The truth is, I was ready to quit. I was all bummed out. I'd seen my fair share of cheating wives and cheating husbands. My fair share of crooked wives and crooked husbands. My fair share of morons.

Nothing took me by surprise anymore. People are people and people are gonna act like people. That's the way it is and if you haven't figured that out yet, then you have a rough road ahead of you. If you have, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

There was a time when I wasn't so cenacle and bitter, but that was a long time ago. I was young, naive and thought myself a bit of a hero because I wore a uniform. Boy, was I ever wrong. Everyone is somebody's enemy, and when I wore that uniform I was a lot of somebody’s’ enemies. Very few people see a copper or his car and thinks, "Now there's a real pal. He's serving and protecting." No, that's not what people think at all. They think, "Quick, hide the schmeck," "Quick, toss the bottle," "Quick, draw first." People will be people and that is why we have cops.

Hypocrisy irritated me to a point and I left the force. I had no intentions of continuing on in the private sector, but a judge with a grudge looked me up and coerced me into it. It was fine at first. I'll confess, I even felt good about myself for a while. But, then you find out little Suzy ain't so little, now is she? And you find out Brock, the loyal husband, knocked the block off his wife. And so on.

It becomes clear at a certain point that being a "private eye" is exactly that. I'm seeing and learning things that should be private and I really don't wanna know. Not that innocence is bliss, but sometimes-just sometimes-it can make you feel reel good "knowing" everything is all right.

Yes. I was ready to quit.

I sat in my office thinking to myself, I'm done. I'm finished with it all; just as I was four years ago when I gripped my mouth around Betty's double-wide and placed my hand on her trigger. It could have ended then; it should have ended then. It didn't.

Interruptions.

There was a knock at the door; naturally I assumed it was my next door neighbor, Dot. She's always getting plastered and coming over begging me to take her virginity. She's 40-something and refuses to die in such a moral state, so she get's plastered and begs someone to take her. I chose to ignore her door tapping.

Tap, tap. Tap.

In a fit of furry, I jerked Betty from my mouth and opened my door shouting, "Take a hint!"

It wasn't Dot.

Turns out I had put a wanted ad in the newspaper, stating that I was looking for a secretary. Great way to start an interview.

"I'm here for about the secretary position," she stated, "Is this a bad time; should I come back later?"

"Judas," I mumbled. Someone had betrayed me.

"Excuse me?" she inquired.

"What am I hiring for?" I asked, "It seems I haven't forgotten my own affairs."

"A secretary."

"I gathered that much, but what do I do?"

"Oh, you're a private investigator," she started, enthralled; but then her enthusiasm died down, "Aren't you?"

I tracked down who put the ad in and confronted him. It was Judge Kreinkstad, apparently he was eager to take on the mafia and corruption.

I laughed.

But then he explained himself and here I am four years later. In the same place I was last time, sitting and thinking. Thinking I'm tired of it all. Thinking of Betty's cold, metal taste. Thinking maybe I should shack back up with her. Thinking we should finish what we started. Thinking--

Tap, tap.

Interruptions. Always with the interruptions.

"Good evening, Mr. Spencer," she started, in her deep and seductive voice, "Mind if I light up?"

"Mind if we never finish this conversation?" I replied.

"Do you hate it so?"

"I'm closed."

"I'm open," she said and that killed it. How do you respond to that? "Do you remember me, Mr. Spencer?"

"Should I?"

"Shouldn't you?"

I sighed, "Getting old."

"I've only just begun, Mr. Spencer," she placed the cigarette in her mouth, "May I?"

"Might as well while you're dominating."

"Yes," she lit up and leaned in, "Yes, I am, Mr. Spencer."

She puffed a her first breath of smoke into my face. She was looking sharp in her black dress and mink casually wrapping her. It was as if Marlene Dietrich walked off the set and into my office.

"The name is Duke, Mrs. Charles Duke. Does it ring a bell, Mr. Spencer?"

I remember now. Mrs. Duke had hired me to follow her husband on the pretence that she thought he was cheating on her with a younger woman. He was. And people being people, so was she. That is, she was cheating on him with a younger woman. It was really complicated and very strange. She was outraged at his infidelity, as was he. I, on the other hand, was confused. In the end, Mr. Duke beat up Mrs. Duke a bit and I got him slammed away for a long time.

"Were you aware they let my husband out, Mr. Spencer?" I had heard the news just yesterday.

"No," I replied, "That must be tough, huh?"

"It's not as bad as you would think, Mr. Spencer," she inhaled on her cigarette and then released the cloud of smoke into the air above my desk, towards my light, "He's dead. I killed him."

I wanted to reply, but I didn't get the chance. She reached into her small purse and pulled out an even smaller pistol. She rose quickly to her feet from the chair, cocking the pistol. Within that last moment before she pulled the trigger I saw Betty on the other side of my office, behind the door and next to the coat rack. I heard part of the bang, but that was it. I was out like a light. She must have nailed me in the head. She always was a good shot in conversation, seems to make sense she would be with a pistol as well.

People are people and people are gonna act like people, you might as well get used to it. I did.

THE END.

Copyright 2007 Nathan Weaver
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