Chapter 1
It just doesn’t pay to be nice! Well I guess it does thought Benson, or so he kept telling himself. He usually wasn't this negative, but recent events had really rattled his cage.
For a Friday it actually hadn’t been that bad a day. Though he guessed he should have realised that was all about to change when she walked into his office. She was a diminutive redhead with blue eyes, dimples and a smile that would make parking police keep on walking. Compared to his usual clientele there was something bright and fresh about her that had him straightening in his chair and moving some of the more obvious mess on his desk to one side. Maybe it had been the way she could hold eye contact with him for more than two seconds without reaching for the Kleenex like most of his clients that he found so refreshing, who knew?
"Benson is my name" he had said, "John Benson, my friends call me J.B. but I haven’t been called that in years", the lame joke evoking the slightest smile from the beautiful face sitting across from him. "I make a living out of other people’s misery, tracking down people who don’t want to be found, taking pictures of people doing things they shouldn’t and pretending to look for kittens that even my clients seven year olds know have probably been run over. I wrote the book on the three I’s of being a private eye; insurance, infidelity and, I need you to clear my conscience. Usually the people I work for are tight-arsed insurance agents, scorned lovers or guilty parents, how can I help you"?
"My name is Arna, Arna Van Houster" said the girl with what he detected was a South African accent. The accent he found so grating and arrogant sounding in most South African men from her sounded absolutely enchanting, the words dripped off her tongue like honey from a spoon. Benson was smitten.
Turns out Arna had a problem she didn't exactly want to take to the police. Now mostly Benson a straight shooter, something seemed a bit shady, then he didn't touch it, well mostly anyway. Maybe it was the appeal in her voice, or perhaps the way she touched his forearm from across the table when she asked for his assistance, but the more she spoke the deeper he fell in.
Arna’s problem was Arna’s husband, a six foot four pig of a man with a bad temper named Keppler. Arna’s composure as she told him how her sweet loving husband was black mailing her only reinforced his impression that this gal was a cut above the rest. Apparently Keppler had convinced his new bride to agree to some mildly compromising photos that whilst revealing were quite tasteful and strictly for personal use or so Keppler had said.
What Arna didn’t know at the time, was that Keppler had the photos doctored to make it look, well shall we say, to look like Arna was a heck of a lot more brazen than the originals had depicted, something that wouldn’t go down too well if they fell into the wrong hands. You see Arna’s father is a leading politician in the South African government.
Good old Keppler was now threatening to release the photos if Arna didn’t cooperate with him and manipulate her father’s influence to assist him with his people smuggling and human trafficking business, Arna said Keppler called it his insurance and investment policy.
That was another thing Arna didn’t know when they had married, that Keppler was the head of one of the largest people smuggling and human trafficking operations the world had ever seen and what Arna wanted Benson to do was to collect enough evidence to nail the bastard without dropping her dear old dad in the proverbial.
Thinking about it later all of Benson's instincts had screamed at him to simply say “thank you dear but no, have a nice life anyway and please close the door on the way out”. It’s what he should have said. But partly because he was a sucker for a sweet smile, partly because he just couldn't understand how people could make a living out of trading in peoples lives, he'd said he'd look into it. "But mostly because I’m stupid" he said to himself under his breath. "That's the real reason" he said out loud in his now empty office "that just about sums me up, stupid with just enough ethics and ego to make sure I always end up getting crapped upon from a great height, good one Benson".
For a Friday it actually hadn’t been that bad a day. Though he guessed he should have realised that was all about to change when she walked into his office. She was a diminutive redhead with blue eyes, dimples and a smile that would make parking police keep on walking. Compared to his usual clientele there was something bright and fresh about her that had him straightening in his chair and moving some of the more obvious mess on his desk to one side. Maybe it had been the way she could hold eye contact with him for more than two seconds without reaching for the Kleenex like most of his clients that he found so refreshing, who knew?
"Benson is my name" he had said, "John Benson, my friends call me J.B. but I haven’t been called that in years", the lame joke evoking the slightest smile from the beautiful face sitting across from him. "I make a living out of other people’s misery, tracking down people who don’t want to be found, taking pictures of people doing things they shouldn’t and pretending to look for kittens that even my clients seven year olds know have probably been run over. I wrote the book on the three I’s of being a private eye; insurance, infidelity and, I need you to clear my conscience. Usually the people I work for are tight-arsed insurance agents, scorned lovers or guilty parents, how can I help you"?
"My name is Arna, Arna Van Houster" said the girl with what he detected was a South African accent. The accent he found so grating and arrogant sounding in most South African men from her sounded absolutely enchanting, the words dripped off her tongue like honey from a spoon. Benson was smitten.
Turns out Arna had a problem she didn't exactly want to take to the police. Now mostly Benson a straight shooter, something seemed a bit shady, then he didn't touch it, well mostly anyway. Maybe it was the appeal in her voice, or perhaps the way she touched his forearm from across the table when she asked for his assistance, but the more she spoke the deeper he fell in.
Arna’s problem was Arna’s husband, a six foot four pig of a man with a bad temper named Keppler. Arna’s composure as she told him how her sweet loving husband was black mailing her only reinforced his impression that this gal was a cut above the rest. Apparently Keppler had convinced his new bride to agree to some mildly compromising photos that whilst revealing were quite tasteful and strictly for personal use or so Keppler had said.
What Arna didn’t know at the time, was that Keppler had the photos doctored to make it look, well shall we say, to look like Arna was a heck of a lot more brazen than the originals had depicted, something that wouldn’t go down too well if they fell into the wrong hands. You see Arna’s father is a leading politician in the South African government.
Good old Keppler was now threatening to release the photos if Arna didn’t cooperate with him and manipulate her father’s influence to assist him with his people smuggling and human trafficking business, Arna said Keppler called it his insurance and investment policy.
That was another thing Arna didn’t know when they had married, that Keppler was the head of one of the largest people smuggling and human trafficking operations the world had ever seen and what Arna wanted Benson to do was to collect enough evidence to nail the bastard without dropping her dear old dad in the proverbial.
Thinking about it later all of Benson's instincts had screamed at him to simply say “thank you dear but no, have a nice life anyway and please close the door on the way out”. It’s what he should have said. But partly because he was a sucker for a sweet smile, partly because he just couldn't understand how people could make a living out of trading in peoples lives, he'd said he'd look into it. "But mostly because I’m stupid" he said to himself under his breath. "That's the real reason" he said out loud in his now empty office "that just about sums me up, stupid with just enough ethics and ego to make sure I always end up getting crapped upon from a great height, good one Benson".
posted by 2P at 11:23 PM
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