The private eye business is a funny kind of commerce. You can go for weeks without even a suggestion of a job and then - Pow! - you find yourself listening to so many offers that your ears start to tingle. In this business it's either feast or famine. And lately, it's been more of the latter, writes Steve Coronella
Despite the Government's cheery prospects of economic uplift for all, I was experiencing a serious fiscal downturn - not a nibble in nearly six months. My ad in the Golden Pages - "Ron Barnstorm, Private Dick: Things Found While You Wait" - got me some media attention for a day or two, but no real business appeared at my door. It was time to take direct action - i.e., hit the streets and see if someone, somewhere needed a little professional sleuthing done.
I stepped out of my office, walked a few blocks and waded into the teeming human tide of O'Connell Street. If there was anywhere in Ireland I might find work, it was here, among the flotsam and jetsam that washed up daily on the shores of Dublin's most storied thoroughfare.
Down an alleyway beside the GPO, I saw my first opportunity. Two young miscreants were hassling a female student of Mediterranean extraction. They weren't looking for language lessons anyway. I stepped in. Just as I was about to collar the thugs (and maybe earn enough for a pint from the appreciative lass), a hand came to rest on my shoulder.
"No need to trouble yourself," a voice said. Two lads in full uniform then came between me and a few bob. "Myself and my partner here, we're Garda Reserves. Everything's under control."
"What are you talking about?" I said. "I saw the situation first."
"Clear off before we take you in for interfering with an officer in the line of duty."
"Go to hell," I said. "I'm trying to earn a living and you're giving it away for free?"
The two Reserve boys were about to pounce - on me - but I did my best Ronaldinho impersonation, feinting left, then swerving right, and got out of there before they could exercise their newly acquired powers of arrest. When I looked back, the situation was nowhere near under control. The young lady had fled, but a small, vociferous crowd had formed and the Reservists had somehow lost their caps and were looking decidedly unofficial. Any moment I expected to hear them cry out: "Minister McDowell! Where are you?" I was in no position, though, to lend a hand. I needed to find work - and fast.
I decided to head across the Liffey into Tourist Country, around Trinity and Nassau Street, where all the dollar-heavy Yanks did their shopping and picked up some culture to boot. If things went right, maybe I'd nab a pickpocket or two and get a small commission for my troubles.
Halfway across O'Connell Bridge, I lit a fag and lingered for a moment. In the right kind of light, I reflected, and with money to burn, this city could be a swell place. I took a drag and exhaled, and when I did the smoke temporarily obscured my sight. That's why I didn't see the two boys in blue coming up beside me.
"What's with the trench coat in such fine weather?" one of them said. "Trying to hide something?"
"Yeah, and the vintage hat," said the other.
This was no good cop, bad cop routine. Neither seemed pleased to see me.
"Just looking for something to do," I said. "Like yourselves."
"Hey, we got a comedian here."
"You lads wouldn't be Reservists by any chance?" I said.
"Shove off before we put you in touch with guys who do this sort of thing for a living. They'll know what to do with crumbums like you."
"I don't want any trouble," I said - though, off the record, trouble is my business and these lads were cutting in on it. "You know, if I were the litigious type, I'd think about filing suit. Infringement of trade, monopolistic practices, etc. But you caught me on a good day."
"We'll catch you all right. . ."
They both lunged for me, but I ducked under their combined grasp. Then I weaved my way toward Westmoreland Street, bolted across the road against the light, and disappeared in the throng outside a souvenir shop.
There was a sign in the window advertising for sales help. I looked in. The place seemed pleasant enough - a bit loud and garish, but I'd seen worse in my time. And they already had their own security. I reached in, ripped the ad from the window, and went to find the manager.
It's never too late, I decided, for a career change.