Viktor Vedmak http://www.realvedmak.com 3m 509
The views of this article are the perspective of the author and may not be reflective of Confessions of the Professions.
I was a Private Investigator once.
When I was a kid, I watched lot of those reruns of 1940’s Private Investigator black and white movies. A dame comes into a messy office, looking for help. A disheveled guy helps her on principle. In the meantime he makes a ton of money, as she is always rich. They fall in love and live happily together forever. Sounded very glamorous.
So, when I got offered to come on a job with a friend who was making his living being a Private Investigator I jumped at the opportunity. He would not tell me what the job was about right away, so naturally my mind made up all sorts of ideas as to what it would be. The truth was.. none of those ideas matched up to the job.
We drove into an alley, parked the car, and stepped out. My friend handed me two hundred dollars in small bills and said, “Wait five minutes then enter that club after me. Watch me, I will give you a signal. You will order one drink, then use the remainder of that money to take dances from a girl that I point out until it’s all done. Then leave the club and meet me back at the car.”
He went in, carrying a briefcase. And so I waited. Five minutes felt like an eternity. I was excited to be involved in the investigation. Then I went inside. There was a cover charge of five dollars. Coat check fee. Two dollars. One Budweiser. Ten dollars. It was very dim inside, and I could not see my friend at first. My eyes scanned the room, discreetly. I found him! He was sitting right next to dancing stage of this strip club. There was girl on stage. Song ended, another girl came onto the stage. He gave me the signal.
After the girl came off stage I called her over. Asked her to dance for me in VIP room. It was ten dollars per song. Time flies, and it was over soon, my two hundred bucks gone for good. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the entire idea of strip club was just one big scam to pilfer desperate guys.
I left the club and waited at the car. Minutes later my friend came, still carrying his briefcase. He showed me a tiny little hole on side of it, smiled and said: “We got what we came for.”
The “job” was simple. The girl that danced over a dozen songs for me nude was in the middle of a nasty divorce involving two children. She was poor, her husband was not. They both wanted custody of those kids, but neither wanted to share. Her husband hired a Private Investigations company that my friend was part of to get him proof to make her look like an unfit parent. My friend, with my help, got him what he wanted.
Not exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to do it and not glamorous at all.