Chapter One
Has every
detective had a few odd cases? Of
course, it is the nature of the job. Odd
is a relative term in this business too.
Every gumshoe has a limit. Every
P.I. goes in with an idea of what sort of case he will take, and which ones are
just a few paces enough past sane to make him shake his head, tip his hat and
turn his back.
Sure, some
of us started as beat cops with field experience built up to feel as though we
have seen it all. That can make a man
either harder than a pair of concrete shoes or so tenderized that near anything
makes him drink it away every night.
The kids,
just out of training, the bookish ones who degreed their way into the business,
they amuse the most though, they are a flip of the coin. Maybe it is all the clinicism that creates
their instant cynicism and detachment.
Sad to think it though, that such young hearts could go so cold as to
not see the very human side of the stories they work on.
I have a
little of both worlds. Failed my first
try through forensic studies, and could not afford the pay back on all that
school without a job. I never wanted to
be a cop, an enforcer. Too much like
work to this nimble mind. I wanted to
solve not serve. But, I did my time, ran
through the physical training like a champ too, if I may say so, enjoyed the
challenge really. I was younger then. Where my mind was too young to stay on task,
my body was focused on being honed to perfection. Picking up dames was formidable motivation
for my youthful focus. I do not think I
could do it today.
Limits,
that’s what I was speaking on. We all
had them back then; we all have them now.
I did not think mine changed much.
The schooling the first time had given me enough technical savvy to see
life as a case study, not much more.
Working the streets brought back my humanity, but not my faith in
it. Age and wisdom, and another few
years at the books, gave me the rest.
There was nothing I had not seen on the street or read in an
article. Well, not yet anyway.
