[Rough Draft] Chapter One -Amber Adler

Chapter 1: Amber Adler

We've all heard and said it a thousand times: Times, they're tough. That's what happens though. Up and down on the roller coaster of life. Some days you're up, and days like today you're not. Take my predicament for instance. I'm just now walking away from an eight-hour shift behind a cash register along side twelve other red-shirt wearing lemmings at the largest Target in metro Denver area. My fake smile serving the mindless masses who need to take care of all of their shopping needs in one stop. That's not how it always was, though. In fact, up until recently this gig would be considered my cover, not my day job.

Mere weeks ago I was sitting in an office taking clients up on all sorts of crazy, stalker-like requests. “Watch my babysitter, I think she's shady,” was an interesting request recently. See, most of the investigating is done online anymore. Like that four-square program. Man do I love that thing. It's so easy to trace someones steps when their Facebook account shows exactly where they were last – especially if they check in at “casa (last name)” periodically so you know when they're home, which is a good place to start following someone. It's easier to track people when you know where they've been, and it made following this teenage babysitter around all the easier. I just checked my blackberry for her activity updates and met her there.

Not to sound like my job is easy by any means, it's just aided along from 10 years ago by the advancements in technology and the naivety of anyone using a Facebook or twitter account.

I will admit though, most of the investigations I do are pointless. Everyone suspects everyone else, and they don't want to pay if you don't find something incriminating. This suspicious family tried to stiff me after a report of their babysitter attending high school, working at a pizza joint in her neighborhood to pay for her car, and going home to a less than friendly home environment, and that's it. Tough luck guys, she wasn't so seedy after all. Hopefully they didn't take their frustrations out on her after she wasn't doing anything wrong, simply because they had to pay for the services rendered by me.

Or the other fun investigations, “My lawyer's been sleeping with my wife, and I need proof,” that always required mostly on-foot work. Actively tailing someones wife wherever she goes. Doctors appointments, work, salon – yawn. Until you get those damning pictures that pay the bills or the all-clear after weeks of work, life as a private investigator is not really like the detective stories. Fortunately the aforementioned tech also takes out most of the stakeouts that are basically a waste of time.

I have to admit though, it's probably easier following women when you're a woman yourself. I can get close to all of the right places without standing out. Who's going to suspect another woman in a salon, when her hair is definitely in need of some TLC? I'm even pretty good at following men around when the job calls for it. Not many men get the clues when I'm flirting with them in a bar, tape recorder in my purse recording every word with a pretty spiffy directional mic - whether they're flirting back to confirm suspicion, or spilling their guts after one too many Heineken keg cans.

I reminisce about those good old days when my career was working out for the most part. That suspicious attitude that the general populace carried around with them brought in the paychecks. Now I have no car, and little remaining pride. Sure, things can turn around just as quickly, but I am free to mope on my walk home regardless.

Right now I'm thinking about my office. My home away from home – which actually became my home when I gave up paying rent at my apartment. Right now the only living creature in my office is my dog, Gypsy. She's keeping my chair warm for me no doubt, and knocking over everything at tail-level with her excited wagging whenever a client, janitor, or wrong address does stop by. I had nice things in there at one point, but now I have too much stuff in too little space.

The placard that sat neatly on my desk advertising “Amber Adler” has been so badly scratched on its many trips to the floor from Gypsy's homicidal tail, that it is finally stashed in the bottom drawer of my knock-off Ikea desk. Instead of the expensive engraved stainless steel on a lacquered wood base advertising my name, I finally gave up and penned “A. Adler” on a piece of blue construction paper that I'd folded in a triangular shape so it would stand upright on its own.

Classy, I know. It's what I get for sharing my office with the mutt. Don't get me wrong though, Gypsy is great. No one really wants to stiff a girl when a snarling 90lb boxer-whatever mix is standing behind her. She's saved me a handful of trouble in lawsuits and unnecessary fights. I don't even need to carry a gun, I just bring Gypsy on the job. Not that I can afford a revolver anyway. Do you know what those things cost? A lot. Then the ammo? I'm better off with the expense in dog food.

