Part 2 of Martyn Mustang - The Gumshoe and The Dame (1920's Revisited)

As a private eye I’ve grown accustom to sizing up my clients and putting them into one of two categories; good or bad.  And in my line of work you learn how to swallow down the bad with whatever good you can find.  If no good can be found I settle for whatever is in my flask.  If it’s empty that was a sure sign that no good was coming my way.

However, this day was different.  My flask was full of Jack and I don’t even remember the last time I filled it.  This beautiful dame walked up to me and told me the she needed my help to prove her innocence.  As she unfolded her story to me my mind immediately classified her as a bad client and a bad idea.  But the deeper I looked into her face the more my heart believed in the purity coming from her eyes.  My heart would not let me type cast her with some of the prior garbage characters I had dealt with.  And so I took her on as a client without any reservations which was my first mistake…

4:05 p.m. The Day Before

Checking the time Martyn casually looked at his watch.  "Long day," he sighed to himself as he leaned against the driver's side of his Mustang GT; his Canary Lady as he fondly referred to her.

"Check my messages and then it's off to the gym."  Reaching into his pocket for his cell he mentally ran through what was left on his to-do list.  The display on his cell showed one text message from Max.  "Got a job 4 U. Sending email with info. Pls get right on this. Tnks Max."

Max was one of the attorneys that gave Martyn the majority of his headache jobs.  And because of their long history together as close friends he just couldn't say no to Max.  However, throughout his years of working on these types of gigs he learned how to brush Max off without offending.  So, he decided to play the, 'my phone hasn't been on all day,' card.  In his defense he was in court all morning and it was a widely known fact that cell phone usage is not allowed in the courtrooms.  Putting his cell back into his pants pocket he decided to ignore the text.

Martyn then pulls a cigar from his other pocket and lightly puts it under his nose to take in its heavenly cedar  aroma. This scent identified the type of wooden box it must have been previously stored.  It now became clear to Martyn that Max, who gave this gift to him earlier, was using this as a way of buttering him up for the next job to be done off of the books.  Despite it's intoxicating aroma he decided to move forward with his original plan of ending his workday.  "I hate being sent a job an hour before quitting time.  The paper work can wait and so can Max."  Putting his treat away to be savored at a later time he got into his Canary Lady and turned the key in her ignition.  "Sing for me my Lady," he smiled as the engine roared and he drove away...

6:30 p.m. Gym Locker Room

A good workout is my wind down for the day.  The adrenaline rush of stepping into the ring for a kickboxing match was a nightly fix.  Unfortunately, 'want-a-be big man of the gym,' Johnny was ringside heckling my every punch and kick.  This forced me to admit to myself that my head wasn't in the ring and only a few of my blows hit the target while the majority were aimless.  It was obvious that tonight my no loss record was going to be scarred.  It puzzled me that Johnny did not take advantage of the moment by entering into the ring and challenging me as he would normally do.

"Man Martyn.  What's up with you? You weren't a sure bet tonight," Johnny laughed as he closed his locker door.

"Everyone has an off night and this was mine," wincing as I attempted to stretch.  A long soak in a hot tub followed by a rub down would be nice right about now.  And the rub down's name would be Wendy and she would have a great pair of....

"Good thing you were only sparing. I learned a valuable lesson tonight. And that lesson was not to bet on you.  Although, seeing you get creamed was priceless." Smirking as he slapped me on my bare back his voice brought me back to reality.

"I wonder how much heckling you would do if I knocked your jaw right off," I mumbled as I watched Johnny walk out of the locker room.

Cell in hand with what was now three additional text messages from Max, all time stamped before tonight's loss in the ring.  Persistence was sometimes one of Max's admirable personality traits as an attorney; however, tonight it was just plain irritating.  Tossing the cell back into my gym bag I put on a clean shirt, grabbed the bag and headed out of the locker room.

7:30 p.m. Martyn's Condo

Entering what he has called home for the past 10 years Martyn tossed his gym bag to one side.  Cursing under breath he thinks about Max's text messages then goes into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge.  Going back into the room that he first entered he collapses onto the couch.  Within eyesight from his position on the couch was the gym bag with the cell phone in it that now had a total of four nagging text messages.  To ease his conscience he proceeded to move to the other side of the couch so that his view of it would be obstructed. Reaching for the remote he then turns on the t.v.  After a few sips from his beer his eyes start to grow heavy and eventually he slips off to sleep.

Meet Martyn Mustang The Gumshoe

Before there was the story of “The Gumshoe and The Dame” there was just “The Gumshoe.”  Every story has a beginning and this is Martyn’s.

During his years as a young adult in Detroit, Michigan he would help his friends, neighbors, family and associates out of tight situations.  He seemed to have a knack for this and everyone in the neighborhood knew it.  For a while he did this in return for favors and bartering.  As time went on more and more associates with difficult situations showed up at his doorstep, so he decided to charge a fee for his services.  At first he only made enough money to cover his expenses.

Later he thought that a better way of helping these individuals would be to become a lawyer.  He went to law school and quickly discovered it was not for him.  Some of his friends suggested, because of his physical fitness, that he should think about joining the police force.  So he tried that as well.  He enjoyed the training and he was good at hand to hand combat, but he never felt comfortable with carrying a gun everyday as a part of the job.  He’d rather settle a dispute with words or his fists and not with bullets.  So, needless to say he didn’t complete his training to become a police officer.  However, he knows that in his current profession there are times when a gun is more persuasive than words or fists.  He has a license to carry a gun; he just chooses to make using it his very last resort.

When Martyn started his job of investigating cases for some of the local Atlanta attorneys he was immediately labeled as a private eye or private investigator.  Martyn hates labels and he prefers to be thought of and respected simply as a hard working man.  Besides, labels are not his thing and he fought against this label by referring to himself as the gumshoe because he believes that he stands in a class by himself.  So because of Martyn’s stature within this small society as well as his physical stature, no one argued with him and his personal gumshoe label stuck.

Gumshoe is an old slang term from the 1920’s era for private eye.  Martyn is not that old.  As a kid he would watch old black and white movies with his dad and when he first heard the term gumshoe he thought it was cool.  Although he grew-up during the 80’s and he never missed an episode of Magnum PI, he had a special love for the old black and white detective movies.   Being a gumshoe rather than a private eye was his memorial to his fond childhood memories of his father. Memories of those days along with his father were gone. 

So, just like his last name, gumshoe stuck. How he got the last name, Mustang, is a story for another day.

The Gumshoe and The Dame (1920's Revisited)

As a private eye I’ve grown accustom to sizing up potential clients and putting them into one of two categories; good or bad.  And in my line of work you learn how to swallow down the bad with whatever good you can find.  If no good can be found I settle for whatever is in my flask.  If it’s empty that was a sure sign that no good was coming my way.

However, this day was different.  My flask was full of Jack and I don’t even remember the last time I filled it.  This beautiful dame walked up to me and told me the she needed my help to prove her innocence.  As she unfolded her story to me my mind immediately classified her as a bad client and a bad idea.  But the deeper I looked into her face the more my heart believed in the purity coming from her eyes.  My heart would not let me type cast her along with some of the prior garbage for clients I had dealt with.  And so I took her on as a client without any reservations which was my first mistake… 

To be continued....