She stood there looking at me sizing me up and trying to read me like one of those cheap Harlequin romance novels. I felt insulted, she had no idea of who I was nor did that matter, but enough about me. As I turned to open the nearest window to ventilate the room from her cigar smoke, which was so overwhelming it began wrapping its arms around my lungs like a giant anaconda, that she spoke. She told me her name was Pussé Galore. I told her that the only Pussy Galore I knew was in a James Bond movie. She corrected me “It is “Pussé not pussy.” She told me she was adopted by a bunch of gypsies in a traveling circus, and how they loved watching James Bond movies especially Goldfinger. I did not believe her and asked to see some identification after all I may have been born at night but not yesterday. After digging in her purse, for what was an eternity for me as a man turned out to be only 30 seconds, she produced the aforementioned document and handed it to me. As I scanned the card it revealed that she from the Midwest somewhere in Nebraska to be exact and was about 35 years old. What I saw next was more shocking than anything I’ve seen in a Playboy magazine. It was an up close and personal picture not of Robin Leech but her nether regions. It left nothing to the imagination from the pretty pink door bell to the pouting lips it was truly a masterpiece to be framed at the local art gallery. So this is how they get down in Nebraska, I made a mental note to self where I would be opening my next office. I looked at her then I looked at the picture then I reviewed the picture then looked at her again. “Is there something wrong with my Id” she inquired. “No” I snapped back “this isn’t even a real drivers license and this picture looks nothing like you. What do you take me for? I am a private Investigator and it is either you tell me what you are here for or get out my office and stop wasting my time.” She took a step back and her eyes began to shimmer in the dimly lit room as her eyes filled with tears. “That is a picture of me do you want to see? The thought did quickly tip toe across my mind. “And who said it was a drivers license?” I could hear the hurt I her voice but I stood my ground. After her last statement I flipped the card over to my shock it was issued the the state of Nevada not Nebraska and it was for Happy Happy Hoy Joy escort service, truly an oversight on my part. Pussé I mean Ms. Galore continued on in a breathy voice “I was told by a friend of a friend who knew a guy who used to walk dogs for a guy who was a meth kingpin whose wife’s brother-in-law recommend you because you were good at finding missing people.” Now that she was right about. I was like a Scottish Terrier ready for the hunt. I told her to have a seat and tell me another story because after all everyone has a story to tell you can ask Rodrigo my next door neighbor from Mexico he would tell you, but this was not about Rodrigo this was about
Pussy Pussé sorry I mean Ms. Galore. After consuming the beverage with which she was presented she told me every intimate detail about her plight and how she arrived at my doorstep. Needless to say I felt sorry for this young woman and was willing to help her find her estranged dwarf husband who she had not seen in over five years and was concerned about him. The questions were swirling around in my head like an angry tornado nearing a trailer park. Questions concerning what type of dwarf was I looking for? Was this one of those cheery happy dwarfs from the Wizard of Oz with Dorothy or a mean hostile long bearded, course whiskered, ax wielding pub brawling ale sipping, gold seeking dragon slaying brutes from The Lord of the Rings type of dwarf?
If you enjoyed the story so give me your feedback as to if I should continue with the pulp stories. Also if you are and English major or write and think my writing suck and can help with some editing hit me up with your email address and maybe you can have a job of editor in chief, of course it with all be volunteer seeing I’m not getting paid for this.