I'm a detective. At least that's what I call myself , and it's only really for the look of the thing. John Doe, Psychic on the business card doesn't attract the kind of custom I need; or want. I get a really nice feeling when the Blue-Boys are all steamed up over me. They dont like it when some no name makes them look stupid The unsolveable cases are my favourite, but never tell them how you knew. The mystery keeps them wondering rather than thinking. Still there's nothing sweeter than the feelings of frustration I get from the Blue-Boys when I announce a killers identity before they have their caps on straight. They're stupid caps they wear anyway, a proper hat needs a hight top and a brim all the way round, always hides the eyes. Windows to the soul, close but way off. Doors to the mind maybe.
Like these big brown, smokey eyes looking at me now. I don't even need to look into them to know she wants me; and these visions of crumpled clothes and tangled bodies I'm getting from her... Her arousals really getting me down. I don't understand it but I always feel the opposite to what I'm sensing from someone. It's some kind of yin-yang thing with the empathy. Pain in the ass more like, the only worthwhile sex I get these days is from hookers and happy housewives but unfortunately this mark is neither. She's as remorseless as they come, pure succubus-golddigger. A little more button pushing at this dinner and I can make those visions of hers com true. Push some more buttons in the morning and wracked with guilt at last, she'll write a full confession, to her husband. Then he can get the divorce he always wanted and live happily ever after with his beau. Kinda sweet really except that I've met the old man's boyfriend.
He really thinks he's in love with me. I like to do this sometimes when there's no good crimes going on. The closest thing I have to a hobby really. I find a nice juicy private gig and work an angle on it. If this whole plan comes together right once the client catches his new boyfriend cheating he'll be so crushed a little push will send him over the edge. In his will he'll leave everything to his last survivng relative, a distant nephew by the name of John Doe. So maybe I wasn't born his relation and maybe he had over a dozen close relatives until he hired me but like I said, I'm a psychic detective and I can forge memories as easy as bits of paper, and that's all your life really is; memories and bits of paper. I wanted to be thorough with this scheme, I've never erased a bloodline before. I could retire then, on the old mans money, move to some idyllic tourist trap and live off of holiday misery. Rejig some poor saps expectations when he arrives and even if the experience excedes his wildest dreams he's too miserable to even wear sun cream and goes home feeling and looking like a dried onion. Oh the misery of it could keep me happy for weeks.
This chick must really be getting me down if i'm thinking of retiring. I should wrap this up and get her back to my place. No point in putting it off any longer, whenever we do it the sex is gonna suck. I have to resist the urge to stab myself in the arm with a dinner fork when I suggest we skip desert. Her happiness is making me nauseus. Sure I could shove her down these steps, catch her hand in the car door but that won't be near as sweet or as long lasting as the misery when her husbands business shut down. The last feature done on him said he employed 1,500 people just in this city! How many mouths are gonna go hungry when I shut everything down. I could probably move to Australia and not worry about all the happy people getting me down. That's the funny thing about this empathy no matter how many happy individuals cross my path in a day they just can't bring me down when I'm high on one great prolonged misery.
Cigarettes give me a reason to get away from the sweaty, tangled mess we made of the bed. I did my best to get the crumpled clothes just right. Her red dress at the foot of the bed under my shirt, the bra draped wildly over the head board. Oh yes, I have to keep reminding her how she wanted this. It's not that people want what they can't have, it's that they don't want what they have. They're always settling and moving on for seemingly greener pastures. Still stuck in the mold of hunting and gathering and consuming and hunting and gathering and you get the picture. We consume everything we come into contact with, even our experiences. Well, yours in my case but it's the same principle. I pull on my pants and hunt out my socks when she falls asleep. It's dangerous for me to be around sleepers. The dreams can be over powering sometimes. Once on a plane the kid next to me was dreaming about being an Action Ranger so at 50,000 feet I start battling the evil Zog in the aisles. Luckily the screams woke the kid up. I had to keep pinching him awake the rest of the six hour flight so it wouldn't happen again. Now I make sure I have some valium whenever I fly so at least if somone falls asleep and I do start freaking out I'm too melted to act on it.
Cigarettes are another wonder drug for someone with my condition. I try to find a smoke free bar so I can really enjoy them but there's none open at two a.m. I decide to try a dive instead. No one's ever happy in a dive. Now my favourite psychic trick is precognition. It's not the kind where I can predict the lottory numbers but I usually know about it if something inconvenient is going to happen to me. Like a lead bar to the head, that would have been inconvenient. Thanks to my neat little trick though that lead bar is lying on the ground in a pool of its owners blood. I really don't like people trying to attack me. It usually means someone wants me dead and now I have to find out who, so I can want them dead too. This dip stick on the ground won't tell me anything. He's not dead but he wishes he was. I check his wallet and the five hundred in cash is both welcome and informative. The pay off was made by some dip stick Blue-Boy but the order could only have come from the chief. The fat bastard had me dragged into his office so he could yell at me from behind his desk the last time I was in the papers. I was in such a good mood I couldn't help goading him on. Suppose I'm going to have to deal with that now.
I pick up some things on the way to the cop shop. The twins; Betsy and Betsy, a gas can and some rope. She's still asleep while I get what I need and I'm trying not eat all these candy cane flamingos I'm seeing. I'm tempted to throw back some valium but I need to be functional if I want to handle this cop situation tonight. First I take a drive through the slums and push a few buttons to get people steppin' on each others toes. The fireworks will get the blue boys out off their asses while I get some work done on the chief. Then I need the Mafioso to get all nostalgic about how it used to be in the old days, when they owned the town. I make sure they're in a creative mood when they hear about the slum riots. Place must be more strained than I thought. All I was expecting was a couple of gun fights but civil disorder is much more fun. While the mafioso are thinking about how to get the power back from the cops and snakes and their heads I move on.
I walk into the cop shop and ask the desk dork about seeing the chief. He hates me and I love it. If he knows his plumber friend failed then he'll probably try kill me himself here. I check on the girls again while the desk dork is telling the captain I'm here. While I'm waiting I start sinking into the floor. There must be a meth head or something in the cells. I stamp my feet a couple of times to remind my brain there's a floor there but it doesn't help. I'm going to have to do something before I start turning into a pink elephant again. I throw back some pills and start to relax. The abilities start switching off and everything's normal for a while. I have to get this done fast now and get out. I don't even notice the duty dork come back until he's right on top of me. I'm spaced out and he claps his hands to get my attention. I head upstairs to the chiefs office. There's no empathy to screw me over now and I know I'm safe. The fat bastard won't know what hit him. I slide out the twins and kick open the door. Bettsy says hello and Bettsy says hello too. They're big girls and the two of them destroy the window behind the empty desk. Empty desk. The fat bastard is sitting in the corner. He's got his own Bettsy. She says hello.
