Episode One: Meet Douglas

Episode One: Meet Douglas

The office sat silent in a thin layer of dust, due to the down time, or at least that was what Douglas was calling it. The fact was that Douglas hasn’t had one case in two months and that was nothing more then a lost dog case, which Douglas found in the owner’s own backyard.
Here’s your sign, he thought as he hand the owner the bill. He ended up charging the man double the price due to being an idiot, which was just what Douglas, needed to pay for another month of rent. Things were starting to get tougher, the rent was due in a week and the phone only seems to ring for wrong numbers and telemarketers. This made him think about returning the phone and getting a better model, as if it was the brand he bought that caused him to get the shitty calls.
“Damn Floor-mart, piece of junk!” He would yell, as he slammed down the phone on the tenth telemarketer of the day.

The office was just like any other detective’s office. There was a lot more room than even he needed. Most Detectives had little room to move around in their offices, but not him. When he was on the force he had a little office, but now he could fit four of his police offices in his place. It didn’t help that all he had was an old wooden desk, a somewhat torn cot, and a red metal file cabinet. The file cabinet was always left open which caused many bruise at night, then again there were only six files in the cabinet.
Six damn files and not one case even worth talking about. He would sometimes kick the cabinet after looking down at the sad progress of his business. He sometimes blamed his location on his lack of business, but knew it was more than that.

When walking up to the fourth floor of the old crumbling building people would see a dimly lit hallway, with pealing paint and water damage walls and ceiling. To the left were five frosted glass windows that looked out of place and at the end of that sat his door, which also looked odd when, compared to its surroundings. To the right was nothing more than more pealing paint and the exposed brick of the outside wall. The door swung outwards which Douglas never really understood and almost always jammed halfway open, a good kick usually solved the problem. A visitor would then walk in, to find nowhere to sit and a washed up cop waiting for their money. Douglas sat there every day wondering when a job would walk in the door, one rarely did.
Every night after a day of sitting at the desk, telling telemarketers to go to hell, he headed to a bar. Sometimes if he was in the mood he would chat with the people in hopes of getting a case, but most of the time he just went to find the easiest and cheapest slut he could find. Never the same woman for him, he didn’t want anyone to think that he liked them. Dealing with that would just cause problems. The problem was, he wasn’t in the mood to dealing with all those emotions women have, plus he was poor as hell and didn’t want to have a woman around spending the cash he did have.
All that wasn’t going to happen on this night due to the bitch he had the night before. He had found himself in another part of town for the first time and found a new bar. It was one hell of a place, but he ended up eating some bad fish. He doesn’t even like fish, but some hot blond girl talked him into it. Then again “talk” may not have been the best word for it.
“Can’t say it wasn’t worth it,” He said smiling, as he tossed his head into the toilet to puke once again. His medium length brown hair was wet and matted backwards causing some of his hair to stick straight up. He stared, emotionless, at the mirror and wonder.

Why am I so dull? Where has my spirit gone? Douglas was a man of little emotion. He does not get excited or fall down and cry. He was always dull and almost lifeless, or at least since his wife’s death six years ago. All this could be seen in his appearance. His face, pale and unshaven, was white as a ghost. His green eyes were almost always blood shot, due to the lack of sleep, which didn’t help him look any better. Then again he wasn’t much of a sun person, or for that fact a day person. He never understood the whole tanning thing.
Why spend thirty bucks to look like a Mexican when I can just go fuck one for the same price. Then again a good white girl works for me, he thought as he imagined himself tan. At least they speak English.

Douglas never lied about the way he felt, even if it hurt someone’s feelings. Could be another reason why he has not had a girlfriend. His green eyes burned, as he dropped in some eye drops to try and cover the blood shot redness. If he wasn’t up all night and day all the time he wouldn’t have to use so much of the stuff, but then again sleeping was not easy for him.
“Best fuck I ever had. That girl sure was flexible,” He smiled slightly at the though of it all replayed in his mind. He splashed cold water on his face, and then wiped it dry. It was the most emotion he showed since the last time he was drunk, which had been more than a month ago. Then again, drunk for Douglas was not like being drunk for anyone else. If he was able to wake up in his own bed, then to him he was not drunk. Waking up in an ally or hospital meant drunk for Douglas.

