Sunday, March 30, 2008

Private Eye, See?


The year was 2008: 2008, the year. The city: New York. The man: Det. Patrick Garrigan

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, ya see? The economy was hit hard with a recession, and the good citizens started to feel it smart.

It used to be whereas your Average Drugstore Cowboy could just walk into a Starbucks, see, and order a Venti Carmel Macciado, hop into their Suburban, and be about their business. Then after quittin' hours, head to the local gin mill, get some giggle water, chat up some dame with foxy gams and everything was jake.

Those days of everything bein' copasetic were long gone. Nowadays, even the biggest Cake-eaters were forced to get a small cup-a-joe off that bloke with the cart, slave away the day with a buncha oilcans & drags, only to head home, drink some Natty Ice, watch some porn and hit the hay.

Yessir, it got so as people had to use all their moxie to work up some extra scratch. I'm Patrick Garrigan -and I started a private investigation company out of my apartment. This is my story.

I concluded I'd had enough of being under the thumb of the Man, and decided I needed another source of income to either supplement or replace my current flow. It was time to take inventory of what I had.

A firm grip on 1920's slang, a front door with a glass pane that would take black paint well, a large collection of tasteful ties, a computer with internet access, a Metrocard, and inherently creepy sensibilities. In a lot of ways, kid, you could say the P.I. biz chose me.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say. I've heard it all before. Those aren't assets, they're either character flaws, household hold items or poor architectural choices. And you'd be right.

Nevertheless, despite spending no time on The Force and having no law enforcement or sleuthing credentials whatsoever, I struck out with my unique brand of Private Investigating.

Here are just a few of my offerings:

HUMAN INTELLIGENCE & SUBJECT INTERROGATION

On either a retainer or per project basis, I can use my near chameleon-like social skills to infiltrate any social gathering (as shown here). Once "inside," I begin to work my magic. Are you worried that your precious Sheba is straying? Well, I'll track her down at a party and use my uber-keen questioning techniques to get you the answers you desire.

Here's a transcript from just last week.

SCENE: Party
OBJECTIVE: Discover if Woman 1 is cheating on Boyfriend

PG: So, good party, eh?

Woman 1: I guess so.

PG: You come here often?

Woman 1: This is my house, so, yes. Um, who are you?

PG: Love your drapes. Do they match the carpet?

Woman 1: Excuse me?

PG: NEVERMIND! Are you fucking around on [Boyfriend]??!!

Woman 1: YES! I mean, No!

PG: Ah, HA! Zing!

CONCLUSION: Woman 1 is a tart who is cheating on you. You're welcome.

Remarkable, yes, but just the tip of the iceberg.

RESEARCH & SIGNALS INTELLIGENCE

Any fool'll tell you that we live in the digital age, kiddo. Do you have a rival that needs a tail? Perhaps your crushin' and need conversation topics for your femme fatale? Are these people on MySpace, Facebook and/or easily Google-able? If so, I can draw on the fact that I have absolutely no social life to provide you with any information you require.

That's right! You'll rest a little easier knowing that I spend every evening (weekday and weekend) at home alone with my computer watching re-runs of Buffy The Vampire Slayer to provide you with frighteningly up-to-the-minute details about your target!

But wait there's more! If you act now, you get the following for FREE. Yes, FREE!

OUT NOIR'ING REALLY GLAM'D OUT CHICKS
Do you have a gorgeous, but high-maintenance dame who is always blowing smoke in your face, using really dated slang, and speaking in smoky, hushed and strangely-innuendoed tones? If so, you're probably dating a weird film noir girl!

But there's good news. I'm sooo obnoxious with all this film noir bullshit, that I will out-noir her! You heard correctly! Out noir! After just a few outings with me, your Hotsie-Totsie Hoofer will be hollering for a Hooters and a helping of The Hills. I'm just that good.


So whaddah ya say? Any time you got nothing to do - and lots of time to do it - come on up and see me sometime? 'Cause when I'm good I'm very, very good, but when I'm bad, I'm better. [Mae West (and her tittays) roll over in their grave]

1 comment:

Jonathan said...

For an honest-to-god pinup girl, you gotta check out Sable Sin Cir, one of my top myspace friends. She's actually a former student of mine. Also, I'm pretty sure moxy is spelled moxie. Finally, of all the pics of you in this blog, I like best the one of you in the dress strewn across the bed. Va voom.

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