I loved it. Even the boring stuff. I'll say it, aspects of being a Private Investigator are pretty freaking cool. Especially if you live in a fantasy world, (Lawrence Block) and become a caricature of a character in a sober P.I. series. Life could be a movie, sometimes.
Especially the airports. The waiting, gauging the others with you. If the plane goes down, who does the rescue? You? On the job, on a case, watching, following...cool. But not bloody likely.
Start smoking. Camels.
Non-filters.
Interior of Mexico-Medical records from an all Spanish speaking hospital on a couple of Norte-Americanos-insurance claim in the states. Records indicating other wise down south. I do not speak Spanish.
An all black recreational center: my camera in a gym bag on the floor, silently recording a claimant claiming 100 per cent disability, teaching her regularly scheduled aerobics class. Booyah.
Cheating husbands, wives with round heels, kids running away, stolen Mercedes found in a storage facility in Kansas- not a lot of time home. But when I was a present parent, my three-year olds were a riot. One of them used to call me 'Pal...'. How ya doin, pal...
And I lit a a Camel.
We moved to a bedroom community north-west of Dallas. I was out of town 60-70 percent of the time and my wife had grown depressed. I, however, was not around to witness it.
I was being responsible.
Did I mention I was miserable?
Example: Wife asks, (after experiencing massive weight gain) "Do you know what I would like to be?"
I answered without thinking. "A size six."
Yeah...I know.
Camel non-filters. Yeah.
I know.
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