Douglas stood at six feet and one inch tall. His bathroom on the other hand, was built for a four-foot man. The sink was as low as the pisser and every time he took a dump he felt like his knees were touching his chin. At least that was the way he liked to put it. The truth was Douglas was in a bad mood and felt like bitching about something and at this moment the bathroom was the target.

The office had tons of empty space, but paying for the rent has been hard and he sold the pool table last month just to make rent, which made it feel even bigger. The huge space gave him a chill. He hated looking poor and the empty office told a client that came in that he was just that, poor. Then again clients never came in.

In fact the office was once filled with all kinds of things, but he sold everything at one point to help pay rent. He made sure to keep the desk, phone, cot, and file cabinet. Then again he wasn’t sure why he kept the cabinet around. The six files could be put in the desk and he wasn’t real fond of the color. Everything else in the office was wooden or a soft tone, but the cabinet was a bright red metal.

Using the single brown towel from the towel rack, he dried his face and hair then walked out of the bathroom, almost tripping over the cot; which he had pushed into the corner. He had everything pushed into the one corner of the room near the bathroom door, for some reason. It was easier to move from cot to desk while drunk, but too tight for walking when not drunk.
“Mental note move things around so I stop tripping over it...” taking a second to think about it, “or leave it the way it is and keep bitching about it. I think bitching about it wins.” He said as he tossed the towel down on the cot and fell into the wooden desk chair. The chair pushed back as his body landed and leaned back slightly. He pulled himself up to the desk and dropped his head on to the desk.

“Another busy day at the office,” he sat there with his head down and waited. “Maybe the phone will ring and I can curse out another telemarketer.”
Sitting there with his head down he began to think back to the days when he played Heads-up-Seven-up.

Those were the days. No work, no rent or any of that shit. He popped up his thumb and sat there waiting to have his thumb pushed down. As he began to picture himself back in grade school he pushed down his thumb as if someone had done it for him and as he did the phone rang. His head popped up like a jack-in-the-box and just like the clown he had a huge smile on his face.
“Hey, it’s my lucky day.” Thinking about it, he began to wonder if it was his thumb that had made the phone ring. He began flexing his thumb a few times as if it was magic. Then he noticed the phone had stopped ringing.
“Damn it to hell! Way to go asshole. You may have just let a job hang up on you.” He was hard on himself, but after thinking about it for a few seconds he decided it was just a telemarketer and it was nothing to get all pissed off about. He began to get up as the phone rang once more.

In shock he drove for the phone knocking it and everything else off the desk. He reached out catching the receiver in his left hand, like Jones driving to garb the cup of Christ. Pressing the receiver to his ear, half on and half off the desk, he said, “Douglas private eye here, the best damn private eye you can find. How can I help you?” The welcome line was something he wasn’t so sure of, but he was told if he was a little nicer on the phone he might get more business. Then again his new opening line was better then picking up the phone and saying, “What do you want,” is a tone that most took as negative. He hated talking on the phone and never really understood the whole phone thing. What ever happen to mail and just talking face to face? The world got too big, that’s what. He mumbled to himself as the smile upon his face faded quickly when he noticed it was nothing more then a telemarketer. The voice on the other end of the line was that of a bubbly young girl in her teens. Just hearing the chipper voice told Douglas what he was dealing with.

“Hello sir, my name is” ...Click. She didn’t even get her name out before Douglas hung up the phone and fell the rest of the way off the desk, hitting the floor with disgust as he looked at the mess he had just made. The broken lamp would cost him a few buck since it was the only light in the office, then again the huge wall window behind the desk let in tons of light.

The window filled the wall and Douglas left it uncovered due to the fact that the view was amazing. If the building turned 180 degrees all he would see in the city, but he gets to look out at the forest and beyond that mountains. It’s the view that gets him up in the morning. People would pay a lot for this place, but he had it and was only paying half of what the place was worth, then again the place was falling apart. He got up and walked to the window when he heard the phone begin to call out again. For a second he was going to leave it and head out for the night, but then he decided to pick it up in case it was a job. This was how they got him every time. It was as if the telemarketers knew he would pick up, hoping it was work.

He picked the phone off the floor and set it on the desk. Slowly picking up the receiver, he stood there for a second then put it to his ear. “Douglas private eye, how can I help you?” He wasn’t in the mood for his welcome line plus he had this small feeling that it was nothing more than a telemarketer. To no surprise the same chipper voice came over the line.

