It was a long day.
A long, hot, sweaty, underwear stuck in your butt, Everyready tasting, non-sexual, bloody day.
My name is Slade, Sam Slade and I'm a private detective. I was sitting in my Falcon, reading a magazine and getting bored out of my mind. I was on a Missing Dog case and had staked-out my client's home just for appearances. Appearances because I had found the slobbering, dopey mutt at the local animal pound 2 days ago and was just killing time, racking up the fees to his duff owner. Not that she would notice. She was as dumb as a trap door on a lifeboat. And rich. Go figure. A jet passing overhead drowned out my thoughts as I killed a fly on the windshield.
I finally decided enough was enough. So far I guess I had made enough dough off this case to keep me in Coronas for a few weeks so I put the magazine down, fired up the V8 and headed back to the office. I was blowing past traffic and scratching itches with nothing on my mind except getting paid and would Bradgelina next have triplets.
I made it to my office building, parked the car and walked to the front door. Something was waiting for me.
On the front landing was a medium sized, brown paper wrapped package. Picking it up, I could see it was sent to me but with no return address. I shook it but couldn't hear anything. There was a slight smell of garlic and Old Bay but I wasn't sure. Curious. What the hell was it and who sent it? I was contemplating taking it to my dentist for X-rays but I would need to make an appointment first. I pressed the button for the doorman, Phil, to let me in. Just as quick, his voice boomed back over the intercom.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It's me, Slade, open up, I got a package." I replied.
I waited.
The door didn't buzz and nothing from Phil. What was he doing? I hit the door button again.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It's me Slade, man, open up I got a package." I replied, tersely.
"Who??"
"It's Slade, man, open up, I don't want anyone to see me come in here."
Again, I waited. What was he doing? He was slower than an Arctic glacier. I was getting miffed. I pounded on the door button.
"Who is it?"
I was starting to get angrier than Hillary voters. "It's, it's Slade, man, will you open up! I got a package with me!"
"Who?!"
"SLADE!! Man, open up!"
"Slade?"
"Yeah, Slade! Come on man open up! I don't want the cops to see me!"
"Slade's Not Here!!"
I was dumbfounded! I stood there, opening and closing my mouth without saying anything. Finally I started beating on the door.
"Open Up The Door! It's Slade, you eshu koorak!!!
"Who?!"
"SLADE!! S-L-A-D-E!!!!! WILL YOU OPEN UP THE GODDAMNED DOOR!!!
"Slade?"
"YEAH Slade!!" I was starting to pant.
"Slade?"
"Right man, Slade. Now will you open up the door??"
There was a pause.
"Slade's Not Here!!"
I flipped. Rushing the door, I burst the lock and it swung open, hard, almost taking Phil's nose with it. The two of us stood facing each other in the foyer, my face redder than a smacked bum and him just wide-eyed with a slight smile showing a few camouflaged colored teeth. We didn't say anything to each other. Then I hit him so hard his children felt it and I went upstairs to my office.