Chapter Two

“Someone moved your Milo container?”

“Yes,” she said, “and consumed it.”

“The container?”

“The Milo. The beverage, idiot.”

“And moved your Milo container?”

“It was not in the same place I kept. The point is, someone was there,” she said, growing impatient now.

“Who moved your Milo container? Sounds like a title for a self-jerk off book. Alright, who do you think?” I asked ensuring I am entitled to more sentences now.

“I don’t know, that’s why I want you to find out,” she said.          

            It was two days ago, when she walked into my office. I haven’t seen her for a long time. Pushpa, my former classmate, now a leading auditor and married to a leading auditor, with both running a leading audit firm and have two leading audited children.

            She was gorgeous those days. Pretty face, and all the right proportions at the right place. First, marriage puta  few pounds on her. Then, children have put the entire owner of a sirloin steak in her.

            “Okay,” I said leaning forward, and the leather executive chair let off a burping sound not unlike a fart. “This seemed like leaning towards, you know, suspicious spouse thingy? I have long stopped divorce job, Pushpa.”

            “Oh come on,” she said, rolling her eyes up. I waited for them to come down. Then, she continued, “My hubby is fine.  We go on holidays three times a year, and when we come back I noticed that.”

            “Did he? Or is he into stronger beverage?”

            “He didn't notice and seemed not to care. ‘You moved it and you forgot,’ he’d say.”

            “And you’d say, ‘eff you, hubby.”

            “What can I say, Shankaran?,” saying my name for the first time today. “What you expect me to say?”

            “Well, for one you can say, ‘the quick red fox jumps over the lazy brown dog’,” I offered.

            That stumped her. “I don’t need a reminder Shankaran. We are old.” She leaned back in the cramped visitors chair. It was for sale by one of the vacating office in my building, Wisma Pahlawan. Old, resilient, and Pushpa was an awesome proof.

            “Okay, here comes the dreary part. I will be issuing some questions to basically not take this job, and you will respond in a way that you make me take it, either by lying, retrofitting, or making suppositions and presumptions until I start weeping and take the job. Okay?”

            “Shoot.”

            “Any words from the neighbours, any suspicion?”

            “None. They are mostly away during daytime, so none.”

            “Which means they are useless. Security guards?”

            “There are some perched near the entrance to our area. Can't be trusted, they’ll even let people with bandana tied around their mouth in.”        

            “Useless. CCTV?”

            “Husband hates it. Says it breaches privacy.”          

            “He’s useless. You said nothing went missing. Anything else moved?”

            “None”

            “Your cats and dogs?”

            “Pet hotel. We pick them up when we come back.”

            “Useless pets. Pay maids to come and clean?”

            “Maids around when I am around. That’s the rule”

            “Useless rules. Anyone else with the keys. Your staff? Relatives? Parents? The Home Minister?”

            “Nope. Nope. Nope. Well, nope.”

            “What’s the size of my socks?”

            “Don’t know. But they smell.”

“Damn. We are at the dead end now. Did you ever try to lay a trap in the Milo container? Mousetrap? Land mines.”

            You wouldn’t like the stare she gave. I sighed and asked, “You want me to find out who has moved your Milo container. Going on holiday soon, I hope?

            “Tomorrow. Trust me, you will be paid handsomely.”

            “What does that mean? Handsomely, coz it will be paid by your handsome hubby? No, I want a princely sum to suit my talent. Look, I brought down the entire Saddam Hussein regime, and you want me to investigate the case of a moved Milo container?”

            “You brought down a small medium company doing insurance fraud. Saddam Hussein my broad ass,” she said, and then gave me the “Will you or will you not” look.

            “I don’t know, Pushpa. I no longer have assistants to run around and do small jobs like this. The last one has left, and now is country’s leading whatchamacallit positive hacker?”           

            “Ethical hacker,” she helped.

            “Hah. A contradiction eh, like Military Intelligence,” I said chuckling.

            She returned to that querying look.

            “Princely sum could be anything, Pushpa,” I said.

            “I got money. You don’t. Upgrade yourself, Shankaran. This building was built by retired soldiers, and it looks like it won’t last next year.  I almost heard the lift sighing when I entered.” She was serious when she said that.

            “Okay,” I said. “I charge by the hours and I need_”

            She quickly took out a cheque book from what looks like a bag lady’s bag, except costlier, and scribbled my name and nice little four figured numbers.

            “Thanks, Pushpa. I can now afford additional servings of vegetable,” I said, accepting the cheque.

            “Now,” she said, prying herself off the chair, “my hubby doesn’t know this and will never know this.”

            “Oops,” I said reaching for the drawer.

            “Quit kidding, Shankaran,” she said. “I mean it. He doesn’t know this and not one single mention. Doesn’t matter how many beers you have with him. The last time you mentioned about our date in the school library which he didn’t know.”

            “Oh come on, Pushpa. At least I didn’t mentioned the part where I_”

            “Sush!”

            Saying that, she walked off.

            I looked at the cheque. Well, I am not a superspy. I am not a high-flying private eye with high class clientele. I do insurance mostly, and push come to shove, spy on other people’s spouse for extra dough. I may be poor, but I have no pride.

            Enough cash to work on my old Jag’s engine. Call Alan Tee and say he’ll wait for the insurance job he just gave me and if he talks too much ask him to shove it up where the UV ray doesn’t hit.

            Let’s hope this one does not drag and it’s a clean job. Who am I kidding…