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Ah, temptation. It got Adam and Eve kicked out of the Garden of Eden, and it keeps Dad and me – that is, private dicks – rolling in green. You see, in a town like Neptune, where rich men are aplenty, the gold-digging women are far aplenty-er.
The infidelity rate is high. But come on, how's a guy supposed to resist? These nubile young things are practically begging for it, with their taut young bodies and their silicone... well, you get the picture. And when the first generation of trophy wives storms into Dad's office, skin sagging just a bit around the eyes, insisting that we catch their cheating husbands in the act - well, that's where we come in.
Dad doesn't go out of his way to ease their minds - what, and lose a fee? Are you crazy? He takes the case and sends me out for recon. I stake the guy out, or he does, and we look to catch the money shot. And if we catch him violating his prenup, then he's out of a lot of money. And the funny thing is, he probably could have saved it all just by hiring us first.
What I've noticed in this business, and what bothers me most, is that if the man of the house has a mistress on the side than eight times out of ten his wife is screwing the poolboy, or the driver, or - to relive a particularly disturbing example - her stepson's best friend. It's just a fact. Prenuptial agreements are supposed to be a safeguard for everybody involved, but these people? They don't care about anybody but themselves.
They always give into temptation without caring who they hurt. The people they've sworn to love forever, their kids. My mom did it, too. I don't know if there's anybody who's really safe from being controlled exclusively by their id, and it's a really terrifying thought.
There is a bright side, though. One small, shining bright side, which depresses me nonetheless.
Dad will never be out of a job. Which means that neither will I.
Like I said. A depressing bright side, but a bright side nonetheless.
The infidelity rate is high. But come on, how's a guy supposed to resist? These nubile young things are practically begging for it, with their taut young bodies and their silicone... well, you get the picture. And when the first generation of trophy wives storms into Dad's office, skin sagging just a bit around the eyes, insisting that we catch their cheating husbands in the act - well, that's where we come in.
Dad doesn't go out of his way to ease their minds - what, and lose a fee? Are you crazy? He takes the case and sends me out for recon. I stake the guy out, or he does, and we look to catch the money shot. And if we catch him violating his prenup, then he's out of a lot of money. And the funny thing is, he probably could have saved it all just by hiring us first.
What I've noticed in this business, and what bothers me most, is that if the man of the house has a mistress on the side than eight times out of ten his wife is screwing the poolboy, or the driver, or - to relive a particularly disturbing example - her stepson's best friend. It's just a fact. Prenuptial agreements are supposed to be a safeguard for everybody involved, but these people? They don't care about anybody but themselves.
They always give into temptation without caring who they hurt. The people they've sworn to love forever, their kids. My mom did it, too. I don't know if there's anybody who's really safe from being controlled exclusively by their id, and it's a really terrifying thought.
There is a bright side, though. One small, shining bright side, which depresses me nonetheless.
Dad will never be out of a job. Which means that neither will I.
Like I said. A depressing bright side, but a bright side nonetheless.
