The Little Detective Agency

The first half of this story is true. I really did find the advertisement described here. The second half is a work of fiction. I don't even own a dog. This is my first foray into crime noir with tongue planted firmly in cheek, just a 750-word story about infidelity and the need to hire private detectives. If it seems like a spoof of so many Loving Wives stories, it is.

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It was one of those days that comes along in early fall, warm but not too warm, bright but not too bright. It should feel like fall. It didn't fit. Nothing fit anymore. COVID was walking the streets and I was packin'. I carried a mask and some hand sanitizer. A man can't be too careful.

It was noon and a man needs something to tide him over. I walked into my neighborhood joint. The usual characters were standing by the wall and we nodded. That's what passes for banter in the COVID times. The girl behind the bar was cheerful... too cheerful. I ordered my usual: a chipotle chicken club on oatmeal. I was in no mood for surprises. I'd had too many of them lately. As I paid my tab, I noticed the sheet of paper taped to the bar. It read, "The Little Detective Agency. Every case $3." It was a local firm and they worked cheap. I like cheap.

I called and made an appointment. They sounded eager and it made me nervous.

When I got to the office the door was open. I didn't know if that was a good sign. I walked in and they were waiting for me. Their office was comfortable, not too sparse. It was their parent's living room. Their desk was unfolded and neat, maybe too neat. Maybe they needed the case. They sat beside each other with their hands on the desk where I could see them. That was a good sign, no surprises that way. They looked young, too young, maybe 10, with 4 years in the business. They met me with hardened stares.

They spoke in short monotone sentences. "Mr. Words?"

"That's me. Just Words."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Words. What can we do for you?"

"It's my dog."

"Your dog?"

"Yes. I think she's cheating on me."

"Cheating? Like, playing poker?"

"No. I think she's getting petted by someone else."

"We see. What do you want us to do about it?"

"I want you to follow her, check her out. See whose petting her and when."

"Then what?"

"Just tell me. I'll take it from there."

They looked at each other uncomfortably. "We aren't in the business of breaking the law, Mr. Words. If you're planning some kind of revenge, we won't be a part of it."

I'd seen this before. I'd pay them for the information, but they wanted no part if it got messy. Typical gumshoes. I could see the gum on the soles of their shoes. Their feet didn't reach the ground. It looked like Dubble Bubble. Bad form. I liked it.

"No revenge. I just need to know."

They exchanged knowing glances. I guess they decided I was legit.

"Do you have a current picture of her?"

"Better than that. She's waiting outside."

"We understand. Will you bring her in?"

Without turning, I called out, "Penny! Come in here!"

I heard the click click click as she hurried into the room. The doll knew how to make an entrance.

They liked what they saw and for an instant there was something in their faces that bothered me. Penny has that effect. She's a looker. They nodded to each other.

"Come here, Penny! Here girl! Good girl!"

She left my side in a flash without even a glance in my direction. No hesitation. She knew what she wanted, and she wanted them. She trotted around the desk like she belonged there. Maybe she did. Dames are like that.

They call themselves professionals! They were as bad as all the others. They both started petting Penny, my Penny, like she belonged to them. They were giddy as schoolgirls. Well, they probably were schoolgirls. Penny responded and was lapping it up. She couldn't get enough of what they had to offer. That bitch! She buried her face in their laps. She was betraying me. A man should never have to watch that sort of thing.

Now I knew it was true. Penny was a flirt, and she couldn't be trusted. They wanted her and she was willing to play. I guess I had my answer.

The detectives composed themselves and turned to face me. "I think we have the information you were seeking."

Typical gumshoes. They were in it up to their necks and still they were going to charge me for the information.

"That'll be $3, Mr. Words."

"Here's $6. I need to know if she gets on the furniture when I'm gone."