This is one of those rare pieces that has developed a rabid fan following. And I blame
Mehg. You brat. I keep TRYING to forget this story exists because my brain is a BLANK
when it comes to the plot, but you keep BRINGING it up! Like, 14 people have read it. 
So why won't let it DIE? 

Anyway, if anyone else has anything thoughts on what to do with it, let me know. I'm 
leaning towards a big bonfire in a pit in my backyard, but I'm open to new ideas. 

slr_europa@yahoo.com

http://www.geocities.com/slr_europa

AIM :: SeeShelliRun

*********************************************************************

Strip Search 1/?
by Sailor Europa





Folders two-weeks over due.

Dry cleaning ticket from four days ago.

Coffee that was made yesterday.


	Ok, so it wasn't the most glamorous job. I never expected it to be. Hell, 
I had no 
expectations getting into this gig. If anything, that's one of the main reasons 
I became a 
private detective in the first place; I knew absolutely nothing of it. 
Therefore, no big 
letdowns to depress me in three months when I was falling asleep at my desk, and 
trying 
to gouge my eyes out with the white plastic picnic spoon that came with my rank 
pasta 
salad. 

Let me tell you, never try to commit suicide with eating utensils. Only provides 
the paramedics with more time to revive you.

	I sighed as I stared down at the rumpled paper askew over the open manila 
folder 
in front of me. I was suppose to have gotten some hard evidence that would allow 
Mrs. 
Doe to prove that her husband was a lying sack of steaming poo, but so far the 
only 
credible thing I'd found was a couple of pay phone calls to a grungy 1-900 
number. And 
unless letting some woman named "Frenchy" call you Big Poppa with a bad German 
accent is infidelity, I didn't think I was going to get too far with the couple.

	And yet the woman still refused to let me drop the case until I got her 
something 
that would stand up in court. "Let her escape with her dignity", she claimed. 
Right. I 
assumed that wasn't a likely notion, unless she plans to buy some confidence 
with the 
settlement she's been dreaming about.

	On an impulse I picked up the heavy, beige rotary that sat on my left and 
rolled that familiar numbers to my partners cell, waiting through the four 
short, muffled beeps until he picked up. 

	"Andrew."

	"Yeah, hey, I need that number you said you were given last week."

	"What, the professor?"

	"Yes, the professor. What was his name?"

	"Rockford or Fockrord, something like that. Sounded like a character from 
the Flinstones, is all I remember."

	"Well, whatever. What was the number?"

	"Hey, are you sure you can take this one on? I mean, we've both got our 
hands full. What about the irate Harpy you've been dealing with? Isn't she still 
grabbing at your shirt?" 

	I rolled my eyes. He would pick up on the fact that she was a horny, 
undersexed housewife who only saw me as a Chippendale behind a desk. 

	"Forget her. I haven't got a stitch against her husband. And I'm not sure 
how much longer she'll keep undressing me with her eyes until she attempts it 
for real."

	Andrew chuckled. "OK. Gimme a second, let me grab my date book." 

	I held off on the obvious question as to why he was keeping the number 
when both of us had declined the job. Andrew was a packrat and I knew that 
whether he was supposed to or not, he never threw anything away. The number was 
probably shoved into his glove compartment along with a twinkie wrapper, some 
lose change and an obscure, liberal novel with the binding missing. 

	After some loud rustling noises and quite a few unattractive, suggestive 
moans, Andrew's voice emerged, muffled and gasping for breath. Again, I 
restrained myself from asking just what the hell he had been doing and kept 
silent. 

	"OK, the guys name is Prof. William Rinkfort, and you can reach him at the 
Philosophy department at the University most nights, usually until late. He 
suspects that his wife is cheating, and he's willing to pay anything in order to 
find out for sure. That's all I have. Does it help?" 

	I raised an encouraged eyebrow and leaned far back in my chair, exhaling 
in thought. He must not be aching for cash, if he was willing to spend anything. 
Of course, that also begged the question: why was he so desperate to catch his 
wife? In my experience, the husband didn't usually want to know, it was usually 
the wife who got all hot headed when it came to infidelity. 

	"Yeah, that's great. I'll give him a call right away Andrew. Thanks." 

	I hung up without saying goodbye, and pulled my arms behind my head, lost 
in thought. It was around noon, and the guy would most likely be at lunch. I 
took a quick glance out the window at my '91 Cavalier and shrugged. Might as 
well take a trip to visit Mr. Rinkfort in person. Save myself some time and find 
out exactly what kind of a nutcase I would be getting my payments from this 
month. 

