FSE

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"Had a bad day, Zack?"

Daniel stared at me from the couch as if I'd fought a war. In some twisted way, I did. It involved opposing sides, a bit of physical altercations, battle scars, some blood being spilled, and wounds on both sides of the conflict. Most of all though, there came no winners or losers.

I sighed, well-aware of the exhausted look under my eyes and how slumped my shoulders were compared to my normally strong posture. "I'm taking a shower, then tell ya all about it."

"Fair enough." The Saint Bernard shrugged as I made my way into the apartment's nearby bathroom. "Do you want me to put in a pizza? And, uh...maybe get out one of those daquiris for ya? You look like you need one."

I paused by the doorframe, smiling tiredly back at him. "I'd love one."

The hot shower worked wonders in causing the stress of the previous day melt down the drain. After washing out the sweat and grime from my multicolored fur, then drying said fur and putting on the most comfortable of pajama bottoms along with a t-shirt, I came into the living room. Reruns for "Wheel of Wealth" played on the TV as Daniel sat on one end of the couch, and he handed me a colorful bottle while gripping a beer with his other paw. We chinked our drinks together, chuckled, and took a swig of our beloved alcoholic beverages.

"Ahhh, that's nice..." He smacked his lips, and I nodded. "So, mind telling me why you came in from downstairs looking like you got chewed out by every CEO from here to Brigham?"

I drank another deep swig of my daquiri bottle, feeling the sweet liquid course down my throat and make the annoyances of the previous day just...disappear.

"I had not one, not two, not three, not four, but five clients come into my office today to try and look for the same fur." I went on to explain my tale. "The first potential client was a dim-witted wolf who looked like he belonged at a frat party. Frat Boy smelled like he was half-stoned out of his mind, and came to my office asking to find a missing person. I reluctantly said yes, then asked who he was and what he knew. Frat Boy wants me to find his friend, who's gone into hiding after winning $500 million in lottery winnings."

Daniel choked halfway on his can of beer.

"W-What? Really?" He coughed in disbelief. "You're seriously telling me that all five of your clients were looking for the schmuck that got that winning ticket?"

"Yep." I took one more swig of my bottle before continuing with my tale. "Anyway, Frat Boy tells me he can't pay the required deposit, but will once he convinces the winner to loan him twenty-five thousand for 'medical debt'. I tell him I don't take IOUs and ask him to leave, and he does, but not before going on a long tirade about me working for the Deep State and a thorough critique on American capitalism."

I cleared my throat, then chuckled.

"Clients two and three came in together at the same time roughly a couple hours later. They were a married fox couple claiming to be best friends with the winner, and the husband wouldn't stop bringing up their fucking friendship and how he's known him since they were in kindergarten. Except, he mixed up his first and last name. The wife still refused to pay me the deposit, thinking that all private investigators in the world operate by the honor system and that I'm the odd one out."

"Seriously?" Daniel gawked.

"Seriously." I nodded. "They left only after I gave them the tenth explanation of why I couldn't do just that. Then, the vixen threatened to leave me a bad review on my site. Thank God, I'm not Jack Meander of Meander Investigations..." Another swig of my daquiri. "The fourth client actually could pay me my deposit, this middle-aged beagle who happens to be an estranged aunt of the winner, and she seemed nice until I called her roughly three hours later."

"What happened?" Daniel asked, then speculated, "Oh! Did she go on a Karen rant how you couldn't find him? Tell me she went full Karen!"

"Close." I held up a finger. "She told me that she found the winner not too long before calling me, and no longer needed my services. Remember that rich couple who tried stiffing the bill I sent them? She was about to do just that until I reminder her if she did stiff me, I'd go to the police with her information. So, she agreed to visit me tonight, and THEN she goes full Karen."

Daniel laughed as if he'd heard the story before, most likely thinking back to his ex-wife from years back. Not that all the women he'd dated were Karens but being a café owner and formerly married to one kind of gave him a sixth sense towards detecting them.

"How long did that go on for?"

"A minute or two before she suddenly cut off." I sighed. "...I would've likely lost my hearing if she didn't go through a tunnel or something."

The lovable Saint Bernard drank the rest of his beer before opening another one, taking a sip and staring at me curiously. Likely, regarding my final client that day.

"He was the lottery winner himself."

That certainly caught the curious canine's attention.

"No." He gasped.

"Yes." I deadpanned in slight amusement. "The poor bastard came into my office. Let's just say that even when trying to look for me, word gets around that I was trying to look for him. Anyway, he came in wearing dark shades and a stammer, giving me an offer: I turn away clients who ask for finding him, and he'd give me a check for $50,000."

Daniel performed another coughing spit take. "Fuckin' Hell!" He wiped his disbelieving muzzle. "So, did you end up taking the offer?"

"Sure did, as did every other private investigator he visited in the city today." I chuckled while taking another sip. "Me and my colleagues are already wondering if we could make a racket out of this: tell future lottery winners we'll turn away potential gold diggers and parasites...for a price, of course."