Around 10 a.m. I rolled into the office.
Or more so, I rolled out of bed and walked into my kitchen where we’ve put up a card table in the spot most commonly reserved for a full size dining table. To our credit we did add a custom desk name plate in the front left corner. You know… for professionalism.
To add to the ruse, I had business cards printed as well. They conveniently match the engraving of said name plate:
Myles Barrett: Kung Fu Gumshoe
314.555.24FU Office Hours: 8 - 5
Call for appointment.
The goofy tag line was Chuck’s idea. I wanted to go with Paranormal Detective, arguing that it made us sound more legitimate. Eventually I caved due to the fact that he is dead after all and I think it’s important to keep his spirits up every chance I get. Plus the argument for either becomes rather moot once everyone realizes they weren’t at all printed for novelty.
Also, it’s ten in the morning and my hours clearly state that we open at eight. So we’ve kind of shit on the whole legitimacy thing from the very beginning.
Chuck materializes in around eleven. Most nights he just hangs around and watches TV when I sleep, occasionally he phases out only to phase back in when he’s wants to talk. When he does talk it sounds like someone whispering at the top of their lungs. Apparently these are all side effect of a being a class 5 free roaming vapor.
Excessive long windedness however, that's always been Chuck.
“hey bear,”
Chuck has called me Bear since high school. Fortunately, it didn't stick with anyone else.
“I’m not entirely sure we shouldn’t go back to that biker bar.”
Our whole reason for being in such a seedy biker bar was because among our client’s missing daughter’s belongings was a matchbook with the same logo that graces the awning above the door. And although I knew going back was inevitable, I had to protest.
“Chuck, I got the living shit kicked out of me… why the hell would we do that?”
“i just think that bartender wasn’t telling us something.”
“You think? Or maybe he just didn't appreciate you going around using spooky ghost powers to knock pint glasses off of the shelf?”
“yeah, I totally misread the room on that one.”
Understatement.
“Seems like the only thing you accomplished was getting him to order my ass be thrown through a window.”
“yeah, you’d think a bunch of dudes wearing leather jackets covered with embroidered devil horned skulls over flames would be a little more open to the paranormal.”
I had to agree.
“You’d think…”
And then further his return trip argument.
“… and you’re right,that bartender was holding back before the beat down. He was kind of a little dude. If we could maybe somehow separate him from his henchmen, we might be able to lean on him enough to at least figure out how he knew my name.”
“shit, i didn’t catch that. then I guess that’s our plan? the hours on the door said they close at 3. we could stake it out and catch him after he shuts down?”
I hate having to agree.
“As good a plan as any I guess. We’ll get there around two and see what happens.”
“and that’ll give us time to see if the four horsemen are taking the night off.”
“Exactly.”
The rest of my shortened morning was spent listening to Chuck tell me about proper spacing when engaged in a “multiple combative situation” and how I can avoid getting my ass handed to me if that same “situation” should come up again tonight.
Thankfully it’s now almost one and that means Dawson’s Creek reruns start soon. Chuck's always had a thing for that Potter chick and the office phone isn’t exactly ringing off the hook… it's the perfect recipe for me to catch a power nap.
After all, there is an above average chance that I’m getting my ass kicked again around three a.m.
After all, there is an above average chance that I’m getting my ass kicked again around three a.m.
So I’m probably going to need the energy.
