Barry Hargrove, Private Investigator

Barry Hargrove, Private Investigator

by Bob Nailor

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Barry Hargrove, Private Investigator

by Bob Nailor

It was a tedious day, one where time moved so slowly a person felt infinity was close at hand. I remembered back to the magazine ad: Have an exciting life. Learn hidden secrets. Earn BIG money. Become a Private Investigator. Well, I'd bought that line and was now sitting at my second-hand desk with its stacked papers and folders; all of it a sham, indicating non-existent work in progress. The Washington Times, dated Friday, January 2, heralding the New Year of 2015, spread out in front of me. I could only hope the New Year would offer me, Barry Hargrove, some great opportunities. An article about finding lunar orchids at Armstrong City on the moon didn't quite entice me. Instead, the glass front door beckoned my attention, but it was just a flash. So I sat there, elbows on desk, arms up and my chin resting securely in my palms; I began reading the backward lettering for the umpteenth time.

 Exciting? My first job was to find some kid's pet dog, a Char-pei for a reward plus expenses. Two hours and one visit to the local animal shelter had Shoo Shoo in the mangling arms of a snot nose brat just in time for Christmas. I couldn't believe a family would be so lazy or busy they didn't even bother to call the dog pound. I earned an extra fifty for expediency. My total earnings came to $156.32 which wasn't bad for two hours of work, but definitely not exciting. That was almost three weeks ago and the Christmas season had come and gone.

What I needed was a drop-dead, gorgeous blond bombshell of a dame to walk into my life and office, desperately seeking my assistance. Instead, a fly landed near the newspaper and I watched in fascination while it performed its ritualistic cleaning.

A sudden movement at the front door caught my attention and I saw her standing outside, timid and hesitant. She hadn't walked up to the frosted glass front office but had appeared like smoke jelling into a solid.

I sat up, mesmerized while she gingerly pushed the door open and then languidly eased into the room, strutting toward my desk. Realizing I had to appear busy, I quickly folded and relegated the newspaper to the trash can and began to fumble with some papers, most of them doodlings.

"Are you Hargrove?" The voice was soft, melodic, yet husky with silken overtones.

I froze and took her in. An open coat, draped loosely about her shoulders, revealed the ruby red, form fitting dress which was low cut and had every reason to be; the hem was knee length with a slit at the right side to allow her long legs to stride sensuously in the five inch stilettos she wore. Her brunette hair curled about her shoulders making faultless circlets and the perfect accent to her face. Deep green eyes glistened like smoky, fire-edged emeralds as she moved quietly across the tile floor immersing me in a gut sucking emotion with each step. A good PI can never absorb too many details.

"May I help you?" My parched bullfrog voice shattered the silence and I awkwardly motioned, offering her the chair. With a weak smile, I mumbled. "Barry Hargrove, ma'am."

She sat down and crossed her perfectly shaped legs, the slit of the dress revealing still more of her thigh. I sat, I could already feel the heat in my loins and I really didn't want to embarrass myself more than my gawking had already done. Obviously, it was lust at first sight.