Why is it always raining when something big happens to a PI in the movies? Is it because they wish to make the scene more dramatic? Or simply because only the weirdos come out when it’s raining? It doesn’t make much of difference. The reason I bring it up is because it was raining when she walked into my life.
        She seemed like a pretty ordinary gal. She was wearing a one-size too large, black raincoat, which covered an all black dress, with a matching sunhat and purse to boot. By my guess, she must’ve been straight from a funeral, just like most of my clients were. “Hey,” she said in a sultry voice, nice to the ear, but with a hint of danger to it. “Are you the PI?”
        “Yeah,” I said, putting my feet up on my desk, a tactic reserved for clients only. “Whose asking?
        “I need help,” she began, “My boyfriend died yesterday.”
        “My condolences.”
        “Well, the cop explained he didn’t die naturally.”
        “You think he was murdered?”
        “I don’t know who did it, and if the cop knew, he didn’t tell me. I want to find the murderer and bring him to judgement. Can you help me or not?”
        “It depends on how much you are willing to offer.” She reached into her purse, pulling out a sizable wad of bills. She handed it to me, and by my estimate there must have been nearly 500 dollars there. “Well, its a little less than I expected,” I lied, “but it will do.”
        I got out of my chair and we headed to my car. As we walked, I explained, “The first thing we need to do is to inspect the scene of the crime. Did the cop tell you where he found the body?” She reached into her purse and pulled out a crumpled up piece of paper.
        “He found him here,” she explained.
        “1658 Sycamore Street … That’s all the way across town!” I said with clear apprehension to the long drive. However, her pulling out my good friend Mr. Hamilton helped in calming my nerves.
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        We arrived at the house. I was afraid that the place would be swarming with cops, due to the fact that a murder had just happened at this location, but we were met with no resistance. The house was rather small, only one story, and it looked as if it hadn’t been lived in for ages. I turned to my client and said, “Now look. Don’t touch anything. If you see or hear anything or anyone suspicious, yell and I’ll come running. Got that?”
        “Yeah,” she said, side-stepping me and going into the house. I soon followed, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. The inside of the house actually looked worse than the outside. Most of, if not all of, the furniture was broken, smashed to splinters. It was clear that something big had happened here the night before.
        “So, why was your boyfriend here last night?” I asked as we began sifting through the wreckage of the living room furniture.
        “He came here to get the junk he left when he moved in with me.” She explained, “He had moved in the night before.” We continued looking for nearly half an hour, and after nearly 15 different splinters, we still had not found any indication of there being anyone here the night of the murder.
        “That’s strange,” I explained, “usually there’s at least some evidence if a struggle this big happened … A blood splatter, finger prints, something! But’ it’s as if there wasn’t anyone here…” my words trailed away as I noticed something glimmering underneath the windowsill at the far side of the room. I waded through the rubble, and was met with a 2x4 covered in a substance with the unmistakable stickiness of saliva.
        I put on some latex glove and picked up the board. “This,” I explained to her, “may be the clue we need to solve this case.”
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        That afternoon, I sent the spit sample to a friend of mine in forensics who owed me a favor. I also invited my client to dinner, as it would take at least a day for the results to come back, but she declined. “Wait,” I said, “At least give me your number so I can contact you when it comes in.” She looked rather annoyed, but took my phone anyway and put in her number, along with her name, ‘Cynthia’.
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        My friend in forensics, Lauren Cifarelli, had just dropped off the results when Cynthia walked into my office the next morning. It was still raining, and the streets had begun to flood a little because of it. I opened the letter and examined the results, only to be completely shocked by them. “Snake Spit,” I said. “Why would there be snake spit at the scene of the crime?”
        I was racking my brain, trying to come up with an answer, but Cynthia seemed to suddenly realize the link I couldn’t see. “My Ex-Boyfriend Ben!” She exclaimed, “We broke-up when I cheated on him with Kevin. He had a pet Anaconda!”
        “Do you remember where this ‘Ben’ lives? I’d like to ask him a few questions for this investigation?”
        “Yeah,” she said, “follow me.”
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        We both hopped into our separate cars and I followed her to an apartment in the shady section of the city. Not only did most of the shady deals go down here, but the light was also blocked out thanks to the nearby skyscrapers. After ten minutes of driving, we stood outside the door to a somehow worse looking one-story home, and I knocked on the door. “YEAH!?” a burly voice called from somewhere inside the door.
