Marcus Remington

*This is a fictional piece. If you take anything here seriously, you need to calm down.*
Another day, another night, what do I care? I measure my life case by case, because that is my life. A private investigator's work is never truly finished, especially when his biggest case is also his most personal. But that's not important, not to what I'm going to tell you tonight. It all started about a month ago...
*fade*
I was down at one of my usual haunts, a little bar downtown by the name of Mickey's. I had my usual scotch, and had just lit my cigarette when she walked in. The dame was a real looker, and she seemed to be looking for someone in particular. She made a beeline for the bar, but instead of ordering one of Mick's famous concoctions, she began talking to the slightly portly barkeep. He nodded, and pointed her in my direction. She walked over, sat down and looked at me. "A word?"
"Gingersnaps." I never said I was polite. I hate that expression. "But, I have a feeling you want something more than just a word. You have a job for me, I assume?"
"Of course, Mr. Remington. I need you to trail my husband. I think he is up to something..." she paused to pull out her own cigarette, and I lit it for her. "... adulterous."
"Disappears for extended periods, comes home smelling like perfume? Lipstick on his collar?"
She glanced down for a second. "Well, the first, but none of the rest. He had some grease on his sleeve, though."
*TO BE CONTINUED*