Barracuda

Chapter 1

Ah, Africa... land of the wild. It's one of those places that fascinate me. Only New York City rivals it for the sheer number of ways to die. Not even in New York can you be trampled by oxen or befriended by mutated ape people. Well, not unless you work in the public school system.

I guess I should introduce myself... I'm Jeremy Barracuda Private Investigator. All my remaining friends call me Barra so I guess that's good enough. I don't have time to work on a cooler alias, and besides, Magnum has already been taken.

I'm just your typical sort of guy. I wake up in the mornings. I eat, get ready for work, love my family. All the usual stuff. Actually, I typically arise at noon, peeling myself from the sofa, skull a lukewarm beer that I find sitting next to the TV, then wade through a foot-high flood of plastic takeout containers to get to my office. Oh, and I hate my family.

My day started off as normal as ever - sifting through an assorted pile of debris looking for the cleanest underwear - until somebody knocked on the door. I froze, staring at the door for a moment, contemplating. On one hand it could be a job for me, or on the other hand it might be my stereotypical landlord chasing rent money. I went on the assumption that if it was my landlord he'd have been inside by now, choking me on the ground amongst a pile of smelly trash. I opened the door.

I winced as the bright midday sun shone in my eyes. After the childish whimpering subsided I took in the form of a woman standing on my front landing. I waited for the spiel, positive that she was about to start her sales pitch. I hoped it was a vacuum cleaner. Ever better, a shovel. If it was inflatable farm animals I'd take a card.

She smiled warmly and asked, "Jeremy Barracuda?" I heard music appear from nowhere, and the room seemed a little brighter. I suddenly felt very self-conscious and did the only thing a man in my situation could have, and slammed the door in her face.

I heard a knock again and opened the door smiling. She somewhat hesitantly smiled back, visibly flustered. I coughed. It was very awkward.

She asked, "Jeremy Barracuda"?

"What are you selling?" I managed. I'm persistent like that.

"Oh, I'm not selling anything. I want to hire you for a job... but if you're not interested..." she trailed off.

I got to thinking. A job. Wow, it's been a long time, I hadn't had anyone hire me since that time I had to stake out an inflatable sheep factory. In the split second that it took for these thoughts to pass through my mind I also thought that perhaps it was time that I saw a shrink. Daydreaming about inflatable animals was almost as bad as daydreaming about real ones.

I thought about money, and my distinct lack of it.

"Yes, I'm interested." I said, "Come inside?"

I forced the door open a little, cursing at the assorted rubbish that had mysteriously accumulated on the floor.

"It's my cleaning lady's day off." I explained. She seemed to believe me.

I weaved a path to my office, and indicated for her to go inside first. She gave me a look of distrust. It's not like I hadn't been in there for 5 months and had left a chicken vindaloo in my top desk drawer after hiding it from a client that had unexpectedly arrived.

I took a seat in front of my overly-large oak desk, leaning back in a huge plush leather recliner as she squirmed uncomfortably in a rickety chair left by a previous tenant in the apartment upstairs.

Sighing, and then grunting as I raised my feet and rested them on the desk, I flashed her a cheesy Used Car Salesman Smile. Somewhat hesitantly, with her eyes darting from side to side taking in her strange surroundings, she began to speak. I took the opportunity to kick all the junk off my desk.

"I'd like to hire you," she began. I should have been happy, but all I could think about were the sheep. I'm really going to have to go and find some help.

She continued, "It's my father... he's a famous explorer who has disappeared whilst on expedition."

I'm sure I'd seen this episode on The Goodies, and I recalled that even Magnum had a similar case. I was sceptical. Hell every cop and detective show on television has had an episode where the beautiful, helpless girl's father was a famous explorer who disappeared in a jungle while on expedition. It makes me wonder how there can be so many of them. I could try right now and I bet I couldn't come up with the name of a famous explorer, and certainly not one that was alive. Although - and this should be taken into consideration - some days I have difficulty remembering my own name.

"I'm sorry, please go on," I managed to say after I realised that things were getting awkward again.

"Well, he was on an expedition in Africa with my cousin and a party of African natives, trying to find some lost cave of gold or something... he doesn't talk about his work to me. In fact, I hardly know him at all. I just know that he lost contact weeks ago."

She broke down crying at this point, and I comforted her the best I could. Warm beer always seems to do the trick for me, and at least it took her mind off her father. My good sense was telling me to sweep this case under the rug, but I knew there was no more room under there. Actually, come to think of it, I wasn't even sure I had a rug. Always assuming of course I had a floor.

A thousand questions popped into my mind. This was a weird request. Why hire me? How does she know me? Why doesn't she know her own father? Why not hire someone local, in Africa or wherever? How do pharmacists get those little bottles into the typewriter?

Thinking again about the money, and knowing that my landlord was unlikely to follow me to Africa, I agreed to take on the case.

She stopped crying, and peered at me giving me the Wide-Eyed Girly Look that I despise so much. My mind was drawn to the chicken vindaloo in my desk drawer.