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<blockquote data-quote="Arrgh! Mark!" data-source="post: 2124449" data-attributes="member: 14559"><p>* * *</p><p></p><p>I knew that dame was trouble the moment she walked through the door. It was like she walked right out of my bad private-eye dream and right into my mouldy chair.</p><p></p><p>It would have only been too easy to let her on her way, tell her I was closing up for the last time. So called, George Goethe – Private Investigator. It sounded only too good to be true; be your own boss, investigate at your own leisure. Little did I know that the taxman took ‘Self-Employed’ as a satirical take on ‘Unemployed’, forcing me to do more job-hunting than taking small jobs. </p><p></p><p>I’d get more money if I were a plumber. If I were a plumber at least I wouldn’t have to come to Centerlink cap-in-hand, telling them that I was actually employed and had earned such-and-such, so they don’t need to pay me anything this week, contract worker you know? And then when I’ve no money they refuse to pay anything, or worse yet tell me I owe them a certain amount because I actually was working for those six months. For an organisation devoted to giving me money, I sure owe them a lot. If I worked I owed them money, if I didn’t work they paid me nothing. It’s not exactly a win-win situation.</p><p></p><p>Although as a plumber you don’t get to wear a fedora. As an investigator I don’t get to show the obligatory cleavage, which is always a downer.</p><p></p><p>But I just knew that woman was trouble. I should of said no. What can I say? It’s the thousands. Or the Owies. Two-oh-oh-five. And I have an expensive fedora. </p><p></p><p>* * *</p><p></p><p>“Mr Goethe?” I wondered how these ladies managed to get that accent. Sure, she was pretty, and young. About nineteen and sounding more English than the bloody queen. I bet she pronounced the Tiu. Practiced it in the shower like Richie. Tiu. Tiu for Twenty-Tiu. Tiu for tiu-hundred twenty-tiu. You get the feeling.</p><p></p><p> “Mr Goethe, your sign mentions – er, All problems investigated.” Oh dear. It was going to be one of those. </p><p></p><p>Not that I’d ever had one of those. Mostly it was just lost dogs and things. But you know, I’d heard of them. I was immediately interested. Behind the dark-haired girl with the feather cloak who couldn’t help staring at my hat I noticed a large shape bulking up the doorway to my luxurious office – all five-by-five meters of it. “What might be the nature of your ...problem?” I deliberately added that pause. It gives them the impression I’m both in the know and valuing their opinion. With dames, they love that. A knowing man and all that. I’d just have to get some woman to hang around enough so I could show her. </p><p></p><p>“Mr Goethe?” </p><p></p><p>Oh. Right, she was talking. I’ve got to get out of the habit of ignoring what it is my customers – “MR. Goethe!” </p><p></p><p>Right. “Are you interested?” I blinked, absently wiping an ink smudge from my cheap vinnies suit. “Absolutely, Ms… er..” </p><p></p><p>She smiled. “I’m so sorry! I’m Harriet Hawk.” </p><p></p><p>“And I’m George Goethe. Let’s ..wait, did you say Harriet Hawk?” </p><p></p><p>Those pearly whites were beginning to annoy me with their smarm. Those dark eyes, round breasts on the other hand. “Harold Hawk was my father.” Oh. Oh <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" />.</p><p></p><p>I didn’t realise how pretty she was. The warning signals were going berserk. I was frothing at the brain in fear. What if I screwed up? I’d be up that figurative river without a paddle. She was smiling at me! Saying.. words! Something about losing the hat. Nah, couldn’t be. Everyone likes the hat. They all laugh when I’m around. Wrong, Wrong, Wrong. I’m twice her age. Think of her as three years old, this’ll stop.</p><p></p><p>“Mr. Goethe. My problem is basically that I’ve lost my brother. He disappeared tiu years ago.” I was right! “Three years ago he was in an expensive private hospital for the eccentric. He kept raving about people injecting him with things, both before and after. I just thought he’d gone over the edge, perhaps because of his wife’s death. But tiu years ago..” Uh, I hoped she’d stop saying that already – “..He disappeared. And when I asked, there was no record of a Harold Hawk ever being entertained by the hospital.”</p><p></p><p>“Entertained?”</p><p></p><p>“You know how it is with pretentious people.” She said, rolling her eyes in a calculated move. Indeed, I did. </p><p></p><p>“Well, I can’t say it’d be easy to find him. But you know what the sign says – All Cases Investigated! I’ll poke around.”</p><p></p><p>Harriet smiled, her tight dress shifting slightly. I forced my eyes to look at my pen.</p><p></p><p>“Mr Goethe? Ever heard of a Project Zarathustra?” </p><p></p><p>My eyes immediately sought hers. “Yes. And you?”</p><p></p><p>She smiled. “I have a list in my possession, stating names and ...manifestations. And on it my brother, Harold Hawk Jnr. And another name, highlighted by my father is George Goethe.”</p><p></p><p>Oh. Oh <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" />. And I definitely couldn’t back out now. This one was far too pretty to be nice. I hate women. “Right. Lets go to this bloody sanatorium then.”</p><p></p><p>And there she is, smiling as if she’s the cat in the figurative expletive bloody cream.</p><p></p><p>* * *</p><p></p><p>“Miss Hawk?” The baritone voice hulked, even on the phone. “Were you successful?” </p><p></p><p>“Why yes, I was. And a creepy fellow he is, too.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes. He was, even before we did what we had to. Does he still wear that stupid hat?”</p><p></p><p>“He thinks it makes him look ‘cool’. He thinks everyone likes it.”</p><p></p><p>“Was there a problem?”