NezSez

My name’s Nez. And I’m a blogger.

Today I woke up early. It was something folks like me did often, especially when we’re on a case.

The calm of the early morning is the best time to think. And this case required a lot of thought.

But first, duty called.

I fired up my Quad, the familiar bong of the Mac OS interrupting the silence. Faster than any one-armed bandit, I went through my usual routine.

My agents brought me the usual suspects, mail goons who had too much askey to drink the night before. I recognized a few characters from the local RSS. A few were new, defiant, even emboldened.

I picked out the ones I wanted from the line-up, leaving the rest for processing by the disposal team. I don’t envy those guys — the cyber-sanitation engineers — dealing with the everyday deluge of bogus deals on meds and warez, get-rich-quick schemes, flesh-peddlers and spammy low-lifes. It’s a thankless job.

Anyway, the minutes flew by, and before I knew it, they arrived.

My morning visitors.

I knew it would happen — it was inevitable, living in the Pa Rent ‘hood. Their footsteps got closer, and I wheeled around, expecting the worse. Clad in colorful, polyester outfits, the two made quite a pair. One had hair that was in all directions, as if he’d just gotten out of bed. Clearly, grooming was not high on this guy’s priority list. Of course, in their line of work, it rarely was.

In a high, squeaky voice, the other one said, “Daddy, can we have the Honey Nut Cheerios today?”

“Sure, kids.” I told them.

Two minutes later, the two brothers were contently munching away on the cereal, momentarily distracted. It won’t be long before they’ll be back, though. But by that time, I’ll be ready for them.

Returning to the job at hand, I continued working on tracking down my elusive target. She had given me the slip for a couple of days, but today I was determined to find her.

It had been a long, hard chase. For a while there, it was like I was always one step behind her. But I was close. I could feel it, for she was careless. There were clues left strewn about at each crime scene: a smooth and polished comment, a snippet of idea clearly cut by a sharp wit, and several incriminating photos to boot.

But she was good, and she knew it, and she knew that I knew.

Perhaps being careless was just her way of taunting me.

But I vowed it won’t be long before I found her again.

Just then, though, in walked a pair of the finest smooth-skinned legs any bipedal organism of the female persuasion would want for locomotion. And there were other uses as well, I can assure you.

But today, any stocking-covered, stiletto-heel bearing gam-gandering was precluded by the dark cotton-blend covering of a loose-fitting pair of sweatpants. The luscious lips that belonged to the rest of the warmly dressed body parted. What followed was to the point, a point I had no trouble getting.

“Honey, I’m off to class.”

“Okay, honey. Good luck on the exam today.” I replied. I gave the wife a kiss, and she went out through the garage side door. Such a cutie.

And then, another hour passed before I could get back on the case — you know, kids. School. ‘Nuff said.

I dug out my dog-eared notebook — great for keeping track of clues — and again worked on the case, going over and over all the pieces of information I had, somehow knowing that I needed to form a puzzle without the picture on the box. That puzzle could turn out to be highly valued, revered, maybe even talked about. But I wouldn’t know until the job was done.

I agonized and thought some more. I went to the john to pay my respects and thought there, too. Then I made a cup of tea and quaffed it down like there was no tomorrow. Decaffeinated, if you must know. And green, too.

And then I found her.

She appeared right where she was the other day, when everyone was out of the pad. When I was alone.

She stood right there in all her splendid glory, dressed in some sort of ethereal, swirling, wispy thing of excuse for a dress.

This was no ordinary dame.

Unlike a cornered animal, she would not fight back. Now caught, she would willingly relinquish herself. There would be no more games.

So without a word, she drifted up to me and peered over my shoulder at the screen.

“Oh, Nez, that looks like a great post!” Muse said. “Why don’t you fix that typo…”

To be continued…?

photo credit: borderhacker

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