*****

	"Well, I'll need to know, first off, why you have suspicions of your wife 
being unfaithful, Mr. Rinkfort." I adjusted my tie nervously, regretting once 
again my hasty decision to spring a self-invite on the Professor sitting across 
from me at the cluttered, disheveled desk inside the cramped Philosophy office. 
For what must have been the hundredth time in the last nine seconds, he racked 
his fingers through his blonde hair, which, in my eyes, looked as if he had been 
sleeping with his head inside a Quizinart for the past six months, and coughed 
nervously. In my line of work, it wasn't uncommon to find a client who was 
uncomfortable with the current state, but my unfailing, impossibly accurate 
instincts told me this guy was 13 seconds away from taking a sniper to the roof, 
every moment of the day. 

	"She's just  drifting farther and farther." He replied quickly, eyes 
darting from side to side. I sighed and nodded habitually. 

	"Well, I'm going to need a bit more to go on than that, unfortunately. 
Something more concrete." I paused. "Have you seen her leaving the house at odd 
times? Say, early in the mornings or late in the evenings?" 

	"I wouldn't know, I'm usually here, either teaching or working in the 
Lab." 

	"Well, then have you found any strange items that you can prove are 
neither yours or your wife's? 

	"Not really…."

	"Any matchbooks?"

	"No."

	"Business cards?"

	"Uh uh."

	"Credit card receipts? Phone bills?"

	"She's the one who handles those, most of the time." 

	I sighed.
	"Mr. Rinkfort, I'm really sorry, but I'm not sure I'd even know where to 
begin. I'm sure that your fears are well justified, you look like a uh, well 
adjusted man." I trailed off, not sure where I was heading. "Listen, many 
marriages go through rocky periods. I'm not sure I'm the type of professional 
you should be seeking at this point in time…."

	"Mr. Chiba, I'm desperate. I KNOW Serena, and she's not acting like 
herself. I've tried talking to her, but she refuses to open up. I'm just trying 
to figure out why my wife is so far away." He pleaded, standing up to reveal an 
intimidating 6'6'' frame, making even my own height of 6'2'' seem wimpy. I 
relented, my shoulders sagging. 

	"All right, it's your call, sir. You are the one spending the money." I 
gave him a grave look. "You do understand that I'm not guaranteeing any results 
either way, right?" He nodded and I shook my head in bewilderment. I had no 
doubt that this would be a short case, yet I couldn't shake the nagging feeling 
that I honestly had no idea what I was getting myself into. 

*****

	"So you got in touch with the teacher guy?" Andrew asked absently, between 
rather sloppy bites of the cheese-steak he was slobbering over. I nodded, trying 
hard not to pay attention to the huge puddle that was accumulating on his plate, 
where the cholesterol-on-a-roll was dripping. 

	"Yeah, I took the job, although frankly, it seems to me this guy really 
needs to just spend less time chugging latte's and more time at home." I 
shrugged, finishing off my own club sandwich, and wadding up my napkin and 
tossing it on my plate as I leaned back, satisfied. "He wants me to do the dirty 
work only to find out that the little woman is at home, wrapped up in daytime 
drama day after day." Andrew snorted. 

	"Or busy satisfying herself." 

	I cringed. That was the last thing I wanted to capture as evidence. And I 
was pretty sure that something of that…nature would only send this nut-bag over 
the edge. 

	"Anyway, I start tomorrow. I already got the address and equipment set 
aside in storage."

	"What's the plan?"

	"Observation for now, I guess." I sighed, polishing off my incredibly 
bitter tap water, thinking over my ideas for the tenth time. "I'll have to take 
it from there, if I can even find anything incriminating, that is." 

	"Guess I don't even need to offer my expertise on this one then, eh?" He 
smirked, whipping his mouth fiercely with his fourth napkin that hour. I raised 
an eyebrow. 

	"Not directly, but you can take care of the closing of Mrs. Doe's case, 
since you're being so helpful." I gave a knowing grin towards him and he 
immediately chucked a cold fry in my direction. 

	"Like hell! I saw the way she was gripped your thigh the last time she was 
at the office." He shook his head in wonder and practically choked. "I value my 
dignity too much to let that woman grope me like an unripe cantaloupe." 

	"Who says she's going to want to?" I prodded, shrugging flippantly. "Maybe 
she prefers brunettes." Andrew just rolled his eyes and groaned so loud I 
thought his lunch would be making an encore. 

	"I don't think the coloring has anything to do with it. I'm thinking her 
only standards are that everything below the neck be in working order." 

	"That's probably being a bit generous. Her focus is one muscle in 
particular. Everything else is just decoration."  I glanced down as I grabbed my 
leather trench coat and grimaced at the memories. "I know from experience." 