        “Hello,” I yelled back, “I’m Private Investigator Donald Newcombe. I’m doing an investigation on the recent death in the nearby area. May I come in and ask you a few questions?”
        “Okay, come on in.” The voice said, much closer. We heard the distinctive sound of a door unlatching, and the door opened up, revealing the ex-boyfriend, Ben Landreth. He was a tall mountain of a man, with an unkept beard and dirty clothing. He looked at Cynthia and said, “Oh … didn’t expect for you to be here,” he said dejectedly upon seeing Cynthia.
        “Hello to you too, Ben,” She replied sharply.
        The inside of Ben’s apartment was almost as messy his appearance. Clumsy, but livable. He had plates stacked high in the open kitchen and the living room was cluttered with empty pizza boxes. “Forgive the clutter,” he explained, primarily to Cynthia, “I quit cleaning after you left.” He led us to, what I imagine was the dining room table. I couldn’t really tell, as there was so much food and stuff scattered around the apartment, it was hard to tell the furniture from the floor. “What did you want to know?”
        “Can you tell me what you know about a Kevin Susskind?”
        “Who?” he asked. His intonation sounded highly sarcastic and mocking.
        “The man you murdered, AND MY BOYFRIEND!” Cynthia blurted out.
        “I have no idea what you’re talking about. How dare you acu-“
        But before he could finish his sentence I interrupted with, “Cynthia. Side-bar. Now!” I forced her up and we shuffled through the garbage to the kitchen (or possibly the living room?). “Look,” I whispered, “you don’t go accusing people without any evidence. Especially if they are your only lead.”
        “But they were best friends! I’m sure that -“
        “No buts!” I interrupted, “If we get him too mad, he’ll kick us out, and we won’t be able to get the evidence that we need.”
        “Fine,” she whispered in an annoyed tone.
        “Now look,” I whispered, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small test tube I borrowed for evidence. Handing it to her, I said, “take this and try to get a spit sample from his snake, I’ll see if I can remedy what you broke.”
        I headed back to the dining room table, “Sorry about her. She’s under some serious stress right now, and is desperate to find the killer of her boyfriend.”
        “I get it,” ben said, looking smugly, “You’re in love with her. Ain’t ya?”
        I blushed a little. I hadn’t really been thinking about it, but Cynthia was a very beautiful woman. “No. This is strictly business, we just came to get your statement on Kevin Susskind.”
        “And then what? Take her out to dinner?”
        “No,” I blushed even harder, if Ben had admitted to the crime, I was planning to take Cynthia out to this italian bistro near my place. “That’s not at all-“
        “Look pal,” he interrupted, “I don’t care, I moved on. I never knew or heard of any Kevin.”
        “Really?” I asked, skeptically.
        “Yeah, really.” He said with an air of honesty around him.
        “But Cynthia said you two were best friends.”
        “Then that dame lied to ya, pal.”
        “Why would she-“
        “Lonely? Afraid? I don’t know. Maybe her boyfriend got killed by the dame? Maybe not. Either way, I’d get out while I could.”
        It was at this point that Cynthia reentered the room and discretely winked my way, probably to say, ‘I’ve got the spit.’
        “Welp,” Ben said huffily, “I think y’all better leave now.”
        “But I still have some qu-“
        Pttt!
        He SPAT on my shoes!
        “Get out before I kick you out!” Begrudgingly, me and Cynthia left the house. She silently gave me the snake spit, then returned to her car and drove away. I took out my hanky and wiped the Ben spit into the spare test tube I placed in my car in case I forgot the first. I drove to the forensics office at the local police station and dropped off both test tubes (never can be too careful). As I drove back to the office, Ben’s words rang through my ears.
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        The next morning, Cynthia dropped by my office again. We waited for a good half hour past eight o’clock before Lauren came by.
        Instead of giving us the evidence, she had only came by to explain that she would need another day to analyze the saliva samples. “You’re sure you gave me one from the suspect and one from the snake?”
        “Yeah,” I replied questingly, “why do you ask?”
        “No reason… I probably just messed up my calculations or something..” she mumbled.
        “What?” you respond with.
        “Nothing, I’ll get you the final results tomorrow.” she said, rushing out the door to return to her work.
        Cynthia was about to leave too, before I quickly asked her, “Do you want to get a cup of coffee or something?”
        She paused with her hand on the door, before turning around and exclaiming, “I’d love to.”
