06.04.17 – Piped
I’m playing detective because I haven’t yet found that second to help me with cops and robbers. I may as well drum up the narrative and run about for clues and craft until I’m satisfied with the conclusion or the attempt. I suppose I’m destined to hit roadblocks like those tough-talking dicks do in pulp novels; I’ve already been practicing my drinking and swearing in a dimly lit room. I just need a door slam and a pretty dame to complete the picture. It’s a tired cliché from a decade gone but the trails I’m traveling are thin and aging so I’m expecting an equivalent.
I’m wondering if I can reverse a process and leave crumbs to track back to a candy house. It’d be easier if I could just dowse for the proper direction but even magnets are set to spin when they approach me. In time I’ll find a room full of witnesses that have been struck with a temporary blindness. I’m angling to get an audio sample to use for footsteps and let those with subtle sense have a listen. It won’t tell me what I want to know, the visage of the villain, but it might be enough to find a snare for a boot.
I wasn’t cut out to be Watson, even deduction felt like grad work that I let go sloppy. The doubt on my skills was the only solid evidence I’d noted. I couldn’t count on the public eye to be a deterrent for a visible crime and yet the leads weren’t bound to turn up if there was an absence. It put me in the hard position of hoping for a break that I didn’t know would come. There were no suspects to interview or evidence to inspect, just a kid with a magnifying glass and an imagination to make a crime scene from anything.