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Finding Dolores
Topic Started: Jan 12 2010, 07:04 AM (104 Views)
Finding Dolores

I'd been sitting in the bar for an hour when he walked in. Not that he was late, you understand, he showed up bang on time, nine o'clock like we'd agreed. Just wandered into the bar, got himself a glass of red wine and sat down opposite me, calm as could be.

I'd shown up an hour early. I always try to arrive early, when I can; you need to in my line of work. Just the little things, you're already settled when they show up, you get to see how they behave when they think nobody's watching, that sort of thing. And I'd shown up an hour early because frankly, this guy creeped the fuck out of me and I didn't want him to know it. Whisky helps.

So he wanders in, sits down opposite me, just nods as a greeting. Not a great talker this one, at least not for small talk. When he wanted to he could talk for England, rambling on about crap I'm sure made sense to him but made the rest of the world confused as hell. You find them sometimes, people who've retreated into themselves so far they can't really function in the real world, people whose only friends are ideas.

He had his ladyfriend, of course, and I guess he used her as kind of a middleman between him and the outside world, someone who could explain him to others and vice versa. Like a translator and a shield all in one.

But anyway. He sits down, sips his wine, waits for me to start talking. First thing I tell him is I'm not there to apologise, not there to say sorry for what I did. He nodded at this, not just agreeing, but like I'd said something so obvious it didn't even need pointing out. Like I'd just told him I wasn't the Vorlon Ambassador here to make peace with the people of Earth, or that I didn't have three testicles - you know, just in case he was wondering or something.

That threw me, can't lie. Being a PI, when people find out you've been investigating them, often they get mad, start ranting and raving, shouting and screaming. Talking about rights and privacy, how violated they feel, how much you've messed with them. I guess I can see their point. The way I see it, being a PI is a lot like being a knife, ultimately you're there to carry out whatever duty you're put to, whether that's chopping vegetables or stabbing through the heart of some former lover. It's down to the person wielding you to use you responsibly. Some would say that's an excuse and I guess deep down it is, but it helps me sleep at night.

This guy though, he just sits, nods, sips his wine, waits for me to continue. Fucking freak.

I knew the name he went by in public, and I knew the name he'd used to have years ago, but couldn't say which was "real" and which wasn't. Not that it matters. One thing I learned long ago, nobody's who they say they are, not even who they tell themselves they are, not really. A name is the least of my concerns.

I try to make a bit of small talk, ask about the lady. He says she's off making shoes for her tarsier, whatever the fuck a tarsier might be, as if that explains everything. Seems like chat isn't to this guy's taste, so I cut to the chase.

Dolores.

This was probably the first time I saw him show any kind of emotion, any kind of reaction. Even with this, he didn't break down in tears, didn't even flinch. But he clenched his fists so hard he broke the damn wine glass into pieces, cut his hand open like nobody's business but just let it bleed like maybe he liked it better that way.

Maybe he did.

First thing he said was Dolores was dead. At first I thought he was just wrong, the guy didn't seem to be playing with a full deck as it was. But then he went on this whole ramble about how the girl he used to know was dead, the body was still alive but the mind inside wasn't, off into weird trippy spiritual shit. I couldn't make head or tail of it to tell the truth but I got the gist of what he was saying.

I guess it made sense in a way. I'd had a case like this years ago, teenage girl, a runaway, parents just wanted her bringing back safely. She'd signed up with some kooky religious group and decided her folks were holding back her shot at heaven and one day she was just gone. They said when she joined the group it was like she was a totally different person. Born again, brainwashing, freedom, sanity - different words and different experiences leading to the same end. The old self is dead.

As far as Dolores, the guy hadn't seen her in years, two of them used to be thick as thieves then one day she just up and left without a word of goodbye. Saddest damn thing I ever heard, but it happens a lot nowadays, people looking for meaning and throwing away friends to find it.

Me, the only meaning I'm looking for comes from the end of a case or the bottom of a bottle. Anything else is hearsay.

I told him I'd come across Dolores during the previous investigation, did a bit of digging and found a few leads. Asked if he'd like me to carry it on, pro bono, just looking into it and keeping him informed. I meant what I said earlier, about being like a knife and not being to blame for what happens with the info I dig up, but I guess on some level I did feel bad for the shit he went through, him and his ladyfriend. They're a pair of freaks but nice enough in their way and didn't deserve the crap that got thrown at them, not really. So maybe this was me trying to put things right in the only way I could.

He didn't answer at first, just stared into his wine glass, swirling it around like he could see something in it, telling him what to do. When he did talk it was quiet, almost a whisper. All he did was ask me to keep him informed. Again, not one of life's great talkers, at least not when it comes to personal stuff. But I got the message. He couldn't bring himself to ask me to investigate but deep down he wanted me to. And that's plenty good enough for me.
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