It was 1958, the year that I would go from a despised alcoholic to a world renowned Private Investigator. I had a dollfaced wife, who hated me, and a bright young boy, who feared me. Everyday I would go to the bar and drink all my dignity away, but I didn’t know what drinking a few beers could do to you. I came home more drunk than I was at the bar and I took it out on my wife and boy. She left the next day and took him with her; and there I was, alone and miserable. I realized that what I did to my family was unforgivable, so I turned my life around, went to college, and graduated a Harvard educated lawyer. After five years of being a lawyer I got bored with it, so I became a private investigator and that is where our story begins. The name is Adams, Jack Adams.
I lived the in City of Angels on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Mac Street, where every outcast a drunkard in town lounged. It may not have been the ideal place for a P.I to stay, but it was the best I could do with the little I could scrape up. It was the month of March and I didn’t get case for weeks. I usually spent my time taking naps and reading the paper over and over again, but on the third Thursday, the fifteenth, my luck was going to change. A drop-dead gorgeous woman walked through my door and with ever step she took my heart skipped a beat. I knew she had something on her mind because of the look of distress on her face. After a long pause she spoke,
“Are you Jack Adams?”
“Yes I am and you are?”
“Shanks, Katrina Shanks”
“What can I do for you Miss Shanks?”
“I have a job for you”
“Which is?”
“I need some protection; my father is very sick and I am the heiress to his inheritance. I fear that some men have been hired to hunt me down”
“Sorry, honey; I don’t play bodyguard”
“I’ll pay you $500”
“$500? Fine toots, you got yourself a deal”
“Thank you Mr. Adams”
“Yeah. Yeah no problem”
From that day forward I protected Miss Shanks with my life and we had some encounters with dimwits that tried to kill her. They were really no problem considering all of the bruises and broken bones they got (I learned never to make Miss Shanks mad).
Finally her father, Vincent, was on his deathbed after a long battle with cancer, so Miss Shanks and I visited him one last time. I felt sorry for the guy; he battled the cancer for three years, but I guess it was his time to fade into memory. When we got there he was sleeping a barely hanging on to life with his prescription pill bottle in his hand. He was weak, but he managed to utter four words to his only child,
“I love you Katrina”
“I love you to daddy”
It was so touching that I actually cried. I haven’t cried that much since my wife left me. I couldn’t stand to see him die and I think Katrina saw that; she said I could step into the hall, so I did. Five minutes later I heard crying, so I headed inside and sure enough there she was holding her dad’s hand, sobbing. I said, “sorry.” She hugged me and said; “Thank you”, waved goodbye, and left. I stood there for a couple more minutes to pay my respects. The more I looked at him, the more I could tell something was off. I looked around the room and I saw a brown powder pouring out of his pill bottle. I got a closer look and I instantly knew that is was tobacco. I kept look then I saw it, the thing that blew the case wide open, his plug was pulled.
I immediately ran after Katrina and I saw her going into her car. I had to stop her, so I screamed,
“Hold it right there Miss Shanks!”
She turned and smiled while saying, “Mr. Adams, May I help you?”
“Cut the crap Katrina”
“I beg your pardon”
“Don’t play dumb; I know you killed your father”
“I loved my father, you lying piece of crap! How dare you accuse me of such a thing! You can’t prove anything!”
“You pulled his plug and I know why. You have always wanted your father to die, so that you can inherit his fortune. Him getting cancer was just a faster way to get it and you knew it, so you slipped tobacco into his prescription medicine and sure enough he got cancer. You have waited for years for him to be on his deathbed and when he was there you couldn’t wait anymore. You feared that people were starting to figure it out, so you hired me to protect you until you killed him”
“Very good, detective, very good. Even though I’m impressed, you must still die.”
Then she pulled a gun on me. I put my hands up and, sure enough, you could hear the sirens in the distance. The coppers pulled up and arrested her on the spot.
I got commended by the police department and got offered a spot on the force, but I declined. Being a P.I is my call; it’s my destiny. The rest of the year was too bust, which meant that the pay was outstanding. I think about the case every once in a while and I have determined something. The City of Angels should be called “The City of Fallen Angels.”