Travelling...

Travelling....

So I'm on the road again.  This time I'm in the great city of...well, I'm not in any city really.  I'm on an island.  St. Simon Island in southern Georgia.  I'm taking care of some company business down here for a few days and spending the rest of my time cooped up in a motel room.  So, what better time to write a blog than now?
I just realized it has been some time since I last wrote.  I have been very busy.  Finally found a house.  Finally found 3 houses actually and made 3 different offers before one was accepted.  Now we just have to close the deal and get moved all before August 31st.  Should be a fun time had by all. 
I guess I will continue with Deuce Maverick, Private Eye and see how he got into the jam he currently finds himself in...
I opened the door casual like...you know, slow.  It's more dramatic that way.  If you just snap a door open, it says something about your personality.  It says that you are rash and brash and impulsive and not disicplined.  Now those are nice attributes for a punk rocker, but for a private eye, it doesn't make such a good impression.  So I always open my door slowly.  Which I was in the process of doing when the lady outside decided to push her way in very aggressively and...brashly!
She immediately went to the windows behind my desk and began looking out into the night.  My windows over look the parking lot and I guess she was watching for something.  Either way, I decided it was time to break the ice.
"Hi.  I'm Deuce-"
"I know who you are.  I know what you do.  Now cut the chatter and get a gun.  Someone is trying to kill me."
Guns.  This is going to sound so...gay.  I hate guns.  They scare me.  I guess I should blame my childhood.  You see, when I was only 7, I watched a man die of a gun blast to the head.  It was gruesome.  The head literally blew into...
Dang.  I can't lie.  I didn't see some dude get shot.  I was just trying to rationalize my irrational fear of handguns.  Truth is, I don't know why I'm afraid of guns.  And not every gun.  I have no fear whatsoever of big guns like shotguns and elephant guns and rifles.  Just handguns.  I guess it's the fact that something so small can hurt you so big.  Or even kill you.  Or maybe I am just weird.
Anyway, it's always quite embarrassing when a client asks me to "pull out my gun" or "go get my gun" or some such crap.  Cause I don't have one.  At least not a handgun.  I do have a big double barrelled shotgun that belonged to my grandfather.  It sits in the corner behind a big potted plant.  It's loaded and it's very dusty.  I don't use it much and was disinclined to grab it right now.  So I ignored the woman's request for a gun and grabbed a flashlight instead.
"So, who's trying to kill you?"
I thought it was a good question considering the situation.  Of course, I was wrong.
The woman turned from the window and speared me with a look that if possible, would have pulled my still beating heart out of my chest and soaked it in gasoline before applying a match and watching it burn.
Her reply was just as searing.
"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here now would I?  I'd be at the damn police department."
I didn't have time to point out the idiocy of this statement by virtue of the fact that the window was shattered by gunfire.  Hand gun fire...
(to be continued)