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T.A. Investigations – The Set Up

January 19, 2016

I’m feeling a little black and white noir right now…

 

T.A. Investigations – The Set Up

My ankles ached, my face was sore and my head throbbed painfully, but the glow in my chest hadn’t yet faded. The case was closed and the vic saved just in the nick of time, and although I wouldn’t get the credit, the satisfaction wouldn’t let up.

I glanced at the door and the sign only I could see the reverse of. My agency—T.A. Investigations.

Yeah, my agency. I know that must shock you. A woman private dick. Well, it shouldn’t surprise you. Since you don’t know me I can understand your surprise. See, the rest of the world thinks I’m T.A’s girlie, his secretary, the guard-dog who watches the door and fetches his hooch. Please! If you’ve ever seen my type-written letters you’d know how foolish that view was. But come on—who would hire a broad to look into their little problems?

To my mind, who wouldn’t? Folk tell me things. Heck, they forget I’m there half the time. Men forget I have a brain and can take note of what they’re saying let alone that I can understand and draw conclusions from it.

Look, let’s start at the beginning.

My name is Tiffany Alice Marks. I know—how is it that no one has jumped to the obvious? That’s just the thing. They can’t wrap their heads around it so they just don’t see it. Well for one, no one calls me Tiffany. I go by Doll, Sweetheart, Girlie and Babe. It’s a man’s world and I fly under the tree line. Where was I? I’m twenty-nine and a spinster—at least that’s what my granny accuses me of every time I visit.

When I first came up with the idea of the agency, even I thought I was loco. My sister Liza still thinks I am. Yes, that Liza. Liza Marks—dancer at The Club. She’s also one of my informants. Like I said, men talk around skirts. Of course, when I came up with the idea Liza told me I’d never get a client without a mouthpiece. Well, she was right. I had to find a face, a sap who’d look pretty and get my ticket. That face was Jonny Melton.

Jonny’s an old family friend. Was in the army for a spell. Six foot something with walls of muscle. He looks like the kind of fella who could be a private dick. Poor Jonny, dumb as a bed post however he loves the job, loves the credit he gets for solving my cases and loves the dames he can pick up afterward. What you wouldn’t know is that he respects me to get the job done. I said respect. Jonny, well, he gets it. He’s always treated me right. A rare man.

Speaking of rare men. There’s one last fella who knows my secret. Detective Steve Maroney. Yeah, detective. He worked it out pretty early on, saw that I was the brain behind Jonny’s brawn. Never told no one as far as I know and nowadays even bounces the occasional case my way that’s too small for the overwhelmed cop shop where he parks his hat.

So that’s it, that’s my team. It’s a tough life but it works for me.

Of course, that was before the suit walked through my door.

When I say walked, it was more like he fell. Fell in through my door with a hole in his side and a pocket full of dough, and my first question before I called in the boys was to ask if this was a coincidence or had one of my team opened their trap?

 

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6 Comments
  1. oh boy, a new Private Eye thriller! I’m hooked! You have such great writing ideas!! I love the whole Noir vibe.

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