BUT ANYWAY, Read this story to yourself in a 1940's mobster-mystery "radio-noir" voice. It's much more fun that way...
The Curious Case of Eurydice and Orpheus
By Sydney Davis Jr. Jr.
The year is 1948. It's a dark and stormy night. I've been an employee of Private Eye Investigative Company Inc. Unltd. and Bros. for three years at this point.
I'm sitting at my desk, which is illuminated by a single lamp, and I'm puffing on a cigar the size of my face.
Cases have been scarce, so I've pretty much been doomed to reading the newspaper for eight hours a day, every day.
With only four hours left to go, I've managed to perfect Sudoku, whip through six crossword puzzles, and master the art of constructing pigeons out of sandwich tinfoil, duct-tape, paper clips, and a low-fat bran muffin.
I'm one Queen away from constructing the Eifle Tower, when my door swings open un-expectedly.
I'll admit, I was startled, But I wasn't scared.
Just to clear that up.
I wasn't. Really.
Because that would make me chicken... which I'm not...
But Anyway,
After painfully witnessing the collapse of my masterpiece into nothing but a miserable heap, I look up.
I expect to see my receptionist, Gladys, who pretends she doesn't leave the intercom on just to listen to me breathing ( because she DOES...and it's WEIRD.)
But again, I'm surprised. There's actually a man standing there.
He's wearing a long trench coat, and his face is disguised with the shadows cast by his fedora.
(I'd tell you what color he wore, but it was only 1948, so everything was in black and white. You thought that was only the movies? Well you thought wrong. Color wasn't invented until the '60's. Don't believe me? I don't need your love.)
The man stands before me, dripping wet, getting water all over my carpet, which leads me to believe that it must be raining outside. Either THAT, or hes been standing under a garden sprinkler... which I highly doubt... because that would be stupid...
"What do you want!?" I demand.
"I need a favor." He replies, his gaze still disguised by the shadows.
"I don't do favors", I say, "I work for cold, hard CASH."
"That's what I meant, you just didn't let me finish."
"Oh REALLY?" I countered, "Is that so? Because I could have sworn that there was a break in your dialog, followed by what could have easily been mistaken as a complete thought." I felt brave.
"That doesn't even make sense." He replies, coolly. "Besides, you say you'll only work for cash, but I must ask: What would you do for a Klondike Bar?" This came at me like a kick between the legs. I had no idea who this guy was, but I could tell he meant serious business.
"WHO ARE YOU!?" I stood from my desk, demanding.
That's when he removes his hat. I could see he was young, late twenties, early thirties. (I'd say he had blond-ish hair, but again, nothing had color back then so it was just lighter gray than everything else.)
"Gladys, take your hand off the button." I say, without breaking eye contact.
"Ummm... yessir, but I wasn't- I mean I didn't-" *click* she hangs up.
I could tell this man was here for private business. No witnesses.
"What's your name, PUNK?" I ask.
"The name's Orpheus." He responds.
"Seriously, what's your name?"
"...Really, my name is Orpheus..."
I stare at him.
"It's Greek", he shrugs.
There's a long silence, and then: "It's about my wife. I have reason to believe she is having an affair."
I scoffed "HAH! SCOFF! You must have PROOF! I can't just waltz around the city, stalking people because of something my clients BELIEVE to be true!"
He reaches into his coat pocket, withdrawing a zip-lock baggie. In it, there was a piece of paper.
"I'm sorry, but this is all I have." He tosses it onto my desk. It appears to be a letter. I read it aloud:
"Dear Eurydice"... I stop reading, looking up at him.
"It's Greek", he shrugs again.
I roll my eyes, then continue:
"Dear Eurydice,
I'm so glad we've been having an affair. Luckily your husband doesn't know. Anyway, meet me tonight at the usual spot we meet whenever you tell your husband that you're working late. P.S. Be sure Orpheus never finds out. He might do something CRAZY like hire a private detective, or maybe even kill you.
Love,
Aristaeus."
Aristaeus? Geeze, these people really have a thing about Proper Nouns.
"Hmmm..." I toss it back to him. "I suppose this MIGHT somehow lead to suspicion. Perhaps probable cause..."
"So will you do it?" He asks, "Because Thomas Sampson down the street will do it for LESS. And I'm all about bargains..."
I froze. Thomas Sampson? Ooooh... What I wouldn't give to RUIN that sunnuvuhgun. Just his name alone causes my blood to boil. I don't care if he IS my son. That scum.
"I'll do it", I quickly agree. What could be so difficult? Snap a few photos, buy this guy some tissues. I was totally ready.
Or so I thought....
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