B Branin [Branin - Demonic Double Cross

B. Branin

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 B. Branin

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Dedicated to my father, the greatest man Ive everknown.

Evidence on murder, abduction, andtransgressions so twisted they wont be mentioned here, collecteddust on my desk. As usual this evidence declared, with flamboyantlunacy, that yeti, ghosts and goblins were the true culprits inthese savage crimes. Sitting behind these letters from whackjobsand conspiracy buffs, I cursed myself for getting into the wrongline of work.

Which line of work deserved the brunt of myanger was up to debate.

According to my borderline bogus degrees onthe wall, as well as the shiny plaque on my office door, Imofficially a Paranormal Investigator. Everything from aliens todecedents of Zhu Bajie (one of the rare monsters that begin withthe letter z) is fair game for my field of expertise. Howeveranyone with a lick of sense can tell you Im just your run of themill conman, flimflammer, swindler, crook, and down-to-earthcheat.

Or at least I had been.

Now you can go to any used car dealership andfind a cheat, but to find a true conman like myself, you gotta lookpretty hard. First off, you never know a con is a con until itstoo late. Secondly, we are damn good at avoiding unwantedattention. At least thats how it had been for me before I puttogether my tour-de-force scam involving the paranormal.

I first hatched my Paranormal Investigatorscheme with a single goal in mind: a paycheck in exchange for zerowork. With some seed money that I had left over from sellingconverted toasters (that steamed bread) to some health nuts,I got busy. Thanks to the glorious internet, I practicallypurchased a few degrees in parapsychology and psychophysics.

The con was beautifully simplistic. I make upsome mumbo-jumbo about the paranormal, then got some universityprofessors to push it through to receive grant money in exchangefor some kickbacks. We all go home happy. On occasion Id even goperform a bogus exorcism or ghost hunt for a dirty property ownerwho claimed my services as a business expense/tax dodge.

Of course there were fraud investigators andgovernment suits demanding to know that the grant money was beingwell spent. They could get tricky, but usually bribes or blackmailkept them out of my hair. If any particularly stubborn suit houndedme, Id simply state that ghosts, poltergeists and other suchphenomenon were not expressly specified in the Bible, Quran or whathave you. That observation accompanied by a thinly veiled threatconcerning a lawsuit of religious persecution got them off myback.

To sum it up, life was good.

I had enough tax dodge donations and grantmoney to fund a cozy lifestyle as well enough coin left over topiss away at the track or pool hall. Hell, I didnt even mindputting up with all the crazy emails or letters I received fromspiritual mediums or supposed alien abduction victims. Yup, it wasgreat being a Paranormal Investigator... until the paranormalliterally came knocking at my door.

Cleverly disguised of course.

For all of you who (God knows why) wannabecome a Paranormal Investigator, here is your golden rule:Those who show up in person are dangerous! More often thennot, theyve escaped from a loony bin and need to be detainedbefore their meds wear off. But occasionally (as my tragically longcareer can testify) some cases might be the real deal.

Thats right. Authentic supernaturalphenomena.

Thats usually when things getweird.

My relationship with the paranormal began ona Sunday evening. I had just woken up (painfully hung over) todiscover I was at my office, using my desk as a bed. I would oftenmake a clerical error when boozing and spend my cab fare on cheapdomestics, forcing me to stumble home or to my office. It dependedon which was closer to the bar I had been thrown out of.

As it turned out the pounding wasnt just inmy head, but coming from my office door. To say I was upset was anunderstatement. The people who usually knocked at my door wereeither maids who wanted me to sign up on their office buildingdiscount plan (for their prices I could get me a girl in a sexymaid outfit and then subtract the outfit) or some whip-lash victimlooking for the lawyer who, for whatever reason, specialized inilliterate clients.

How else could you get Attorney At Law mixedup with Paranormal Investigator?

To my chagrin the person at my door wasntthe usual annoyances. I threw open the door, ready to fire offseveral stinging barbs that reeked of liquor, when I was renderedspeechless. An experience I wasnt by any means used too. Astrikingly beautiful young woman (who was about half my age, butthat still made her legal by at least a year) stood outside myoffice. Though her figure was more then enough to ignite lust inany man, her face was so angelic I was almost ashamed to considerher a curvaceous floozy.

Let me tell you that all of her features werebreathtaking, but one feature in particular held my attention. No,not those. It was her eyes! They were amesmerizing emerald hue that held my reflection like tinymirrors.

Youre the investigator? The young beautyasked, taking a step away from me (no doubt thanks to my currentcologne that mixed the odors of spilt booze, vomit, and cheap skankinto a graceful fragrance of offensiveness).

I was still scrambling to collect enoughcognitive thought to force my tongue into action. This was my firstperson-to-person chat about my career that didnt involve taxfraud or corrupt professors writing up a grant proposal. Trying mybest to recover with what grace and tact could be salvaged, Iforced a reply.

Yeah. I mustered.

Tactful I know

The gal looked doubtful as she took in myragged appearance, but any quips or comments milling about insideher mind were kept in check. Instead the young lady cleared herthroat nervously, her skepticism just about to propel her as faraway from me as possible.

How does one She asked, those emeraldirises full of uncertainty, Hire you, exactly?

There were only two things that couldinstantly bring out the best in me; one was a loaded gun and theother was money. The thought of greenbacks slapping against my palmimmediately expelled my hangover and brought back some of myarticulate nimbleness. Offering her my most charming smile, I wavedher into my office. She hesitated a few moments before accepting myinvitation but who could fault her for that?

Well there are several ways to go about it,I explained as if I were the authority on the subject ofinvestigation negotiation, As my services are unique, so are mypayment methods. Compensation can vary from the expenses needed tothe results I find.

With a dancers grace, I guided my potentialclient through the small mounds of trash that haphazardly occupiedmy office floor (I made a mental note to actually listen to themaids next time they offered their services) and over to my deskthat, moments before, had been my bunk. Once we were both seated Itried to appear as presentable as possible, operating purely ongreed and instincts developed over years of swindling.

Looking back on it now, it never occurred tome how I might have falsified a paranormal investigation.Unfortunately for me, there was no falsification needed in thisparticular case. If there had been, it would have saved me muchbodily harm, all of my sanity and countless sleepless nights.Instead, I said the dumbest thing I could to the sweet young womanseated across from me as I extended my hand to her.