Ok, first of all I need to apologise; this story was written while I was supposed to be hard at work in at a clients, and as such there will be a few inconsistencies in tenses and so on where Ive had to stop and come back to it at points. icon_smile.gif Its a brief short about a PI stumbling into the world of gaming unexpectedly, and there was a mild attempt to make it fit into the detectives novel genre of the 1950s.

Enjoy. Maybe.


The afternoon sun beat heavily through the open window of the small office in central London. A rickety old standing fan rattled through its paces, casting a barely noticeable breeze into the stuffy room and providing a brief oasis for in which the flies could dance around. The room was barely big enough to hold the desk and chair it currently accommodated, but someone at some point had tried desperately to cram a few filing cabinets and the aforementioned fan into it. The net effect was to make the room like it was just about to explode in a shower of yellowing paperwork at any moment.
The entrance to the office was closed off with a windowed door, the name “Richards Larson, P.I.” transferred onto the clouded, dirty glass.
This is my office, and Im the name on the door.
Outside, a tram clattered past noisily and shook a few files loose from their precariously balanced positions on top of the cabinets. I barely noticed, taking solace in the glass of whiskey that weaved through the air before me. I wasn’t concerned by its meanderings however, because it was my hand that was trying to steady it.
Eventually I decided the glass would look better back on the table, reasoning maybe it was the cause of my inability to focus well and instead turned my attention to the newspaper. Even with the drink, the news didn’t seem any more exciting, aside from a brief excerpt about the yanks sending a shuttle into space called the Tubble telescope or something. Business had been undeniably slow these past few years, with people seemingly requiring less use for a P.I. but at my tender age of thirty five it seemed like I had little choice in what else I could do, and the arrival of 1990 had not seen the expected job boom that the government had been so sure of.
A knock at the door. I looked up to see the silhouette of a feminine nature behind the clouded glass.
“Come in. Or don’t. Ill leave it entirely up to you.” I trailed off slightly when the door opened to reveal a lady of obvious high standing.
“You look to be a lady of obvious high standing. Am I to presume you are not the new cleaning lady?” I reached for my cigarettes on the table, a habit I’d developed and went a long with – it was the done thing – and proffered the packet to the newcomer.
She waved a hand in declination and swept into the room, her long skirt raising small dust storms across my floor. I liked that in a dame, a long skirt. Too many gels these days were taking to wearing trousers as if they felt it made them more powerful or something.
“I was told you could help me find someone.” Her voice sounded silken and angelic, making me want to grab a cold shower there and then. I looked down at the pack of cigarettes in my hands and back up at her, turning the box around slowly.
“You were told right. As it happens, Ive been single for some time now and-“
“My son. Hes been missing for five days now.” She appeared to ignore my attempt at humour, finding the scene out my window more interesting. With a flick of my hand I sent the packet across the table and pulled out a pen.
“You better start from the top then, m’am.”
She gave me all the details of course, with barely a trace of emotion as if she were discussing something mundane rather than a missing only child. The child in question was a Robert Matthews; fifteen, small with black hair, always did his homework and went to bed on time – he sounded like a regular church boy. Recently however he hadn’t been going out anymore, choosing to stay in his room all the time playing on a new videogame system his parents had bought him just the other week. She had no leads to where he could be, which made things hard.
“A NES, you say? That’s a jap thing, aint it?” I breathed out a cloud of smoke, and stubbed the cigarette out into the ashtray. I couldn’t even remember lighting the thing, its funny how some things seem to just happen without the brain getting involved.
She nodded curtly and dropped an envelope onto the table. “That should be enough to cover your expenses. My contact number and address are also in there.”
I knew better than to open it in front of her – it was a matter of pride – and I trusted her judgement of how much this was likely to cost.
She turned to walk out the door. “I’ll find him, don’t worry.” She stopped and looked at me over her shoulder with a sad smile, the first glimmer of genuine emotion I had seen since she came in.
“I hope so. I really do.”

