Newbie private detective, office squatter and wrinkled clothed Frank Bronski has his first gig as a client wanders into “his” office.
“Don’t you think It’s a bit chilly in here Mr. Bronski?”
“I apologize. I’ve, um, complained to the landlord but no action from them yet.
So what’s the gig?”
“Gig,” asked Desiree Simpson.
“I’m sorry. What would you like to hire me for?”
“Well I’m sure this is almost cliche for a man in your position but I think my husband, Steve is having an affair.”
“It is somewhat cliche but not to me. I won’t treat it as such.”
That’s actually the truth he thought. It’s not a cliche if it’s my first case. What’s a cliche in this instance are my thoughts,“why would a man cheat on this lovely dame”. I am definitely sure that’s been asked a million times in a million cities about a million dames and just in this year alone.
“Why do you believe your husband is having an affair?
“Oh the usual signs you hear about. Many late nights at the office. I can understand some late nights. We are fairly new in town so it’s a new job for him but every night is a little much. To add to that, friends have said they have seen him out an about when he said he was working late. On one occasion a friend said she saw him with another woman. She couldn’t explain why but thought there was something between them.”
“Well that seems worth investigating,”he said.
Because I don’t believe in jumping to conclusions but he seems guilty from the get go, he thought.
“So you think he may be having an affair?”
“During this part of the dance I try not to think and prefer to act on instinct and let my footwork lead. Early conclusions can cloud the truth.”
“You sound like a man of experience.”
Frank didn’t know if he should feel flattered or disappointed in her lack of judgement.
“I’m afraid of the outcome but I’d rather know than feeling perpetually uncertain.”
“Thats brave of you”
“Oh I don’t think it’s being brave if the alternative is to drive myself crazy.”
“Do you have a recent picture of your husband?”
She pulled a photo out of her handbag.
Frank expected a ruggedly handsome guy. Looking at the picture he decided he was half right.
The rugged part fit but rugged in the way a failed boxer looks after a career of blocking many punches with his face. He thought “Fooling around? He should be hanging on to her like grim death.
Somehow though he seemed familiar. Had he seen him around town?
Frank asked her some routine questions about where they lived, where he worked, places (ie bars) he hung out after work, who his friends were etc.
He diligently took notes until his hand stopped in it’s tracks.
“Oh, he doesn’t drink.”
“Recovering alcoholic?”
“No he just doesn’t drink.”
Hmm, something was definitely fishy about this guy but what did he care, it was his first Gig.
“Well I think that’s enough dope, uh information, to get started. I’ll be in touch.
“Thank you Mr. Bronski. I hope it will be good news.”
With that she spun on one heal and exited leaving the slight scent of lilac in her wake.
He never liked lilac until now. It usually reminded him of a nonagenarian dipped in it leaving church. But it gently draped Desiree Simpson and she barely wore it at all.
Image by pikisuperstar on Freepik
