Strange Detective Agency

Utterly Estranged - it breaks my heart. Seems like the stuff that would inspire poetry, but instead today this pseudo-noir detective popped into my brain and out my fingers...I wish I had more time to keep writing this story right now, but morning comes early and sleep is calling. Suffice it to say, this threw me for a loop. But for me there is a deep longing in the utter estrangement - a wondering at what might have been, mixed with grief and maybe (probably) some guilt. To quote Joni Mitchell, "Don't it always seem to go, you don't know what you got 'till it's gone?" If you're reading this, I hope you enjoy...

The name's Strange. Darren Strange. I'm a détective, or at least that's what it says on the door: "Strange Détective Agency" then in smaller letters "Finder of the lost." I'd love to tell you I work on the 12th floor of the Acme building like Guy, but let's be honest - these days, who can afford the rent? And besides, pretty much 90% of my time is spent sitting behind a computer trolling the dark web for information or hacking the neighborhood Ring doorbells for camera footage. No need to be out in the streets, getting my Chuck Taylors all mussed up, you know what I mean? So I work out of the front room of my 3rd floor walk-up. It's nothing glamorous, but it's shelter from the maelstrom, and most months at least I have enough to eat, make rent, and even a little left over to give away. I'll admit, the business isn't everything I thought it would be, and the women (can't say dames anymore!) don't come around like I dreamed they would. But every once in a while, the stars in the universe align and that fortune cookie fortune I saved from when I was 12 seems like it just might come to pass this time.

Evening was falling in Southern California when my Zoom phone rang. I was surprised to see a pretty brunette in the ID photo, maybe in her 20's, maybe in her 50's. Hard to say with some women. I clicked on Answer. "Darren Strange. If it's lost, we can find it. What can I help you find?" Her voice matched the photo - maybe in her 20's, maybe in her 50's - and maybe she didn't quite have the diction of an NPR commentator, but you could tell she was intelligent, educated. "Mr. Strange? My name is Elaine Houston and I'm trying to find my college roommate. We used to be so close, but after school we drifted apart and then one day - *poof* - it was like she just disappeared off the face of the earth. That was over 10 years ago now and...well, Tommy - he was my husband - Tommy died last month and..." I could tell she was starting to tear up, so I just kept quiet, trying to make some space for her grief. "I'm sorry," she continued, "some days are better than others, you know?" "Yes, I think I do know" I said softly. "Anyway," Ms. Houston continued, pulling herself together, "Tommy - that was my husband, but I just told you that...Tommy, he had been Janine's best friend. Janine Herbst, that' my roommate - was my roommate, uh, in college. She's how I met Tommy after all. Janine and I were close, you know? The way some college roommates can be? We roomed together three years - just not our junior year because I went off to Germany for the year and Janine went to Spain, but we wrote every week, and even met up in France over break." "OK," I said, when she paused for a slightly ragged breath.

"Tommy and Janine had grown up together and gone to the same high school. They'd even dated for a while in high school, and, well, Tommy and Janine were each others' first...Why am I telling you all this?" "It's OK, Ms. Houston," I said, "You never know what detail might help in a case...Uh, just to be sure, you do want to hire me, yes?" "Oh, uh, yes, of course! Sorry! Margaret Thorpe recommended you to me, and I trust Margaret." Margaret Thorpe's case had been one of those all too common ones - a spouse working crazy hours, taking last minute business trips. She'd suspected, and not without some reason, that he might be having an affair. But that's a tale for a different time. "Oh yes. Lovely person, Ms. Thorpe. Next time you speak with her please tell her how much I appreciate the referral. But you were saying?" "Yes, of course I'll tell her. Now...where was I?"

"High school? Janine and Tommy being each others' first..." "Lovers...There. I've always known it, I just don't think I've ever said it out loud to anyone else before." "Sometimes saying things out loud can help take away the power they hold over us" I said, "Go on..." "Well, Janine had thought she and Tommy would stay together, build a life together, but Tommy ended up at MIT, and Janine and I were at Carlton. That's were we met - first day, and we just hit it off right away. I'm sure it didn't hurt that we were about the same size and had a similar taste in clothing, so both our wardrobes practically doubled overnight! But more than that, we had the same wide-ranging taste in books and movies and by the end of the first month as roomies we could practically finish each others' sentences. Oh I still miss her so! And especially now that Tommy's gone. Sometimes I wonder what life might have been like if Tommy hadn't come to visit Janine during that Spring break in France...I would never have married Tommy, sure, but maybe Janine and I would have stayed friends?"

"I like to think," I ventured, "That everything that could possibly happen, has happened. Or is happening. It get's a bit fuzzy, I'll admit. But in my view, somewhere there exists a reality in which you married Tommy and you and Janine remained close, too." "Oh I so wish that had been the case!" The other end of the line was silent and I suspected Ms. Houston was lost in her grief. Sometimes you have to address things straight on to move forward, so: "If you don't mind my asking, was Mr. Houston's death sudden?" "Huh?" "Mr. Houston?" "Oh! You mean Tommy", a nervous laugh, "But of course you wouldn't have known, it just threw me. Mr. Houston was my father - I kept my maiden name. Tommy'ys last name was Metcalf." "Ah," I said, kicking myself ever so slightly. "But to your question - yes, and no both. Tommy had been sick for some time, but he'd been doing so well fighting the cancer. Then it suddenly came back with a vengeance and he was gone within a week. Those last few days, he practically begged me to try to find Janine - to find out what happened to her, to make up with her, whatever it took. Because in truth, neither of us had ever stopped loving her."

We talked a bit more, then agreed to meet the next day at Coffees, Etc., a nearby independent coffee shop I used as a de-facto office when meeting new clients. I liked that it had a couple small rooms with French doors that could be closed for meetings or when kids from the nearby college needed quite while studying. That I found the public setting usually helped put people at ease. That they made a darned good latte was really just an added bonus. And hey, if you weren't into coffee, they had several dozen high-end loose-leaf teas. That was the "Etc." part, I guess. Or maybe the "Etc." was excellent pastries they got from a local couple who ran a bakery out of their home after getting their kitchen certified for public food preparation. Maybe both, I guess. As I stood in the doorway pondering this Grant Jessop, a genial bald-headed man in his sixties and the owner of the shop, called out to me in greeting. "Morning Darren! Lost in thought, I see, so I'm guessing you're meeting a new client. Your usual medium non-fat latte with an extra shot, then, or are you going to mix it up today?" "You know me so well, Grant. Just the latte today, thanks." "You got it, my man." Grant loved that I met new clients at his place, since they usually ended up becoming his new regulars, too. Win-win.

— Zachary