Emma, Snoop Dogg's "Doggystyle" album, early 90's cop drama.
A slowly moving apparition of nicotine haunted the dark the office as the young woman shifted impatiently in the stiff, uncomfortable wooden chair.
"So, let me get this straight. Let me this get this crystal fuckin' clear, Toots. May I call you Toots?"
"Yes,that's fine. Can you help me?"the young woman swats at the air as if the cancer carcinogens were mosquitoes.
"Alright,Toots, listen,"the man butts his cigarette and stands up. Light radiates from the hallway and falls on his face. The young woman now has a face to the scratchy voice, and the match is far from perfect. His voice is worn and aged like a cassette tape that still plays but not very well. His face, though, was young, clean cut, and somewhat vestal,"I'm a licensed private investigator. I ain't some fuckin' ASPCA, tree huggin', cock suckin' cat catcher. If you lost your cat; you make posters and you hang them throughout the goddamned city,"the cassette played the women's least favorite song but most familiar song; rejection. The infliction of his voice was in itself an oddity. He could scold you without even raising his tone.
The young woman nodded her head, and slowly stood up. And then just as quickly fell back into the chair and began to sob hysterically.
Her voice came out wet, choked and a little snot filled, "Please, I'll pay you as much as you want just find my Puddin'!"
"Ah, Jesus, Toots. Don't cry. You don't understand what kind of an insult it is for me to go lookin' for your cat. It ain't about money, it's about the fact that I ain't about to go snoopin' around dark alleys and questioning thugs because," he picked up her business card she had handed him upon her arrival,"Emma. . . May. . .atman. Because you forgot to shut your window."
"Fine! Don't help me you fucking asshole! I'll find Puddin' on my own! And I'll be sure to tell all my friends not to come to Dutch Pearce, Private Eye because he's a Public Dickhead!"
"Listen, Toots, I think your only friend is probably being coaxed into a chinese restaurant right now to be tomorrow's dinner special," he sat back down completely unwounded by her insults and expected his own to turn the faucet back on behind her eyeballs.
"You. . . you. . . FUCK!" She flipped him off and like a guiding light to "debt freedom,baby" he noticed the size of the diamond on her finger.
Damn, maybe this broad is worth some money. If I found that little shit, I might be able to get the IRS off my back,he thought. She turned to walk out, but stopped to hear his reconsideration.
"Alright, I'll do it. But only because my sister lost a cat once, and it really tore her up. I'll do it, I'll find Snowball for ya."
"Puddin'."
"Whatever," he lit another cigarette, "but it'll cost ya."
"This cat is worth more to me than any amount of money. I assure you that Mr. Pearce."
"Please, call me Dutch. Or perhaps Dutch, Public Dickhead,"he smiled for the first time and gave her a wink. Normally she would get queasy and raise her brow and let her facial expressions paint a bold red sign begging, "uhm. . . excuse me?" But something about this man was attractive.
"Well,Dutch, you'll find everything about Puddin' in the folder I gave you already. Everything from photos of her to a precise description of her voice."
"Her voice? What is this cat a fuckin' world renowned TV personality?" he opened the folder and began flipping through the photos showing little interest.
"Puddin' is a very verbal and emotional cat. When you find her you must be very gentle with her both physically and mentally as to not damage or traumatize her," she began to weep softly.
"Lady, you got it bad for this feline. How about I walk you home and I'll look for her till dawn then we can go look some more after you get some rest?"
"Mr. Pearce, I am not looking for a date, I want my Puddin' found."
"A date it is, Toots." They exited the office and Dutch told his secretary to hold his calls and tell everyone he's got a big case and all others will have to wait.
"What calls? Miss Maatman is the first person I've seen in here in months." He glared at her.
Outside, some kids were playing basketball as a boombox blared Snoop Dogg's latest opus tackling important topics like weed, hoes, and twenty foes.
"So, I'm hungry. You like Chinese?" Dutch asked his beautiful sidekick.
"Erm. . ."
"So, let me get this straight. Let me this get this crystal fuckin' clear, Toots. May I call you Toots?"
"Yes,that's fine. Can you help me?"the young woman swats at the air as if the cancer carcinogens were mosquitoes.
"Alright,Toots, listen,"the man butts his cigarette and stands up. Light radiates from the hallway and falls on his face. The young woman now has a face to the scratchy voice, and the match is far from perfect. His voice is worn and aged like a cassette tape that still plays but not very well. His face, though, was young, clean cut, and somewhat vestal,"I'm a licensed private investigator. I ain't some fuckin' ASPCA, tree huggin', cock suckin' cat catcher. If you lost your cat; you make posters and you hang them throughout the goddamned city,"the cassette played the women's least favorite song but most familiar song; rejection. The infliction of his voice was in itself an oddity. He could scold you without even raising his tone.
The young woman nodded her head, and slowly stood up. And then just as quickly fell back into the chair and began to sob hysterically.
Her voice came out wet, choked and a little snot filled, "Please, I'll pay you as much as you want just find my Puddin'!"
"Ah, Jesus, Toots. Don't cry. You don't understand what kind of an insult it is for me to go lookin' for your cat. It ain't about money, it's about the fact that I ain't about to go snoopin' around dark alleys and questioning thugs because," he picked up her business card she had handed him upon her arrival,"Emma. . . May. . .atman. Because you forgot to shut your window."
"Fine! Don't help me you fucking asshole! I'll find Puddin' on my own! And I'll be sure to tell all my friends not to come to Dutch Pearce, Private Eye because he's a Public Dickhead!"
"Listen, Toots, I think your only friend is probably being coaxed into a chinese restaurant right now to be tomorrow's dinner special," he sat back down completely unwounded by her insults and expected his own to turn the faucet back on behind her eyeballs.
"You. . . you. . . FUCK!" She flipped him off and like a guiding light to "debt freedom,baby" he noticed the size of the diamond on her finger.
Damn, maybe this broad is worth some money. If I found that little shit, I might be able to get the IRS off my back,he thought. She turned to walk out, but stopped to hear his reconsideration.
"Alright, I'll do it. But only because my sister lost a cat once, and it really tore her up. I'll do it, I'll find Snowball for ya."
"Puddin'."
"Whatever," he lit another cigarette, "but it'll cost ya."
"This cat is worth more to me than any amount of money. I assure you that Mr. Pearce."
"Please, call me Dutch. Or perhaps Dutch, Public Dickhead,"he smiled for the first time and gave her a wink. Normally she would get queasy and raise her brow and let her facial expressions paint a bold red sign begging, "uhm. . . excuse me?" But something about this man was attractive.
"Well,Dutch, you'll find everything about Puddin' in the folder I gave you already. Everything from photos of her to a precise description of her voice."
"Her voice? What is this cat a fuckin' world renowned TV personality?" he opened the folder and began flipping through the photos showing little interest.
"Puddin' is a very verbal and emotional cat. When you find her you must be very gentle with her both physically and mentally as to not damage or traumatize her," she began to weep softly.
"Lady, you got it bad for this feline. How about I walk you home and I'll look for her till dawn then we can go look some more after you get some rest?"
"Mr. Pearce, I am not looking for a date, I want my Puddin' found."
"A date it is, Toots." They exited the office and Dutch told his secretary to hold his calls and tell everyone he's got a big case and all others will have to wait.
"What calls? Miss Maatman is the first person I've seen in here in months." He glared at her.
Outside, some kids were playing basketball as a boombox blared Snoop Dogg's latest opus tackling important topics like weed, hoes, and twenty foes.
"So, I'm hungry. You like Chinese?" Dutch asked his beautiful sidekick.
"Erm. . ."