	"Well, listen, I'm gonna go finish off the paperwork on my last client." 
He pulled his own coat on as the waitress rolled around to clear away our junk 
pile. I nodded and stretched, a rather large yawn impairing any words that might 
have come to mind. "Keep me in on the works, OK?" 

	I gave a short nod in reply and gathered my belongings up as well from the 
torn vinyl booth at the greasy diner and brushed off the cream turtleneck I was 
wearing as I stood up. I pretended not to notice the middle aged hostess' 
leering glares as I gave a friendly wave in their direction, exiting the foggy 
glass doors to the dead street beyond. 

	I yanked my jacket on and stuffed my already freezing hands inside the 
silk lined pockets as I took quick strides down the deserted side street in 
downtown Boston, eyes staring dead ahead, yet not really seeing anything. 

	It wasn't any specific aspect of the case that bothered me. The unsettling 
nature, uncomfortable role I played, or even that fact that I had my doubts 
about my prey right off. I could only gather that I wasn't quite getting the 
whole picture yet. I wasn't sure what was missing, if anything even was at all 
in fact. This wasn't even the first client I had taken on in which I doubted was 
genuine; that was a regular part of the job. I'd even venture to say that half 
of the jobs I take on under these circumstances turn out to be false. 

	But I was uneasy about this one. I couldn't put my finger on it, and as I 
examined each factor I couldn't place any plausible reason behind any of it. But 
that urging sensation in the top of my spine was screaming at me to call it 
quits; let Andrew take on the job, at least. But I had never quit a case, at 
least without giving it a fair chance.  I would keep this case, even though 
something was telling me it could kill me.

*****

	"All right Mr. Rinkfort, here's what I plan on starting out with." I began 
into the cell phone I awkwardly clutched between my cheek and shoulder as I 
pulled out the camera and separate lens and attempted to attach them to one 
another. It was 5 AM, a freezing November morning, and I was sitting in a 
dormant Celica outside 1262 E. Crescent Street. "To begin with, I'm going to be 
staking out your home most of today. Should your wife leave, I will follow 
approximately 1000 feet behind her at all times. I will not leave the car at 
all, however, at this date. What I'm looking for is a bar or restaurant that she 
might frequent right now." 

	"Now at noon I will discontinue the look out and return to my office to 
record any findings I might have, and gather any new equipment I have assessed 
might be necessary for the evenings work."

	I sighed as he chattered on disapproving remarks, none too original, and 
nodded as I rolled my eyes continuously, still assembling more camera parts and 
setting them aside, one by one, in the passenger seat. 

	"Well, sir, I've been doing this a long time, and I wish you would trust 
me when I say that doing things hastily only complicates things like this. I 
need to gather information before I even begin to close in on any accusations." 
I bit out as kindly as I could, trying to keep the cold and exhaustion I was 
suffering from, from seeping into my already biting tone. 

	"I understand you're anxious, but it never helps to rush into matters like 
this." I tried to interject, only to be cut off by a voice on the other end that 
I'm pretty positive wasn't even listening. If it even could.

	"Look, sir, you did hire me to do this job, and I'll…." I began, only to 
get the same results as before. I exhaled, thoroughly frustrated by this point, 
and ready to chuck my $900 camera right out the front windshield of the car. 

	"Damn it, do you want the job done right or would like to stalk your wife 
by yourself?" I clenched my jaw as the line went silent for the first time in 10 
minutes and I nodded. "All right then. I will  give you an update sometime in 
the afternoon as soon as I can be sure I've gotten the data analyzed."

	I hung up before he could rip into me again with that high pitched, nasal 
pitch of his. I was beginning to wonder if the seriously anal retentive vibes he 
was emitting weren't the cause of my annoyance on this case. 

	Shaking my head, I pulled my jacket around me tighter, becoming thoroughly 
pissed that I couldn't turn my car on and run the heater. However his house was 
in too close a proximity that I couldn't run the engine without arising 
suspicion as to why some odd man was sitting in the road for 6 hours with his 
car on. Although I was beginning to think that I might get the same kind of 
looks if my fingers fell off from frostbite. 

	I leaned back in my seat and pulled up the first camera, a smaller one 
that took close range photo's, and began snapping a few test shots to see how 
well they would turn. I did the same with some zoom lenses, and a wide angle, 
hoping to get a better variety. 

	I was taking aim with the telephoto lens when I became aware that the very 
door I was observing opened leisurely outward, and I immediately dropped the 
camera to my lap, with a thud that was a LOT more painful than it sounded. I 
took in long, strangled gasps of burning air and watched the figure that emerged 
from the inside. 

