Chapter Text
I know how these stories are supposed to start: I’d be in my office, half an hour into the day and halfway through a bottle of malt. My no-good, womanising partner would be draped over the secretary like lecherous, overcooked pasta, and she would walk in. Five feet four of trouble in Chinese silks and French perfume. Legs all the way down to the ground and a pout that knew exactly when to quit. I’d give her a cynical once-over as she posed against the doorframe, and before I knew it, I’d be eyebrows deep in danger, sexual intrigue and betrayal.
The trouble with real life as a PI, though, is that real life doesn’t respect narrative conventions.
This story does start with me half an hour into the day, halfway through a bottle, but the bottle was chocolate milk. Red Sharkey (the very good, but still womanising partner) was draped over his own chair since our needs and budget didn’t actually stretch to a secretary. He was murmuring extremely improper things into the phone, presumably talking to one of his four hundred girlfriends. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been slapped with either a sexual harassment or paternity suit. There’s a chunk of the aforementioned budged quietly set aside to cover that eventuality.
I did my best not to listen, but being a professional snoop makes some things hard. Red noticed me trying not to notice, grinned, and raised his voice a little.
I was saved from flaming-cheeked embarrassment by the arrival of a new client.
He was six foot flat of bland in off-the-rack grey wool and eau de actuary; legs that presumably went to the ground (though enthusiasm on that count was hard to muster) and a furrow between his eyebrows.
I threw my milk hurriedly into the waste bin and shuffled around my desk to offer my hand and the rickety chair we’d set out for clients.
He took my hand briefly, but waved the chair away.
‘Mister Moon?’ The dubious tone was an old, unwelcome friend.
‘At your disposal,’ I ignored Red’s quiet snigger. So what if I’m a little baby faced? I’m only a year younger than he is, and I’ve finally matched his height.
‘My name’s O’Reilly,’ the client said, handing over a business card. Chartered Accountant, to my complete lack of surprise.
Since he remained standing, I leaned against my desk, idly tapping his business card against my chin. ‘How can I help you, Mr O’Reilly?’
‘I think my wife is cheating on me,’ he said. ‘I want to know for sure.’
It’s stupid to feel disappointed in a paying case; divorce peripherals are a PI’s bread and butter, but there’s just something disheartening seeing the regularity with which couples screw each other over.
‘What makes you think she’s going behind your back?’ It’s always best to sort the paranoids from the legitimates at the beginning. Saves on the glazier and trips to A&E, I find.
‘She’s been going out of town for the last ten weekends,’ O’Reilly replied, then a faint blush stained his cheeks. The colour made him instantly ten times as handsome, but that was neither here nor there. ‘And coming home… happy.’
Red, having put the phone down sometime during the introductions, leaned back in his chair, balancing on two legs. ‘"Happy", Mr O’Reilly?’
O’Reilly turned to glance at Red and nodded. ‘Happy like I haven’t seen her in five years. There have also been new dresses which she hasn’t worn for me, and secretive phone calls in the evenings.’
I looked at Red, and we had a brief, silent conversation of twitchy eyebrows and mouths. We didn’t have any cases at the moment, and we could either of us do this in our sleep.
‘All right, Mr O’Reilly,’ I said, turning away from Red. ‘We’ll need a photo of your wife, and her schedule if you have it. Oh, and for philandering cases, I’m afraid the company policy is to take the money upfront.’
O’Reilly nodded. ‘How much?’
I named a price, factoring in expenses.
O’Reilly frowned. ‘Does that price get both of you on the case?’
I opened my mouth to reply, thinking about Red’s hectic social schedule, but he beat me to it.
‘Sure,’ Red said casually. ‘If you want.’
O’Reilly nodded again, pulling out a chequebook. ‘She’s going to Adare this weekend. I’ll email you the photo and further details.’
He signed, crossed and tore a cheque. I set it on my desk, straightened and offered my hand again.
‘We’ll have something for you by Monday.’
O’Reilly shook my hand, nodded at Red and departed. Once the door closed, I sat down behind my laptop and looked over at Red.
‘Hot date get cancelled?’
He grinned his crooked, charming grin and leaned back, hands folded behind his head. ‘Maybe I just want to spend a romantic weekend with you, Half Moon.’
When I didn’t dignify that with a response, he shrugged and continued. ‘It’s a nice area, and I wasn’t doing anything urgent.’
‘So you volunteered to come as backup on a case we could either of us do blindfolded.’
Red just grinned and closed his eyes.