Just Do It Yourself
This is for a writing challenge in a Telegram group I joined (link here if you're interested: https://t.me/joinchat/TXMB1RU1ETeKOakg)). At just over a thousand words, we would write a short story fitting a chosen theme. The new theme for this week is, "There is no misunderstanding...I hate you."
Another Zack Leander story! Is it me or does Zack really need to cut back on the drinking? And what's this? A cameo? :P
I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to leave a comment to tell me what you think!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story has been edited to remove ageism/ageist language that was in the narrative as well as dialogue. It wasn't my intention to insult or offend anyone of any generation. As a writer, I take constructive criticism and feedback from readers seriously, and I'm very sorry. I will take this as a learning experience, and going forward will be better regarding sensitivity in the future.
I didn't mind going undercover, but it did…complicate things. If you wanted things done right though, you often times had to just do it yourself.
My client was named Marlene Devlinport. Yes, the Marlene Devlinport; a graying vixen in her early seventies, with tired blue eyes and a friendly smile that used to be seen on TV everywhere during infomercials for her books. She used to be the biggest celebrity in Crossroads City, a retired televangelist from the 1990s who used to be seen everywhere around Utah and the rest of the American Southwest. The same Mrs. Devlinport who used to be an inspirational figure to my mother. I mean, before she stopped being uptight, homophobic, and we started talking again as mother and son.
So yeah, I had complicated feelings when she showed up to Danny's Boulevard of Books & Coffee, wearing heavy sunglasses and asking to see me. I stayed professional throughout the interview as she told me about her woes. Apparently, her husband Robert had been going out for long hours for the previous year or so. She was retired from television, but he still did charity work here and there, Robert claimed. Mrs. Devlinport suspected Mr. Devlinport was seeing another woman but wanted me to be extremely thorough. She needed hard proof to show her husband, or possibly a marriage counselor. She didn't even dare to acknowledge my question regarding a divorce lawyer.
So, I followed Robert in the hours of the evening. I did the usual tactics for catching a cheater. Following, keeping my distance, then discovering that Robert would visit a certain house around midnight every two weeks; it would always have a college party going and loud music that could be heard a block away. I would later learn that it belonged to a fraternity at Crossroads City University and took plenty of photos of him entering and leaving the house when he should have been back home in his bed with Mrs. Devlinport.
However, she wanted more than what I obtained. According to the vixen, her husband had a habit of lying in the past and could easily claim he was there to convert the frat boys there to Jesus. A pretty good point, in hindsight. Still, that required going undercover and actually following Robert inside the house.
I dressed myself up, purchasing a CCU shirt, raised the pitch in my voice, and Took advantage of my height and youthful appearance. It fooled him the frat bro Rottweiler guarding the door enough to make him think I was a nerdy cat young enough to actually attend college.
It was a frenzy inside those vibrating walls. Loud music played as teenagers and young adults shouted at each other or puked her guts out after filling him up with junk food. The music alone was deafening to my ears. However, I had trouble finding Robert, which was weird because he would stand out like a sore thumb in this sea of college students wasting a Friday evening instead of studying.
I went upstairs and downstairs. I searched in bedrooms and bathrooms. I pretended to stare down at my phone while looking around make-out rooms and going to the kitchen where somebody was trying to make a disgusting combination of beer, bacon and…whatever they could find in their drunken state. I was about to give up when I spotted something in the backyard. A couple of cars full of foggy windows. They were all rocking and echoed with moaning from the interiors.
Guess what I got to see in one of them?
A fox in his seventies, fucking a wolf in his twenties like a man in his prime. The age difference between them didn't disturb me as much as the fact that I could see it all through my camera and the foggy sedan windows. None of it didn't keep me from forgetting the sight. A part of me didn't know whether to be disgusted or impressed. Disgusted that a red fox in his seventies was cheating on his wife of thirty years by having car sex with a male wolf. Impressed that a red fox in his seventies could thrust so vigorously, without a hint of slowing down.
Either way, after getting the photos I needed, it was time to get wasted back home. Not only to celebrate but erase the memory of seeing Mr. Devlinport nail her wife's friend's college-aged son. So, I did drink all the way back at my apartment.
By the time that I finished drinking enough daiquiris and screwdriver mixtures to kill a parasite in my stomach, Daniel found me in quite the position when he came back the previous night: playing loud EDM music on a speaker while dancing around with my underwear on my head and calling my ex-boyfriend over in New Mexico about how much I missed him.
The weirdest part? I despised EDM music!
“Ugh…gggggoooooooddddd…" I groaned, covering my head with my blanket. The soft bed felt like cardboard, and everything ached. “Never again…Never again…"
“Never again for what?" Daniel asked while leaning against the doorframe. “Never getting drunk again?"
“Let's not go that far," I informed the canine. “I'm never again going to get drunk after a case…especially one that involves me witnessing a celebrity cheat on his wife with another man three times as young as him." Groaning again at the mental image returning, I suddenly started yearning for another daiquiri. Only it hurt to even blink.
Meanwhile, the Saint Bernard whistled. “Is that what happened on your case?" he asked. “Goddamn. What even happened?"
As soon as I finished explaining most of the story to him, omitting the names of those involved, Daniel whistled again. “Now that's a big age difference."
“Plenty of young folks find older guys attractive," I said, then started to jest, “I found you—"
Daniel interrupted me to say, “Finish that sentence, Zack, and I'll return banging some pots and pans."
I sighed, chuckling with him. “Touché."
“Seriously though," he said, “how does a silver fox—literally, a silver fox—get himself invited to a frat house to fuck one of them in a car? And without being noticed?"
“My guess? A miracle from God or something," I slurred. “Ugh, I hope…hope I wasn't…too—"
“If it makes you feel any better, none of the neighbors have sent any complaints our way," my roommate told me. “Anyway, I'm gonna get back to work in the cafe, and try not to tell anyone downstairs to be too loud. You just nurse that hangover, buddy."
I whispered, “…thank you, Daniel."
“What was that?"
I feigned trying to hide my thankful smile. “Whatever."
“Did I misunderstand something you said?" Daniel asked. “Or am I gonna need to threaten you with the pots and pans again?"
“No need to, no need to. I hate you enough as is," I said, waving a paw.
“Aww, I hate you too," he cooed, and I dramatically rolled my eyes.
“Hate you more," I muttered.
“Don't think you're not gonna avoid cleaning up later," he warned, and I chuckled back as he slowly closed the bedroom door. “See ya, Zack."
“Bye bye." I waved, then collapsed back under the covers. “Ugh, somebody shoot me…"
An hour went by until I could emerge from my blank without feeling the need to vomit. Lying in bed, slowly beginning to feel the hangover recede, I opened my phone to find some notifications. One of them came from Bram, my ex. He wanted me to call back after I sent dozens of voicemails to him the previous night. Apparently, I had an unread voicemail from him.
A very long unread voicemail.
“Fuck me," I sighed, “at least no more screwdrivers for a while…"