“Hello again sir, I think we got disconnected.” His head dropped as his body leaned over the desk and let the phone fall to the desk. “Sir... Sir, are you there?” He took a minute then stood back up and picked up the receiver.
“Lady, listen to me. You can call me a million times and every time I will hang up on you. You would think your company would stop wasting their money and time on me. I am not going to buy any of your crap.” He paused for a second to inhale and somehow she took this to mean that it was so she could speak.

“Sir, I am not selling you anything. I just have an offer for you.” Douglas was shocked that she was still trying to sell him something. Pissed and sick of her shit he let loose on her.

“Listen you little bitch, I am not buying shit, I’m the sell shit, or taking trip so stop fucking calling me!” He slammed the receiver down and kicked wishing it were the telemarketer, which in turn did nothing more then hurt his own foot. Rubbing his foot he realized that was all he could take for one day. He needed to get out of the office. The bar sounded like a great place to go, but since he had stopped drinking it seemed like a bad idea. Then again, one drink never hurt anyone.
He walked ove
r to the door and pulled his brown trench coat off the hook and slipped it over his blue silk shirt. He then reached up and grabbed his hat. “The detective hat” as the guys on the force use to call it. He didn’t care. It made him feel like a detective. Something happens when he put on that hat. It was like his thinking cap. Until he had that hat on he was unable to do anything. His hand held the hat just above his head when the phone rang once again. Dropping the hat to his head, he stood there wondering if that girl was stupid enough to call back again.

He laughed, but not in a happy way. It was more of a pissed off laugh. He grabbed the receiver as if it was running from him. “What!” He yelled into the phone and for a second he felt bad about it. The chance it was someone else was high and if it was he may have just cost himself a job. That feeling didn’t last long though as, once again, the same perky voice came across the line. This time the voice wasn’t so cheerful.

“You hang up on me one more time and I will kill you,” she said as if she was trying to scare him. Someone saying they were going to kill him wasn’t new. When he was on the force he heard it every five minutes.
“Lady, what do you want and who are you because you’re really pissing me off,” taking a quick pause just short enough for him to switch ears he continued, “I am not in the mood for this shit!”

“Who I am isn’t important. Just know that I know where you are and I am going to kill you.” Douglas stopped fast. This was all a big joke until now. His grip on the receiver tightens to the point where he believed he might break it. Small cuts on his hands opened and began to bleed.

“Listen to me you little, bitch. I don’t care what protest group you are from, but I did not kill me wife. So stop fucking calling me.” He slammed down the phone and lend on the desk to relax. Protester, that believe he killed his wife have tried five time to scare him off of town, believing that Destiny City would be better with out him. Two protesters have even taken shots at him in the past. Clearly the fact that I was proven not guilty doesn’t seem to be enough for them.

Suddenly the phone rang once more. He tossed his hat onto the desk and took a second to answer it. Slowly he picked up the receiver and placed it to his ear, prepared for the worst. “Hello,” he said softly.
“Douglas, is that you? Why are you so quite?” It was a voice from the past, that much he knew. Could it really be her?

“Sandra?” He asked not knowing, but hoping it was. The phone was silent for what felt like minutes. If it was Sandra, the feelings from the past were sure to come rushing back. He didn’t know what those feelings were. They were locked away deep inside his mind. They were close before he was arrested, then after that she seem to disappear, just like everyone else he knew. That was the past and he saw no reason to bring thought feelings that back to the surface, but if it was Sandra, she clearly did.

“Well it took you long enough. Did you forget all about me? Is that crazy mind of yours still messing with you?” She laughed knowing he wouldn’t answer the question. He wondered about what to do. Hang up and move on with life or talk to her and bring the past back. He paused and thought of the best way to reply, but after thinking about it he felt it was best to find out what she wanted, at least that way he wouldn’t keep himself up at nights wondering about it. Thinking about it a little longer, it would be so easy to hang up the phone and walk out the door. It’s been six years since he talked to anyone on the force and this wasn’t really the person he was expecting to hear from. She sure disappeared fast enough when he was arrested for his wife’s murder. What could she possibly want from me now?

“I hate to cut short, but what do you want? I have things to do.” He heard a small laugh on the other end of the line.

