Me
I am a magnet for crime. If crime were physically manifested as iron filings, they would fly to me. They would cluster on my body, perhaps in the shape of a handlebar mustache, or a Van Dyke. Such is the attraction of crime to me. Poor, mild-mannered me.
I am not unlike most physicians, authors, psychologists, attorneys, nosey old ladies, and European bachelors when I say that about once a week I discover a dead body, and also like them I have been moved (by my irrepressible curiosity and nose for trouble) to unmask the killers. In these endeavors, I was sometimes aided by my two cats, Petey and Francis, whose contemplative nature, meowing, and frequent naps often suggest solutions that evade the logical, non-feline mind (for a time I also had a human sidekick, but he did not appear in my later adventures). I have the uncanny ability to see through a murderer's eyes-though it is unclear whether this is a superpower or I am just very empathetic. Also, I have recovered stolen gems.
I did not seek out these distractions, nor am I a trained law-enforcement professional. Initially, the local police were annoyed by my constant meddling. Yet over time, the Chief came to begrudgingly respect my intuitive and quite astounding crime-solving abilities: He has my secret e-mail address, and we occasionally play squash.
I just thought you all should know a little more about the seemingly innocuous, overweight young man you have befreinded, and that his life is not as simple as it seems.