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        We had went to the coffee house next door to my office, a fickle place that changed its name almost every other week. This week, it was ‘Simply Coffee’ . Anyway, we sat at the counter and began a conversation. The topics mainly revolved around her, what she did for a living (she was a veterinarian), her hobbies (she played the flute), and other parts of her life. Eventually I moved on to the question I had beed dreading to ask since talking to Ben the day before. “So, how did you find out about my business?”
        “The cop recommended you.” She then pulled out a piece of paper with a list of names. The list included me, Jim Raboud, Dick Kalupa, Emerson Friedmann, and Sherlock Morehouse.  Looking at the list, I originally thought nothing of it, but really thinking about it, I realized the link between the four (and I guess me).
        “All of these guys have never solved a case,” I whispered in a defeated tone.
        “What?” she asked.
        “None of these guys have ever solved a case.” I repeated, louder this time.
        “Wait… you’ve never been hired before?”
        “Yah, but don’t worry, I’ve done a ton of simulations.” I replied. Meanwhile, my brain was in overdrive, trying to figure out what could have happened to led to this. “Why did the cop give you a list of private investigators? Couldn’t the cops simply investigate the case themselves?”
        “He told me the murder was ‘out of their league’ and that only a PI would even think about taking it.” she recalled.
        “And he gave you that list then?”
        “After I begged him for it,” she replied.
        “Okay…  why is this case so important?” I asked.
        “I don’t know,” she responded. It was at this point that the waiter came with the check. I silently paid the waiter, after which Cynthia and I left. We parted our separate ways, her to her house and I to my office, where I sat pondering what was so important about this case that the proper authorities would try to purposefully ensure it never being solved.
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        It was the next morning. Cynthia hadn’t came in, and I was worried because she had called the night before, saying she was going to come in early today. Something about a new lead in the case. I was already ten o’clock, and I still hadn’t heard anything back from her.
        It was at ten fifteen when Lauren came into my office. “So,” she said, “I got the final results right here, but they’re probably going to shock you.” I opened the manilla envelope she handed to me.
        I stared at the evidence for only a moment, before I got up, took my jacket, and rushed out the office, shouting behind me, “Don’t touch any of my stuff while I’m gone.”
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        The ride to Ben’s house took ten minutes, just like before, but I was going so fast it felt like five. It had started raining, but I didn’t care.
        I went up to the door and banged hard on it. Ben opened the door and said, nonchalantly, “Come in.”
        I wasn't having any of his faux-hospitality, “Look pal, you’re under arrest.”
        He stared at me with a look akin to dear in headlights, before laughing for a good three minutes. “Good one,” he said, “but you and I both know you have nothin’ on me.”
        “Au contraire. I actually have direct DNA evidence linking you to the scene.” It was then that I pulled out my piece de resistance, a fake, all-purpose arrest warrant. In all the simulations I’ve run, the criminals freak out and give me their admission of guilt.
        Upon reading the warrant, Ben slammed the door in my face and ran further into the house. Using all of my strength, I kicked open the door. I pulled my gun out of my holster and dove into the house.
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        The house was eerily silent. The floorboards didn’t squeak, despite being very beat up, and there was no sound from the rain outside. I snuck through the house, trying to listen for any noise.
        That’s when I noticed, all the junk that had been scattered around was gone. Ben said the last time this place was clean was when…
        “CYNTHIA!” I shouted. I was hoping that she would respond if she heard me, but I would have no way of knowing if she was here or not. I listened for any sign of her, or Ben. I had gone through nearly every room in the house, the only one left was the bedroom.
        I kicked down the door, only to be greeted with the site of Ben holding a gun to my client’s head.
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        “Drop the gun!” Ben commanded. I held my gun steadily pointed at Cynthia. “Drop the gun, or I blow her head off!”
        My mind was racing through how this scenario could play out, and most of them ended with Cynthia accidentally getting hurt. I was going to have to time my shot just right.
        “You have until the count of three!” he shouted, showing no resistance in his voice. I said nothing, trying to hard to look like I wasn’t sweating bullets.
        “One…” I waited in anticipation.
        “Two…” he cocked his gun. In that instant of change, I fired my gun. My bullet narrowly missed Cynthia, hitting Ben square in the nose.
        He never got to three.
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        I grabbed Cynthia , who had started to fall when Ben had been shot. I pulled off her gag, asking her, “Are you hurt? What happened? Did he touch you? Why is Ben’s sp-“
        “You need to get out of here! NOW!”
