Make a buck, make a buck. I tell some mook about this weird case I took on and what does he do? Turns it into some goofy novel and makes the whole thing sound more fantastic than it really was. I mean, really, it sounds like I'm some kind of tin-foil hat wearing wacko instead of just teaming up with one.
Here I am, knocking myself out to locate Cupid who's gone missing and where does the record of my case end up? In THE POLICE GAZETTE? TRUE CRIME? THE NATIONAL ENQUIRER? Noooo. They lump it in with a bunch of loooove stories! Can you believe it? They just include my caper, now entitled "Cupid is as Cupid Does" in a book called "Love and Other Distractions." Sure, it's nice to be included with a group of well-regarded Hollywood-based writers. And, okay, all the proceeds going to charity is a noble cause, but man, are all the other P.I.s going to make fun of me now.
Now when I get the particulars about my clients I make sure it's the usual stuff; name, place of employment, any clubs, societies or gyms he belonged to. I make a point to include those from that time I had a client who swore his gym was run by the Illuminati
Had a case where a neighborhood bar was being vandalized every night. Front door was jimmied open. Liquor consumed. Jukebox still on. After a few days it turned out the waitress was taking some kind of neuroleptic to treat depression and that had her roaming around in her sleep. At night she would go to the bar, have a little party and walk home. Sometimes it’s just easier to stay depressed.
I remember that case where a sidewalk mime kept pretending to stick passers-by with knitting needles until he finally snapped and starting attacking people with actual knitting needles. Mimes. Working with the police, we trapped him in a box. A real one. He was powerless to escape.
I got in between a feud of hobo gangs fighting over territory. Had to make some calls. Set down some boundaries. All’s quiet now. But they paid me in soda cans.