RATING: PG, if you're parents should need you to explain some inappropriate words
WARNINGS: Never go swimming right after dinner! ... A krokodile might smell what you had and eat you.
SUMMARY: The boss told me to 'shove [this] where the sun don't shine', and so I did. I put it in the cupboard under the stairs and the case hasn't been mentioned since.
DISCLAIMER: Most of this belongs to the two geniuses we all worship and admire. You might recognize the jokes, the characters and so on... unfortunately there's no money to be made with my imaginary talent, so I suppose it would be okay to post it. If not, go ahead and sue me, I always wanted to start a career in law.
NOTES: This all started with me getting no sleep before my first day at school after summer, this quote in my head:
Stephen: I hit Hugh very sexily.
Hugh: That’s the trouble, you see. He does it so sexily. I wish you could see it.
Stephen: And then the sketch ends with us going to bed together…
Stephen: Extremely violently. Now, this raises problems.
Hugh: Not for me.
Stephen: Me neither…
-A Bit of Fry and Laurie
and my secret pleasure of playing P.I. whenever our neighbours leave their house.
What came of it was a very uncomfortable sleep on the school desks and these first two chapters you might not even want to read, but you're going to anyway because you're a really good and way to curious person.
But, I want you to know two things before you move on, I'm German. I hate myself for it, so you are free to do the same. My usual beta-reader was busy, and I didn't want to bother anyone else with the bollocks I wrote, so the english might not be perfect and a lot of editing still needs to be done, but others have said it's alright. (they did use other words, but I think they meant just that)
Now that I forgot the second thing, I'll just leave you to it.
"You must have found us through the advertisement in the newspaper this morning.", the boss said, stretching his chest so far out that you could have easily mistaken it for one of a woman.
Our current client had just been led into the office by the secretary and looked like any other client we get every day.
Well, every second day.
Okay, every second month or so. But don't think it's because we're bad at our job, because it isn't. It's because we only take the best, and those who can afford us.
Anyway, like I said, the client looked like any other client who found his way to our office without accidently walking into the gay and lesbian bar, no scratch that, the homosexual bar next door; he looked desperate.
And after the boss's remark about the ad he seemed a bit stunned as well.
Of course I shouldn't say 'we' or 'our', it all my boss's.
I'm only the silent bystander, allowed to work for him as long as I keep my mouth shut and do as he says. And by 'bystander' I mean it literally, as in the above explained scenery I was standing aside, at the window, hands in my pocket- oh bollocks!
"Um, sir, about the ad --"
"Not now, Campbell. You might have missed it, as usual, but there is a client sitting right in front of you."
"Yes, um no, sir. I know. But just really quick, about the ad --"
He couldn't get too angry with me if I told him now, because of the client, and until later he'd have hopefully forgotten his anger over the new case. So I took a crumpled piece of paper out of my pocket, which a messenger had brought this morning.
The boss sighed.
"What about it then?"
"Well, I did everything just the way you told me to, but the newspaper agency send this note earlier this morning. They seem to be unable to print our ad."
"Unable? What is that supposed to mean? Is their printing press broken?"
"Well, no sir, not exactly."
"Not exactly. Campbell, you are toying with my patience again."
"I'm sorry, sir. The agency wrote they are terribly sorry, but they couldn't print our ad because, apparently, it's too naughty."
"Too naughty?", the boss exclaimed, jumped up from behind his desk and ripped the paper out of my hand.
"'Too much sex and violence --' Pah! How can hitting you with a golf club be anything even remotely similiar to sexy?"
"They might have a point, sir. You actually did it very sexily."
"Oh, be quiet Campbell."
"Excuse me, gentlemen, Mr. Foster. But, --"
The client seemed to finally have enough and interrupted us. His desperate expression had turned into a very impatient one.
"Oh yes, I'm terribly sorry. So you did not come here because of our advertisement then?", asked the boss and sat down behind his desk again.
"It is a shame, you know --", the boss went on, accompanied by the client's nervous finger tapping on his desk, "it was such a great advertisement. We especially hired a photographer and young Campbell here bought an extra costume. You really should have seen it, it was faboulous."
"I'm sure it was. But that's really not the matter on which I'm here."
"Then what're you here for?"