	"Well, I can certainly see why the Professor would be worried…." I 
murmured to myself, making mental notes as the blonde tip toed carelessly down 
the walkway, standing high on her toes, barefoot, and snatched the morning paper 
from the lawn and scampered quickly back to the warmth of her house, movements 
something like a rabbit who was afraid she had just been spotted by an attacker. 
The door slammed shut behind her just a few seconds after I had first seen her, 
and I was busily making notes inside the folds of my mind.

	She certainly didn't seem like the wife of a professor, that was for sure. 
Bright pink flannel pants were barely hidden by a neon yellow terry-cloth robe; 
quite a contrast from the drab neutral grays and browns her husband muddled 
around in. But even odder were the two buns that adorned her head on either 
side, with two rather long ponytails dragging at least three feet down her back. 
She looked more like one of the man's students, rather than his wife! And if she 
was, in fact, cheating on him, then she wasn't trying to be inconspicuous about 
it. She stuck out like a sore thumb, especially with those two crazy meatballs 
on the top of her head. Sneaking around was going to be next to impossible.

	I shook my head, more convinced than ever that this was going to be an 
open and shut case. The professor was either going to get no dirt at all, or it 
would be a cinch digging it up. 

*****

	The next few days dragged on in much the same way. I took some pictures, 
developed them and found nothing of interest at all. Serena taking out the 
garbage, Serena getting the mail, Serena letting their little black cat outside 
and eventually letting her back inside. At one point I fell asleep on my 
steering wheel (after Mr. Rinkfort had insisted I camp outside their home the 
night he was away), and had half a mind to charge him triple the norm for 
wasting my time. Not to mention the ludicrous demands he had made; no smoking, 
since he said it distracted me (not that I even engaged in the habit, but 
to think the man would actually think he could keep me from doing it in my own 
car was just insane), no water-based beverages since it would increase my 
bathroom breaks. I wondered just who was being cased; his wife or me. 

	On the fourth day, I'd become fed up. After almost a whole week's worth of 
photo's, files and time wasted, I had already decided that I was gathering up 
all the crap I had accumulated according to his specifications and dumping it on 
his damn doorstep. I'd take the violating housewife over this controlling freak 
any day. 	

	I caught the sound of my cell phone ringing underneath a pile of useless 
photographs and snatched it on the third beep and pulled it to my ear. 

	"Yeah?" I barked, assuming it to be Mr. Rinkfort, calling to tell me that 
I would be using a bed-pan to ensure I maximized my time on his case. 
	
"Darien, Andrew." 

	"Oh hey. I thought you might be the client." 

	"Hey, how's that working out? I haven't heard much from you in the last 
few days. Been keeping you busy?" He asked. I snorted heartily. 

	"This guy needs to be under study at his lab for all he's put me through. 
I've seen his wife a total of about 9 times in the past four days. She stays in 
the house all day, and honestly, I don't think I could blame her if she WAS 
cheating on this guy." 

	"Really?"

	"He's never home, and this poor girl doesn't get out much from what I've 
gathered. And I don't think Professor has much of a party life, either." I gave 
a quick glance toward the door to punctuate my next thought. "Shame too. She's a 
looker." 

	Andrew laughed. "Don't you know? Smart is sexy." 

	"Oh really? Then I'm thinking that having a large pole shoved a foot up 
your ass is irresistible as well, because I can't imagine anyone finding this 
guy attractive in the least." 

	"Well, I'm kinda hoping that you aren't paying attention to whether  this 
guy is "attractive". That isn't exactly your area." He chided, but a flash of 
light caught my attention before I could reply. In the twilight of that Thursday 
night I watched a different woman walk down the sidewalk than I had seen 
previously. Same odango's, changed attitude. 

	"Oh hell Andrew, I gotta go. I might actually have something to report 
tonight." I slapped the phone  shut and watched the lithe figure walk gracefully 
to her little red sports car parked in the driveway, decked out to the nines in 
tight black pants and a pale pink sweater that wasn't exactly screaming 
"conservative". 

	She gunned the engine and I grinned in anticipation as I plugged my key 
into my own ignition. 

	"Looks like the angel might be hiding a demon or two somewhere…." 

*********************************
Ack this was short! Can anyone even guess where this is going? Probably.
I'm nothing if not incredibly predicable. Anyway, I would appreciate some feedback on 
this, since I've got four stories in the works, I'd like to know which one to work on 
more. Got any input? (Antig, Mere, you two can't answer….)

slr_europa@yahoo.com

http://www.geocities.com/slr_europa/

AIM :: SeeShelliRun