I was doing so well. So why am I here? As I mentioned sometime before, times have been tough, and people started to recognize me. I guess you can only do so many jobs before people doing wrong start to suspect I'd be hired. Most of my recent jobs were false alarms like that babysitter girl. People stopped wanting to pay for me to get the cops called on me for trespassing as my latest stalking victim became suspicious and planned ahead. So much so I'm in this ridiculous uniform, working basic retail for a shoddy living, if you can call it that.

I stopped paying rent on my apartment months ago, and the office building I rent has a shower in the security guard station in the basement. I saved a few bucks with this little set-up, and who's to complain? I rarely get to bring boys home, anyway. I'm now grateful I invested in a fold-out couch for clients when I did, and the $50 thrift store cabinet to hold my basic necessities – such as cereal and bowls. The mini fridge some college students down the street were tossing out works to hold things like milk, and beer (for clients, don't give me that look). They never stay long enough to make use of the couch or beer though, and it's not so bad to sleep here at the end of the day.

This sweet setup also leaves me available for those late night encounters as someone finds their way to my building after the rest of the businesses have closed up shop for the day. It's just too bad the building isn't locked, and the walls facing the hallway are made entirely of glass – so even the sketchy characters get a show of whatever position I managed to fall asleep in or roll into by the time they show up.

My office is rarely locked unless I'm in it, so it's easy to sneak up on Gypsy when I get back from my shift. It's about 10pm now, after the store closed and released me for the evening. Gypsy is curled up in my chair, hanging off either side because she doesn't realize she's too big for it. It takes me dropping my messenger bag on the floor for her to finally stir. First it's a bit of a bark when she's startled awake, but quickly because a lethal tail wagging and excited greeting.

“Hi baby, any messages?” I ask her, kicking my feet up on the desk, my chair already warmed from her body heat. I open the second desk drawer – the too-tall one that dwarfs my top and bottom drawer, and scoop out a Mickey Mouse collectors cup's worth of dog food to her dish under the desk. She happily starts eating her late dinner as I pick up the receiver to my office phone (what? It's bundled with my internet, I might as well use it) and wait for the messages to start lining up for me. Nothing. Not even my mom calling to ask when I'm going to make it home for dinner. Harsh guys, harsh.

I decide to pop open my macbook and check messages there. An e-mail perhaps? Or some obscure Facebook message waiting for me to save the day or spy on someone? Nope. A few angry e-mails from clients who weren't happy with their false alarm reports, and some offers to “inlarge” my “pen1s” - but nothing of interest. I scan all of my usual haunts; Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter – the usual. Maybe I'm drinking a beer for dinner, you don't know for sure. I don't get paid for another three days, so I take the calories where I can.

After a mindless hour or so of internet entertainment and a brief dog walk to do Gypsy's private business, I decide to kick up my feet and sleep on the couch. Half the time I don't even bother pulling it out anymore, just unfolding a blanket and falling to sleep accordingly. Gypsy takes up her spot on the floor next to me, snoring happily as the dreams of chasing cats come to life.

Sometime after 3a.m. A loud crash pulls me out of a strange dream of rabbits and retail scanners. I squint in the half-lit room to find Gypsy is standing with her heckles held high, watching the poorly illuminated hallway and a figure standing at the glass. Waking up to a stranger peering in your all-glass door is a bit unnerving, to say the least.

“Gypsy,” I address the dog, “Put your spikes away,” I tell her, stretching and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I cautiously make my way to the door and push open the mail slot to allow sound to flow more freely.

“You lost, pal?” I inquire to the strange little man standing at my door. His balding head and overlarge glasses reflect the few lights on in the hall. I can't tell what he's wearing – but his clothes, or all of him stinks. I can smell his odor through the door. Some strange mixture of unwashed body, cigarette smoke, and perhaps a dose of marijuana, piss, and alcohol.

“Are you,” he begins, crouching closer to the open mail slot in the door. “A-are you, Adler?” He half-whispers as though someone in the vacant building might hear him. I can tell this is going to be an interesting day.

Here's another feedback request. Sure are a lot of these lately, huh? This is my introduction to the character Amber Adler, and I'm looking for anything and everything suggestion-wise to make her work. She's a quirky character, and her flaws will come forth eventually. Please leave any feedback you can think of, anonymously or otherwise. I'd love to hear from you, really really.

"Share criticism to get criticism, grow and learn accordingly."