I immediately knew I shouldn't have asked, because the boss looked at me with a gaze that I've loathed from my very first day on. It's his 'that's not what I taught you' look.
I'd bet lots of money that he's spending hours in front of his bathroom mirror practising this look, just to make me feel more and more miserable every time I do something wrong.
But at least the client seemed to be grateful that we finally got to the point.
"I'm here because of my daughter, --"
He fumbled in his jacket pocket until he found a picture, which looked just as crumpled as the message I had in my pocket, and shoved it into the boss's hand. The boss stared at it with a certain glee in his expression. He always began to glow when he could sense a fresh case.
"Oh, did he?"
The glee seemed to disappear as quick as it came.
"I'm incredibly sorry, but that doesn't really sound like much of a case for me."
"No, no. She's been abducted, kidnapped."
"Really? Now that is indeed quite interesting."
Now came what I would call the boss's trade mark.
Everytime a new case was presented to him, he turned his chair around so he was facing the wall instead of his client. Even today I'm not able to tell you why he's doing it, because I simply don't know.
But at least during that time, I get to play boss.
Naturally, our client looked puzzled.
"Quite interesting, right. And I would like you to find her."
He was hoping on a response from the boss, but there wasn't even a movement.
"How come you know that she's been abd--aduc--abuc-- kidnapped?"
First rule amongst detectives, always be suspicious.
Our client stared at me.
"Um, she's just gone."
"Quite right." the boss said, still facing the autographed picture of him and Sherlock Holmes.
"Quite right.", I repeated a bit louder.
First rule amongst people who work for the boss, me, never be contrary to the boss.
I tried to remember more of those rules, but they seemed to have gotten away from me. So the best I could come up with was my notepad. It would at least look really cool in front of the client.
I took it out of my pocket and started jotting things down.
"G-o-n-e. Gone. Where to, if I'm allowed to ask?"
"Oh, um yes, where to --"
The question seemed to give the client a hard time. Shame that the boss couldn't see this right now, I was doing great.
"Campbell, please spare us your comic book knowledge of deducting."
I wouldn't call Agatha Christie's work a comic book.
"Just write down his name and adress."
The boss stood up from his chair and walked over to the client.
"I will contact some of my sources today and will meet you at your house tomorrow morning at 9 o' clock, if that is convenient with you, sir."
The client just nodded and shook the hand the boss held out to him.
"I assure you, we will find your daughter and bring her home safely. Now, Mr. --"
The name made seemed to surprise the boss and made him pause for a moment.
"Mr. Crawford. If you would excuse me, I will leave you with my associate."
Ever been woken up in the morning when a look at your beside-clock told you it was 5:30 and a gaze out of the open window revealed that the ever so beautiful dawn had just been scaring away the night sky?
"Caaaampbeell!", someone bellowed, and before I could realize what was happening that someone stormed in through the door, ripped away my sheet and opened the window.
The shivers the cold wind gave me were enough reason to open my eyes, but I couldn't see for long, because a flying pair of trousers landed on my head.
Normally my trousers can't fly, at least I never saw anything on or inside them that would indicate that they could. But the fact that one of my sweatshirts followed right afterwards, also flying, made me think.
Either my cupboard has been planing a revolution for the last couple of months, including flight training, just because I always forget to buy those stupid moth balls or --
"For heaven's sake, where do you buy your clothes, Campbell? I know, I am not paying you a fortune, but it should at least be worth more than this."
I should have guessed it was the boss.
He usually gets this manic periods when he's got a good hunch, or a hint from one of his sources which will most definitely lead to solving the case.
Not that I would complain about that, but having a shower isn't exactly an experience you'd want to share with your boss.
Anyway, by 'this' he'd meant my green Tideyman's Carpets jacket, which he was holding away from himself right now, eyeing it suspiciously from every angle, almost as if it would jump him any second.
As it was my jacket for special occasions, he had never seen it before.
"This looks as if somebody vomitted on it.", he said and instead of putting it back into the cupboard he threw it into the bin.
"Now get ready, I'll be having breakfast in your kitchen."
It didn't take me more than 10 minutes, but when I got downstairs the boss had laid out all the content of my fridge on the table, and had, as far as I could tell, already eaten half of it.
