Ransom

The vibration of his cellular phone in his pocket stimulated the organ best used for pro-creation. Any intention to submit to its bidding was uncalled for.

“Hello, P.I. here,” he banished his daydreaming of an island paradise.

“I received a note this morning,” the husky voice had an indeterminate orientation.

“I am sorry but I don’t subscribe to phone sex,” he sounded indignant.

There was an audible swearing on the other line. He was not sure if it was directed to him.

“Is this the investigator I talked to yesterday or a pervert?”

Mr. P.I. was suddenly alarmed. His only client could vanish with his unthinkable blunder. He had to think of some way to rescue his honor.

“I am sorry for the delay,” he said in a different voice. “A visitor just handed me back my phone.”

He did not know if she bought the ruse. The next few seconds would be crucial.

“I received a note. It looked like my companion was kidnapped.”

“Can I come over so we could talk things out? I want to see the surroundings.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

As per his initial study and a quick interview with a pet psychologist, cats do not run away without any reason. Maltreatment was the farthest he could imagine regarding the case: the pet seemed to be pampered like a rich brat.

When he reached the gate of the property, he thought of a needle-in-the-haystack affair. A psychic would have a difficult time viewing with his third eye the expansive area: it was a small forest.

“What does the note state?” he asked after having seated in a garden stool. The journey from the gate to where he sat took him nearly half an hour to negotiate.

“Here, take a look!” the bodyguard handed him the note as if it was contaminated by radiation,

“I have your cat. If you want to see it again, be kind to animals,” he read aloud.

“So, what do you think?” the woman asked seriously.

Mr. P.I. thought for a while before answering. He was not sure it the note was a joke or it some form of a harmless warning.

“By the way, I have not asked your business. I am not sure if it’s even relevant.”

“My dear departed husband left me with a meat-processing company.”

Aha! The light bulb in his head lighted up, a conspiracy theory in the making.

BLOGGING   LIFE/STYLES   MY STORIES   WHISPER   ZONE

Advertisements

What's on your mind?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s