was going to be a long, dry day. I stared out the window, nothing out there for me but hot asphalt and a two dollar beer. I've been called a lot of things but I think my favorite moniker is rat bastard nosy prick. You got to have a pretty thick skin to do my job. It was early in the afternoon, I knew I shouldn't but I opened my favorite drawer and pulled out a bottle and poured myself a shot. As if it knew, just to break up the mind numbing monotony, the phone rang. It screamed and demanded to be paid attention to like a bull terrier. The voice on the other end was low and salty, she didn't mince words; "I want someone to find out who my husband is screwing, I hear you are the man for the job." She must have heard about me being a rat bastard nosy prick. I took out a smoke and lit up, pulled a long drag and told the dame, "I charge $50 a day plus expenses, half due up front. I need a recent picture and a list of people, places and suspects. There was barely a heartbeat of a pause, "Do you have time to see me tonight? I need a drink." I got all covered in goosebumps, this babe was speakin' my language.
I passed the time by wadding up scrap paper and seeing if I could hit the trash can and how many times in a row I could make it without missing. By the time 5:30 rolled around I was ready to play center for UCLA. Los Angeles is a big city and big cities can get mighty lonesome. I lit up a half smoked cigarette grabbed my cheap knock off Brooks Brothers jacket and pulled an almost toothless comb through my hair. I could hear that drink callin' may name. I took the short walk, 4 blocks to Musso and Franks, a bit uppity for my likes but that's where the lady wanted to meet, besides I was pretty sure she would pick up the tab and I was up for that since I was 2 weeks behind in rent. I had to walk through a dining room to get to the bar, yeah, it's that kind of place. Waiters wearing white shirts, black slacks with Italian accents. In this town, they could all be fake Italian's but that's Hollywood for you. I elbowed my way through the happy hour crowd and that's when I saw her. My jaw hit the floor and I was quick to pick it up. She was all woman and she fit into that black dress like a snake fits into its own skin. She wore a little black hat with black net just covering those big, brown eyes. That little hat sat on a pretty head and that head sat on some kind of body you are lucky to just breath next to. She put out her hand and introduced herself, "Hello, I'm Allison, Allison Merryweather. Even her name was built great.
We grabbed a booth off the bar and a cocktail arrived just as we sat down. Allison had already ordered. Was this dame perfection or what? What kind of a numbskull would leave this to screw something else. The martinis were dry and each had 2 olives. She picked one out of her drink and I felt sort of funny as she smiled and popped it into that mouth of hers. "Here you go. I think this will do, there are several pictures of Robert, my husband and a list of all the places he stops at regular like and the addresses. As far as suspects? I have no clue. That's why I called you." her bottom lip trembled just a little when she said "my husband." I wanted to grab this Robert character and shake some sense into him
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