On these cold mornings a good breakfast is needed. Marilyn usually makes herself an omelette but I'm more inclined to have a bowl of porridge followed by a couple of slices of toast. The porridge is made in the frugal Scottish way: oats, water and salt ... never sugar. I indulge myself by throwing in a small handful of sultanas. The fruit toast we are buying at the moment is double thickness so one slice is enough, with a generous application of butter.
We first discovered double-thickness sliced bread in Japan. Every little town has a bakery where customers collect a basket and a pair of tongs and they wander around the shelves collecting their preferred delicacies. We were particularly attracted to to thick toast which the Japanese call 'toasto'. And now we can have it at home as well.
I am posting a crime story today called The Mean Streets of Melbourne', written earlier this year.
He was just standing there: a tall man, dressed in a light-coloured raincoat, wearing a dark fedora and smoking a cigarette. He was silhouetted in the lights behind him and there was enough illumination from the shop windows around him that I could see that he was not particularly young. If you had told me he was an actor dressed for the part of Mickey Spillane or Sam Spade, I might have been reassured but in the Melbourne of 2024, he was an incongruous figure.
I started to walk towards him but he moved quickly away, weaving in between the people strolling along the lane looking for a restaurant. I broke into a run but it was impossible to make any headway through the Saturday night crowds. Reluctantly, I came to a halt and watched him as he disappeared into an underground carpark. My planned confrontation with him would have to wait for another day.
My name is Gunter Strauss although that is not the name my parents conferred on me. When I embarked on my current career, I chose a German name because I believe that nationality suggests connotations of ingenuity, integrity and intelligence. These are all attributes I feel are key to the success of a private investigator. It’s fair to say that I haven’t had much opportunity to demonstrate whether I can display these attributes because jobs have been few and far between. I have said, I will never accept the challenge of finding a lost dog but , unless things pick up, I cannot afford to be so choosy.
The particular challenge I’m facing at the moment came to me through a friend of my wife’s. As my wife explained it, the poor woman has become besotted with a younger man and has expectations that they will eventually marry. My wife says, “She’s dreaming!” but, nevertheless is keen to help her out if she can, even if it means expecting me to take on a case for which I will not be paid.
The friend, let’s call her Amy, which is the code-name I’ve allocated to her in my files, is a mature woman of considerable means. Her husband who died some years ago, left her a substantial property and there are no children to inherit. Amy has made it clear that her estate will assist charity but the specifics of that seem to change from week to week as different ideas come to her mind. I think she’s a gullible woman and easily influenced. I’m not sure how she met the man I’m trying to tail but there was an article about Amy in our local newspaper which commented on her charitable work. There are men who prey on vulnerable women like Amy and I believe ‘Mickey’ is one of those. Yes, ‘Mickey’ is the code name for my suspect.
Amy had told my wife that Mickey was travelling to Melbourne on a supposed business trip but she was suspicious and, so, it was agreed that, heavily-disguised, I would travel on the same ‘plane and see whether I could discover what he was up to. I wasn’t having much success. I had managed to tail him as far as Melbourne city where he had booked into a hotel but following him through Chinatown was proving more difficult. My best option, it seemed, was to return to his hotel, take a seat in the lobby and wait for him to return.
I had no idea that hotels were so unreasonable with regards to sitting in their lobby. They wanted to know whether I was a guest in the hotel, why was I sitting there, if I didn’t move on they would call the police, and so on. I had to resort to waiting in the street near the entrance to the hotel in the hope that I would see Mickey when he returned. I tried sitting on the step but the doorman moved me on so I leant on the wall, occasionally walking up and down to keep the blood flowing. After a while, I realised there was a tram stop opposite with a bench and that would give me both a seat and a good view of the hotel entrance. Unfortunately, I may have slept for a minute or two because I didn’t see Mickey returning. Of course, he may have chosen to stay out all night which would have confirmed my suspicions that he was up to no good.
Pondering on my next move, I almost missed seeing Mickey walking down the steps of the hotel, with a young, blonde woman beside him. I tried to look inconspicuous but he caught sight of me and hurried across the street towards me.
“Hello, Gary, what are you doing in Melbourne?” he burbled, using the name he knows me by. I was so surprised at being spotted that I didn’t know what to say. I made a mental note to myself to make sure I had a cover story prepared before each job in the future.
“Oh, I’m just here for a football match,” I said.
“Football? It’s the middle of summer! What football is on?”
“Oh, it’s an exhibition match and I’ve forgotten which teams are playing,” I stammered.
Mickey looked at me suspiciously. However, he didn’t press me. He gestured to the blonde woman who had, by this time, crossed the street and joined us.
“This is my sister, Emily,” he said. “I always try to see her when I come to Melbourne on business.” And they went on their way.
I couldn’t see that there was much point in staying on so I made my way to the airport for the ‘plane home. I was looking forward to telling my wife all about the trip and, of course, embellishing the role I had played. She was at the airport waiting for me. I was surprised at the expression on her face and, before I could even say Hello, she burst out.
“I’ve heard all about your trip to Melbourne. Mickey rang Amy to tell her he had seen you and that you seemed to be spending a lot of time with some blonde bimbo. Don’t try to explain. And you’ll be sleeping on the lounge tonight.”
A private detective’s lot is not always a happy one. Maybe concentrating on lost dogs is not such a bad idea.
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