MOAR Marcus Remington!

...
"Grease on his sleeve?" I had my doubts that the husband was having an affair, but he was definitely acting suspiciously. Still, she wanted my services, and I had been short on cash lately. Turns out, getting a reputation as an exceptional private investigator, especially when the word spreads to the criminal underground, tends to make the scum who are still free avoid your city like the plague. I hadn't had a case in almost six weeks! "Seems like you have an unusual set of circumstances, Miss, ah..."
"Sander."
"Thank you. I'll take the job, it's ten an hour. I'll start tailing him tomorrow." It was a lot of money to charge, but I was running dry, and my notoriety hopefully made it worth it.
"Very well then, Mr. Remington. I'm hoping for the best, and that my husband isn't up to anything. Here." She handed me her address and number, smoothly written on a scrap of paper. Then she got up, paid the bartender, and left. I got up myself, to pay for my drinks and head back to my apartment. When I got there, Mick said, "You getting more, or ya leavin'?"
"I'm headin' home. What do I owe?"
"Nothin'. Yer lady friend paid for your scotch." I raised an eyebrow.
*to be continued*

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*

UGH, feeling sick.

So, I caught the cold by having sex with my girlfriend while she was sick. Thats right, the common cold is an STD. So boys and girls, if your signifigant other has the snifflles, make 'em some soup to cheer em up. Don't make passionate love to them. They may appreciate it and have multiple orgasms, but the next week is gonna be hell for you.
-Gil