“Busy? That’s funny. I have been keeping an eye on you and know all about your little detective business or is it private eye, I always forget which it is.” She knew him well, too well. “Then again that’s why I am calling. I have a job for you.” If there was anything that would get Douglas to listen up it was the word, Job.

“A job?" he said calmly trying not to sound to excited, but the high pitch of his voice gave it away. “I am not sure I can fit it in, with all the work I have.” He heard himself say it and felt like kicking himself. They both knew it was a lie and that he was just trying to make himself sound good. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to impress her. It’s been years since they talked and they had both moved on or at least he had.

“Douglas it’s not up to you. I am in an odd place here. I have a murder case and your name is written all over it.” Written all over it, the words ran through his mind. What was she talking about?

“What are you saying? You think I killed somebody?”

Once more she laughed at him, “No, well I hope not. I know you could, but not this person. I should make myself clear. A letter was written and your name is in it. I need you to come down to the scene and answer some questions.” He took a second to reply, but felt he may as well go and see what was going on. If anything he did not need another murder case against him.

“You know it’s going to cost the city double for a house call?” He said it meaning it as a joke, but that was clearly not the way she took.

“It’s all about money with you! Here’s the address. 12 North Cloud Lane. So get down here before I send a car for you.” The line cut off before he could say a word. It was odd that she got so mad about such a small joke. Something was up and he couldn’t understand it.

“Maybe it’s just that time of the month?” He said, as he placed the receiver down and picked up a pen to write down the address. It wasn’t until the pen touched the paper that the address rang a bell. Spira!

Dr. Spira and he became friends after Spira helped get him out of prison, during the murder case of his wife. It wasn’t until Spira, himself was charged with murder, that the two really became close. A young woman, who worked as a maid for Spria, was found beating to death at the northeast corner of his property. During the monthly landscaping, a landscaper found the body and quickly noticed police. The landscaper than stated that he saw Dr. Spira in the same area during his last visit to the property a month before. It turned out that Spira didn’t do it and Douglas was the one that solved the case. Luckily for Douglas the landscaper left a bloody garden glove behind at scene, proving that the landscaper was in fact the killer. Douglas still laughs at the sight of the Landscapers face when he stepped out from the tree line with the glove dangling from a wooden pencil, how police did not find it was still a wonder.

In fact, it was Spira that owned the very building he was standing in. If it weren’t for Spira, he wouldn’t even be a private eye. Spira gave him the money to start up the business and gave him the room at half price. One could say they had become good friends, Douglas’ only friend. The last time they spoke was just three days ago when Douglas called to tell him that the rent might be a little late. It was a shock to Douglas that Spira had told him not to worry about it. Douglas never told Spira about the trouble he had getting jobs, then again Spira owned half the city and probably heard about every case. It wouldn’t surprise him if Spira were the reason he got the cases he had gotten.
Thinking about it made him feel bad, he was getting all this stuff from him and was giving nothing in return. He didn’t like living off someone like that. He wanted to do it himself, he wanted to pay the rent and he wanted to get his own jobs without someone’s help. It made him feel small.

The ideal that Spira may be hurt never even came to him. So many other things were running around in his head that he couldn’t think of just one single thing. At times like this only one thing ever helped, his Hat. Whatever it was about that hat, he and no one else knew, but it would always locked him in to Detective mode. Its powers caused him to forget everything, but the problem at hand. It let him see clues that others would have missed. It’s magic, he whispered as he placed the iconic detective hat on his head. His mind went clear and like magic his worries faded.

Some joked that it was his luckily Dick Tracy hat, but Douglas never understood it since Tracy’s hat was yellow and his was a dark grey color, far from yellow. He tugged on his trench coat to pull out the wrinkles. Then just like the detectives in the movies he turned and walked out the door. Closing it slowly, only to have it get stuck. Smooth… real smooth… Jackass. He gave it a good hard kick, but nothing. He stood there for a second and calmed himself then kicked it again. This time with all the force he could muster. The door swung free and slammed hard. He quickly duck for cover, expecting the glass to explode into pieces. He checked the glass with a tap of his knuckle to make sure it was still strong, it was. He then paused for just a second outside the door to let his shadow fill the window just like in the movies and he pictured the movie camera inside the room slowly zooming in on the shadow.
That would be a really cool shot. He thought as he walked down the hall.