I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing.  The clock said 12:34 in the afternoon and I had overslept.  That's not really surprising when you consider that the batteries in my alarm clock tendered their resignations some weeks ago and I had yet to find suitable replacements.

"The dot com boom is coming back and we're not going to miss it a second time," they had told me.

I swung my feet off the bed and rose to a sitting position.  I had drank way too much last night and my head felt like an oval shape with a nose, mouth, two eyes and some hair.  I wasn't sure if that was normal.  With a harsh bark, I commanded the phone to answer itself, which it failed to do.  I made a mental note to track down the guy who sold me on attending that course about controlling your household appliances remotely using a combination of telepathy and doggie sounds.

Seeings how the phone wasn't being cooperative, I struggled to my feet and perambulated over to my desk where the phone was located.  It had been quite some time since I had last perambulated and I wasn't sure whether or not I was doing it correctly.  Thankfully, I live alone and no one was the wiser.

"Pizoli here," I said, attempting to sound like William Shatner but what came out was more like Pee Wee Herman on helium and party favors.

"Is this the detective agency?" came the inquisitive voice on the other end.

I was a private detective, sure, but for the past two weeks about the only thing that I had been investigating were new lines of work.  I was bored and business was about as slow as a 16-year old in 5th grade who was lacking in social development skills and had a severe stuttering problem.  Much like having a conversation with that kid, I simply couldn't understand why the cases had stopped rolling in.  Ok, granted, the last case that had landed in my office I wound up slapping and verbally berating the victim.  While that might sound like a probable explanation for the lack of work, I highly doubt that the two are related.  I've just always had a soft spot for the handicapped.

No, if I wanted this to work out, I was going to have to play it as cool as the other side of the pillow.  Knowing me, this brief phone call could wind up embroiling me in a wacky and zany adventure full of mystery that has me traveling to all sorts of exotic locales and solving world issues.  Or it could simply be a wrong number.  Honestly, it could go either way.  I decided to play it safe.

"Maybe?" I said.

"I'm looking for help," the voice said.  "My husband is missing and I don't know where he could have gone.  It's been three days and I am worried sick."

Last I had checked, "worried" wasn't a disease that I was aware of but I'm no doctor.  Maybe she had Munchausen syndrome.

"Do you really love your husband?"

"Of course I do.  What kind of stupid question is that?  Do you think I would be calling all of the detective agencies in town trying to find him if I didn't care?"

"So you've called others besides me?"

"No, you're the first, but --"

"Ma'am, we're not going to get anywhere if you keep lying to me," I said sternly.  "While I'm no architect, we have to somehow build a trusting relationship and from what I can recall from grade school, trust and lying are like sandpaper and bread: they don't go well together."

"What the? -- fine, I'll come clean."

"Yes, hygiene is very important."

I couldn't quite figure out where she was going to go from here.  First with lying about being sick and then lying about all of the phone calls.  It could have been pathological but since I didn't know what that meant, I couldn't say for sure.  Still, I had to be careful with this one.  There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line before the despondent voice continued.

"Look, I-I'm sorry.  I suppose I should have been upfront with you from the beginning but... I don't know what's going through my head.  Well, actually, scratch that, I do.  I have a friggin' fork sticking out of my eye!"

And that's when her revelation hit me like an abusive grandmother.  Two weeks ago; my last case coming back to haunt me.  A woman had walked into my office asking for help.  She wanted to find out who had attacked her and stuck a fork in her eye.  She had done nothing but insult me so I slapped her around a few times and sent her on her way with a vicious retort.  I hadn't heard anything from her since.  Until now.

"I thought that we had concluded our business," I said matter of factly.  "Or does your pride still sting from my scathing remark as you left the office?"

"Look," she said almost pleading, "can we start over?"  She was crying now.  "I really have nowhere else to turn."

"Are you stuck?" I asked, not sure how that fit into the equation.

"No, I'm... Argh, you're so goddamned aggravating sometimes!  Can't you just be civil once in a while?"

I had to pause and catch myself.  I know an insult when I hear one and if our history had proven anything, it's that she's quote prone to tossing them around.  Every bone in my body wanted to reach through the phone and slap her silly but I knew that wasn't possible.  My arm just wasn't that skinny or that long.

"I don't know why you have to resort to name calling," I said, making every effort to calm myself.

"Name calling?  I'm not name calling."  She was growing flustered. "I just want justice and you're being difficult."

I was tempted to warn her a second time about the name calling but I figured that it would do little good at this point.  I had to be honest with myself.  I actually had a twinge of regret for treating her like I had previously, name calling or no.  She was very attractive, despite the fork or the fact that she looked like something a cannabalistic optometrist had tried to eat for lunch.  I hadn't had a case in quite a while and I could get a chance to make things right with her.  It would be like killing two stones with one bird.

"Maybe we got off on the wrong foot," I said, switching to standing on my left instead of my right.  "Why don't you give me a quick rundown again of what happened?

"It was a little over two weeks ago.  I was walking along the street when I was attacked by a group of men.  They groped me and said lewd things, tugging at my clothing and my purse.  When I didn't give up that easily, they began to get frustrated and one of them stabbed me in the eye with a fork."

"Did you see any of the men who attacked you?"

"No, but I did see a doctor after the incident."

"Do you think this doctor had anything to do with the attack?  I find it odd that he was just hanging around the scene."

"No, you idiot, I went to the hospital after I was attacked!" she said harshly.

It took all the strength that I could muster not to utter a "stick a fork in me, I'm done" comment and hang up the phone.  I wasn't sure how much more of this name calling I could take.

"And what did this 'hospital' say to you?"  I didn't want to accuse her of making up words, so I opted to play along.

"They said that there wasn't much they could do without doing even more damage.  I guess I'm stuck with it, so I suppose that leaves me crying over spilled milk."

"Why didn't you clean it up?" I asked.

"Clean up what?"

"The spilled milk.  Seems like a better course of action than to just sit there and cry over it."

"I-I.. you can't honestly be serious."

I will admit to having a high tolerance but even a man like me has his limits.  I had warned her and she continued to insult me and that just wasn't something I could take sitting down.  I quickly stood up and asked her to repeat what she said, my tone implying that she had better change hers real quick.

"Look, I just want justice.  I just want you to track down and find the men responsible for this atrocity," she said, her tone resigned.

"And these men are 'doctors' which are located at this 'hospital'?"

"No.  I was attacked near an alley on 49th and Grand.  Maybe it's a local gang or something that hangs out there.  That might be a good place to start looking."

Not that I needed tips on how to do my job, I jotted down the information in a coloring book that I kept around for such occasions, making sure to stay within the lines.  I thanked her for the information and told her that I would get back to her in a few days if I uncovered anything.

I couldn't be certain but there was more to this case than meets the eye, but I couldn't quite put my fork on it.  I have to admit that I was intrigued but not without being aware of the element of danger involved, though I am no good at chemistry and knew nothing of the periodic chart.  Still, it gave me something to do this afternoon if I handled this one correctly, could be the first steps in getting my business back in line.  Only time and the clues in a dirty alley off Grand Ave will tell.