</p><p></p><p>“He didn’t get an erection. I build them all to love me and no other.”</p><p></p><p>“Distance? Time? Or maybe you think -”</p><p></p><p>“ -Maybe. I’ve never had a problem with him before. I’ll do what I can.”</p><p></p><p>“Right then. But bring him.”</p><p></p><p>* * *</p><p></p><p>End Part 1</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Arrgh! Mark!, post: 2124449, member: 14559"] * * * I knew that dame was trouble the moment she walked through the door. It was like she walked right out of my bad private-eye dream and right into my mouldy chair. It would have only been too easy to let her on her way, tell her I was closing up for the last time. So called, George Goethe – Private Investigator. It sounded only too good to be true; be your own boss, investigate at your own leisure. Little did I know that the taxman took ‘Self-Employed’ as a satirical take on ‘Unemployed’, forcing me to do more job-hunting than taking small jobs. I’d get more money if I were a plumber. If I were a plumber at least I wouldn’t have to come to Centerlink cap-in-hand, telling them that I was actually employed and had earned such-and-such, so they don’t need to pay me anything this week, contract worker you know? And then when I’ve no money they refuse to pay anything, or worse yet tell me I owe them a certain amount because I actually was working for those six months. For an organisation devoted to giving me money, I sure owe them a lot. If I worked I owed them money, if I didn’t work they paid me nothing. It’s not exactly a win-win situation. Although as a plumber you don’t get to wear a fedora. As an investigator I don’t get to show the obligatory cleavage, which is always a downer. But I just knew that woman was trouble. I should of said no. What can I say? It’s the thousands. Or the Owies. Two-oh-oh-five. And I have an expensive fedora. * * * “Mr Goethe?” I wondered how these ladies managed to get that accent. Sure, she was pretty, and young. About nineteen and sounding more English than the bloody queen. I bet she pronounced the Tiu. Practiced it in the shower like Richie. Tiu. Tiu for Twenty-Tiu. Tiu for tiu-hundred twenty-tiu. You get the feeling. “Mr Goethe, your sign mentions – er, All problems investigated.” Oh dear. It was going to be one of those. Not that I’d ever had one of those. Mostly it was just lost dogs and things. But you know, I’d heard of them. I was immediately interested. Behind the dark-haired girl with the feather cloak who couldn’t help staring at my hat I noticed a large shape bulking up the doorway to my luxurious office – all five-by-five meters of it. “What might be the nature of your ...problem?” I deliberately added that pause. It gives them the impression I’m both in the know and valuing their opinion. With dames, they love that. A knowing man and all that. I’d just have to get some woman to hang around enough so I could show her. “Mr Goethe?” Oh. Right, she was talking. I’ve got to get out of the habit of ignoring what it is my customers – “MR. Goethe!” Right. “Are you interested?” I blinked, absently wiping an ink smudge from my cheap vinnies suit. “Absolutely, Ms… er..” She smiled. “I’m so sorry! I’m Harriet Hawk.” “And I’m George Goethe. Let’s ..wait, did you say Harriet Hawk?” Those pearly whites were beginning to annoy me with their smarm. Those dark eyes, round breasts on the other hand. “Harold Hawk was my father.” Oh. Oh :):):):). I didn’t realise how pretty she was. The warning signals were going berserk. I was frothing at the brain in fear. What if I screwed up? I’d be up that figurative river without a paddle. She was smiling at me! Saying.. words! Something about losing the hat. Nah, couldn’t be. Everyone likes the hat. They all laugh when I’m around. Wrong, Wrong, Wrong. I’m twice her age. Think of her as three years old, this’ll stop. “Mr. Goethe. My problem is basically that I’ve lost my brother. He disappeared tiu years ago.” I was right! “Three years ago he was in an expensive private hospital for the eccentric. He kept raving about people injecting him with things, both before and after. I just thought he’d gone over the edge, perhaps because of his wife’s death. But tiu years ago..” Uh, I hoped she’d stop saying that already – “..He disappeared. And when I asked, there was no record of a Harold Hawk ever being entertained by the hospital.” “Entertained?” “You know how it is with pretentious people.” She said, rolling her eyes in a calculated move. Indeed, I did. “Well, I can’t say it’d be easy to find him. But you know what the sign says – All Cases Investigated! I’ll poke around.” Harriet smiled, her tight dress shifting slightly. I forced my eyes to look at my pen. “Mr Goethe? Ever heard of a Project Zarathustra?” My eyes immediately sought hers. “Yes. And you?” She smiled. “I have a list in my possession, stating names and ...manifestations. And on it my brother, Harold Hawk Jnr. And another name, highlighted by my father is George Goethe.” Oh. Oh :):):):). And I definitely couldn’t back out now. This one was far too pretty to be nice. I hate women. “Right. Lets go to this bloody sanatorium then.” And there she is, smiling as if she’s the cat in the figurative expletive bloody cream. * * * “Miss Hawk?” The baritone voice hulked, even on the phone. “Were you successful?” “Why yes, I was. And a creepy fellow he is, too.” “Yes. He was, even before we did what we had to. Does he still wear that stupid hat?” “He thinks it makes him look ‘cool’. He thinks everyone likes it.” “Was there a problem?” “He didn’t get an erection. I build them all to love me and no other.” “Distance? Time? Or maybe you think -” “ -Maybe. I’ve never had a problem with him before. I’ll do what I can.” “Right then. But bring him.” * * * End Part 1 [/QUOTE]
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