Part I - Where in hell is Sataneous Demoneous?
Whatever possessed me to decide to become a Private Eye for Hire back then when I was deciding on a career path, has now landed me into a heap of trouble. Not to mention the injuries; dislocated limbs, broken rib cage and a possible candidacy for paraplegia. I suppose it comes with the job, expect the danger and the intrigue, especially when you’re a trench coat, long brimmed hat, dark sunglasses wearing Private Eye, living in Hell . . .
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It had all started one very hot and sultry afternoon. I was in my office having one of those major headaches that made you wish you had a door in your head, so that you can tap the headache on the shoulder to point it out in it’s direction and proceed to kick it out on to the gutter beyond if it didn’t take the hint. A result of the boozing that had occured the previous night, I was now in a state of what can only be describe as being under the weather. My head rested on my desk, sweatily like a mini niagra falls, when someone knocked on the door.
I was surprised. It had been months since my last case, which was chasing someone’s missing pet alligator. Business was so bad, that I had to stoop low enough to take people’s missing pet cases. You know what they say, beggars can’t be choosers.
I raised my head and forced my eyes open and focused on the door, or towards it’s general direction.
“Come in,” I yelled hoarsely, ” the door is open”.
In came a tall mini-gauzy gown over a teeny weeny black bikini wearing blonde lady who looked as if she was about to say she was in distressed…in about six sentences time down the conversation. She had features that reminded me of someone. It was just on the tip of my tongue when she suddenly spoke.
“Hello,” she greeted in a husky voice, laced and oozing with sex appeal designed to get the male libido jumping up and down for a brisk run around the oval, and straight towards the change room for a cold shower.
“I believe you’re Private eye . . . ?” she questioned raising a very appealing eyebrow at the same time.
“Um gwhas…owojhhs . . .” I murmured incoherently, failing to say what seemed like the easy sylables of what just so happens to be my name.
“Pardon?” said the lady quizzily.
“I’m Miss Meagan L. Fay,” she eventually introduced herself, when it was apparent that no reply was forthcoming from me.
I shook myself, trying without much success to cast off the drowsiness in my head just enough to say “so Miss, what can I do you for . . . er . . . I mean what can I do for you?”
“I’m in distressed,” she began.
For a moment I thought I could hear a drum’s BOOM TISH! in the background, like someone had just finish delivering the punchline for a joke, but soon found afterwards that no one was laughing, only silence filling the room.
“A very important person in my life . . .” she began. Then she paused.
“Yes, go on,” I urged.
She inhaled then exhaled, in an attempt I think to settle her nerves, and stop herself from the inevitable crying.
“Well,” she began again,”when I first met him, we seemed liked the perfect partner. Indeed, at first our relationship was as if it was a match made in heaven. Everything couldn’t have gone more smoothly. Until recently, that is, everything now is going horribly wrong.”
Lost for words, I tried to assess what my job was. Nope, nothing in there in my job description that said anything about being a relationship counsellor. Yes I’m sure of it, even in my state of being hunged over.
“So, this person in question was a partner eh. What sort of partner, a husband?” I questioned.
“No, see this finger,” she pointed to her ring finger,”no ring see.”
“A fiancee maybe?” I asked.
“Nope, never proposed such a thing,” she said.
“Boyfriend perhaps?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she exclaimed.
“Your lover, yes, was he your lover?” I asked determined to get to the bottom of this.
“Never!” she boomed,”really, I don’t no where you get such ridiculous notions.”
“Well then,” I said, getting quite flustered all of a sudden,”what kind of partner was he?”
“He was my business partner,” she answered,”I thought our joint venture was all for the best. My father thought Bates nightclubs and motels would be in good hands when he left it to us. But now I am not so sure.”
Uh oh, I thought, she’ll start sobbing then she’ll weep for a bit, and before you know it it’ll be niagra falls.
“Gnh gnh gnh, aaargh,” she wailed,”I can’t take it anymore, I was never any good at running a business. I always had him for support, he was my goto man. Without him Bates nightclubs and motels is doomed, even if I do hire Psycho Bates as our promotional mascot.”
“Look lady,” I said, even more determined to get to the bottom of this, even if it meant I had to abseil down the precipice of this lady’s emotions with a piece of Dante dental floss,”tell me what happened to this partner of yours, then we’ll see if I can help you.”
There was a long pause, about ten minutes to be exact, as she once again vainly tried to settle her nerves and stop herself from sobbing. And just when I thought she was going to start talking again, came the onrush of tears. Then more tears, and wouldn’t you know it more tears afterwards.
“Was he bumped off by the mob?” I eventually said.
She shooked her head while she held her face on a hankerchief between her hands.
“So he hasn’t been kidnapped?”
“No ransom note or anything?” I asked, getting quite frustrated.
No answer.
“Do you even know if this person in question is dead or alive?”
Still no answer.
“No I don’t,” she said finally.
“Oh,” I said.
“That’s just it, I don’t know where he is, let alone if he is still alive. I havn’t seen him or made contact with him for the last month. You see, he is missing.”
“Well, have you contacted the police?” I asked.
“Yes, I’ve already reported it to the authorities, and they tried but no cigar, as the saying goes. That is why I am here today, to ask for your help. I need you to find him, and tell me where in Hell is Sataneous Demoneous!”
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