It was still quiet in the bar when I got there, most the office types hadn’t finished work yet which was just the way I liked it. The barman looked up from polishing his pump and leered at me.
“You know, you really shouldn’t polish your pump and leer at me like that, people will talk.” I snipped as I pulled a stool up and tried to clear a space amidst the dirty beer glasses that had failed to be removed by the barman.
“Leave it out Rich, you know its not my fault Ive got a bad eye, and these beer pumps are dirtier than a sailor’s whore!” without further ado, he pulled a pint of Large and handed it over to me “On the tab, again?”
Grinning, I flicked open the envelope and pulled out a crisp five point note. “Not today Tam, got myself a case.”
The barman, Tam, held the note up to the dim light above the bar and made appreciative sounds. “I trust its more than the usual missing cat case?”
“Better. Missing boy.” I replied, sipping the pint with equally appreciative sounds.
I relayed the case to the barman, Tam; he was an old friend, and one I knew I could trust with such information. He listened, nodding away and waited till I had finished.
“Uh-huh. So did she put her clothes back on before leaving the office? Or were they ripped off during the first bout of mad passionate sex.”
Ok, so I may have embellished the story slightly to Tam, but I knew he would expect it. No point boring someone about a missing rich kid unless you can add a few details in.
I turned to survey the rest of the bar while I drank, admiring the scene. In this day and age, health inspectors were everywhere yet Tam had managed to keep the bar in a perpetual state of disrepair. Dingy lights did little to illuminate its dark recesses, beat up tables lay dotted around and worn bar stools seemed to gather in tribes at random spots. A group of barely disguised school kids sat in one corner, hidden away from the main entrance and appearing to share the same pint.
I blinked. No, I thought, it cant be. But it was. The boy I was looking for was but a few feet away, drinking a shandy. Turning back to face Tam, I took a deep drink and chuckled to myself. I hadn’t even started the case officially and I had already found the boy. What a day.
As five o’clock approached I hear the boys get up and leave, and quickly downing my pint and nodding my thanks to Tam I slip out the door behind them, eager to follow them so I could report back to the dame where her boy was.
I tailed them for what seemed like a good hour or so till eventually they entered an alleyway, causing alarm bells to go off in my head. I was now in one of the quieter districts, the daily background noise of London was uncomfortably far off and it was now dawning on me that I shouldn’t have been so rash to follow these kids down here. Especially considering I had neglected to go to the toilet before I left the bar.
With a spring in my step which had nothing to do with my mood, I snuck into the alley and ducked low behind some bins. Peering around them, I could only make out glimpses of the boys.
“You ready to do this?” I heard one of them ask. A general round of soft laughter and giggles meets the question, and I heard the Matthew’s kid say something, but its quickly drowned out by more laughter.
A long drawn out ‘zing’ sound cuts through the groups’ giggles and immediately my brain goes into overdrive, trying to pin down such an alien sound. Its quickly followed by more ‘zings’ and I cant help myself from standing up slightly to see whats going on.
The scene that met my eyes was surreal; two of the kids, the Robert and another, are jumping and bobbing around with what looks like toy pistols. Just as Im watching, the boy with his back to me fire’s again and a small red beam flies out and blows a chunk out of the ground where Robert had been standing but a moment ago.
“You idiots! What do you think you’re doing?!” I pushed past the bins, unable to stay hidden any longer. The effect on the boys however is tremendous as the group watching all begin to scatter out of the alley. The Matthews kid tried to push past me but I grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him in tight to stop him escaping but the other kid looks at me with a sickly grin that will haunt my dreams for the rest of my days.
“Thanks, n00b.” he snorts, firing off the gun again. I look in confusion as the little red beam flies out – it seems to be aimed away from me – and I realise all to late that Im not the one intended to be its victim.
I felt Robert’s body shudder with the impact then slide out my grip, slumping to the ground.
Ignoring the shooter, I quickly lift Robert up and rolled him over onto his back only to see a large red burn mark across his chest, burnt through his clothes. I looked up at the shooter, confused an unsure of what to say.
“Better tell him to go back to Duck Hunt when he wakes up.” The shooter snorts again, walking past me with an arrogant air.
I knelt there in shock, holding Robert in my arms before eventually snapping out of it and picking up the ‘Zapper’ he dropped.
Its deceptive appearance almost makes me forget what Id just seen it do. I aimed at the wall opposite and pulled the trigger a few times but nothing happens. Looking back down at Robert I shook my head in confusion.
“Im going to get to the bottom of this…”

By Fascination
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