Click
“Klondike Detective Agency. Klondike
speaking..”
“Ahem.”
“Yes. Is there something you’d like to
know?”
“The meaning of life.”
"Excuse me?"
"The meaning of life. My life to be more
specific."
"No you don’t understand, sir. "
"Actually, it’s madam."
"Madam?"
"Not that kind of madam. Just, well, you know. . . Maybe Ma’am is better.”
"You see we’re not that kind of agency.
We answer questions like 'Is your spouse cheating on you?' 'Did the guy in the red
Ferrari really get a whiplash?' 'Who’s stealing the petty cash money?' That sort of
thing.”
“I’m
not married. The bastard was already awarded the settlement, and Bertha was the one dipping into the petty cash."
“But”
"And a very generous settlement it was.”
"Ma’am, if you don’t actually have a
problem, there's nothing I can do for you.”
"But I do. You’re not listening. I have
to know the meaning of life. I need to know it by next Thursday."
"What happens on Thursday?"
"Bertha gets promoted. She's going to be my supervisor. So, I'll call you back tonight about eight o'clock. Okay?”
"What happens on Thursday?"
"Bertha gets promoted. She's going to be my supervisor. So, I'll call you back tonight about eight o'clock. Okay?”
"I can’t. . . "
Click.
I just hate to let a client down.
Klondike Detective Agency has a ninety sever per cent success rating.
Remarkable, actually. But this one can’t be solved.
So I did what any good detective would do.
I pulled out my Taro deck and dealt three cards - the fool,
six pentacles, and a cuppy knight.
Then I poured myself a single malt.
And another.
And another.
I switched on the TV and settled down
for a marathon run of “Gray’s Anatomy.” waiting for his - excuse me - her phone
call. The sound of the telephone jarred the nerve endings in my brain, and I knew exactly what I'd say to him - excuse me - her. I answered with a quick "hello."
She didn't bother with formalities; only one word, “Well?”
“You need a job.”
“No I don’t”
Not just any job. You need a job as a
detective. As my assistant. You can start tomorrow. Or next Thursday if you
prefer."
“I expect $120/hour and six weeks off every
year.“
"I can’t possibly. . ."
Click.
Molly's not the only one!
Signed,
Her human
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