        Cynthia yelling at me was shocking. What was more shocking, however, was a rustle from, what should have been Ben’s lifeless body. His body slowly rose up from the ground, head first, all the while a deep, resonating laugh was coming from it. A bright light began emanating over his body, but before I could get a good look, Cynthia tackled me to the ground. She wrestled with her purse, before pulling out a pair of sunglasses, and forced them onto my face.
        “Hey, what’re y-“ it was then that I noticed what had happened to Ben. Coiled in the spot where Ben had been standing, was a giant snake.
        It had to be at least fifty, if not a hundred feet long, and two feet wide. Its face was large enough to swallow me in two bites, with teeth the size of kitchen knives, and two purple, baseball-sized eyes. Its tail was slithering out of tannish piece of plastic, that looked significantly like a body.
        “WHAT THE FU-“ I didn’t get to finish that sentence, as the snake shot out at me, fangs bared. I dodged to the left, bolting out the door. I heard the large reptile tumble out the room behind me. I ran into the living room, grabbing a lamp and wielding it before my adversary. I took a swing, and hit it square in the head. The impact broke the lamp, and left the snake unscarred.
        I turned and ran down the opposite hallway I had came in. As I ran I quickly swiped at a protrusion on the wall. The snake was close on my tail. I dove into the nearest doorway, which happened to lead to a staircase going downwards. I opened the doorway at the bottom of the stairwell to find a large basement. The basement was cavernous, stretching out farther than the house itself in any direction. However, that wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was the fact the room was filled with rows upon rows of statues, all in a variety of poses.
        I could hear the giant snake tumbling down the stairs, so I quickly ducked in-line with a nearby row of statues. The snake’s head popped into view, and the rest of the snake of the snake followed suit. To my horror, a deep, guttural voice began emitting from the snake’s mouth, “Come out, come out wherever you are…” It began slithering through the aisles of statues. “I can sssmell you…”
        As he got closer and closer to my aisle, I formed my plan of action. Preparing to attack, I grabbed onto the arm of the statue next to me. I ripped it’s arm off, however, I didn’t realize how loud it was going to be. The snake, hearing the racket I caused, lunged at me through the rows, tackling me to the ground.
        “I warned you Don,” the snake said as I struggled underneath his weight, trying to get a grip. “I warned you jussst like I did that idiot Kevin. You ssshould have ssstayed away from Sssynthia. Ssstupid humansss like you ssshould have never interfered with usss.” I couldn’t breathe, he was crushing my lungs.
        “Sssay goodnight Donny-boy!” the snake said, rearing its head back. I closed my eyes, accepting my fate.
        Suddenly, the noise of several dust-covered air conditioners kicked in and blasted the entire room with a wave of cold, dusty air. As it ran over us, I felt the giant snake’s rearing body go limp. I opened my eyes, and struggled, this time more successfully, and crawled out from under the monster’s body. I stood up, breathing in as much of the filthy air as I could, trying to process what had just happened to me.
        I shakily climbed upstairs, through the hallway, and stood by the protrusion on the wall that had saved my life. Looking at the thermostat, I started laughing. If I had accidentally pushed the dial the opposite direction, the house would probably be one hundred degrees instead of negative ten.
        I walked into the living room to discover Cynthia surveying the damage produced by the snake and I. She saw me, and I walked up to her, grabbed her around the waist, and swung her close to me with a kiss. It was a pleasant surprise that I earned a kiss back.
        As I pulled away, I asked, “Do you want to go to dinner with me this Saturday.”
        I was thrilled when she responded with, “I’d love to.”
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        After a long make out session in the wreckage of the living room, the events that had unfurled finally dawned on me. The disgusting air of the room finally began to bother me, so I opened the nearby window.
        “So Cynthia…” I said, turning around to face her, “why exactly is there a giant snake in the basement?”
        “Well… becau-“ she was interrupted by something being thrown through the window. Upon examination, it turned out to be a chrome ball, roughly the size of a golf ball. We heard a click, and suddenly the disgusting air began to fill with a thin gray smoke.
        “What the…” my words slipped as I fell to my side. My body had gone numb. I fought hard to simply keep my eyes open.
        Suddenly, what looked like a bolt of lightning shot through the window as well, striking Cynthia’s limp body.
        The last thing I saw before my eyes closed was a bright light encompassing my girlfriend’s body.