"I hope you're enjoying your breakfast, sir."
He looked up, eyeing me from head to toe, or shoes.
"I did not expect to find anything more convenient in your kitchen, Campbell. But I should say that I do miss custard pie as the dot on the i."
"I'm really sorry, sir. The next time I won't be expecting your visit I'll make sure not to forget to buy some pie."
-- and maybe, while I'm at it, some caviar to make it more convenient for you, sir?
Luckily I'm not really hungry at this time of the day.
One of my fingers might have gotten lost in a fight if I'd have as much as attempted to touch something on the table.
So I stuck to a cup of coffee, and of course the boss had waited for me to have the pleasure of making some.
Sometimes I think, no matter how clever a man he is, he isn't even capable of handling a coffee mashine.
"Now, onto buisness.", he said while shoving another rest of a sandwich into his mouth.
I'd bet even he had lost count on how many he'd already had, but that didn't seem to stop him to immediately start making another one, even while he was still chewing on the last bit.
"Did John or George reveal anything usefull yesterday?", I asked while pouring coffee into two mugs.
I only had these two, and it did feel a bit emberassing to hand a cup to the boss with some naked girls on it, but the other one had been a gift from my best mate, and as it's saying "My Boss Is A Dickhead", however true that was, I couldn't possibly give him that one.
As the boss took the one with the girl, he looked at it just the way he had looked at my jacket upstairs, so I already prepared myself for him throwing it into the bin too, but he didn't.
Surprisingly, a grin appeared on his face, and that's just as rare as religion being right; an event which happens every millionth year, plus or minus another hundred thousand, whenever it's convenient to the christians.
"Didn't I tell you not to call them by their names?", he said, taking a sip from the mug trying to always keep his eyes on the girl. At least now I know how he learned 'surveillance'.
"Oh, of course boss. I only thought --"
"The usual problem."
He had already emptied his mug, and was still surveilling it. So before I'd loose my hand trying to take and fill it, I rather left it empty.
By the way, John and George, or 'the sources' as my boss wants me to call them - he doesn't want anyone to know that he's making buisness with them - are two ex-estate agents who are hanging around at the "Golden Liger" all day.
Well, hanging around is a bit of an understatement; they are practically living there.
I only met them once, when the boss had no other choice than taking me with him because we had no time to loose.
And you know all the things they say about estate agents, they are all true.
If you try and kill them, you're put in prison; if you try and talk to them, you vomit.
There's only one thing worse than an estate agent but at least that can be safely lanced, drained and surgically dressed.
Estate agents. Love them or loathe them; you'd be mad not to loathe them.
And these two are no exception.
Actually, they are the worst kind of them all, they are ex-estate agents.
Do you know how much work goes into becoming an estate agent?
Well, virtually none.
So you can figure out by yourself what you need to be capable of to loose your job.
"Alright, what did 'the sources' say then?"
He finally looked away from his mug, but only to find out what he hasn't shoved into his mouth, yet.
"Apart from the usual few dammits in between drinking --"
That was another thing about our two friends.
A) they were the inventers of sayings like "dammit four times round the car park and back in for another dammit", "three pints of damn and a chaser of hellblast" and the ever so popular "dammit to damnation", and B) they were holding the record for the highest bill for Scotch in the "Golden Liger", but they were never getting drunk.
Well, they couldn't get drunk.
Because apart from their bill, they were also paying the cleaning ladies of the "Golden Liger" a fortune for cleaning up behind them, as at least three quarters or more of every glass Scotch they get landed on the floor, before even getting the chance to as much as see their mouths.
"Apart from that, nothing."
"Nothing? They didn't know anything about the girl?"
"I didn't ask them about the girl."
The boss seemed to be really content about his answer, but I was confused.
"But, wasn't that the reason you went to them?"
"What? No, no. I just wanted to have a nice night out before we had to start working hard today. I had every information I needed long before Mr. Crawford stepped into our office.
Actually, I think I might talked a bit too loudly about the Rowan Foster P.I. services the other night at the Liger. The men worrying about some Henry on the other table must have felt extremly annoyed by that."
~*~ to be continued as soon as I've learned all the bollocks my teachers want me to learn, forgot it all again and learned the proper QI stuff. ~*~