Bearing Witness
by Eric Miller
Pretty much
everyone around town acknowledges that Studd
Sluthe is the man. No one knows that better than
Studd. That should tell you a lot about him. All
you really need to know, though, is that if
you’re looking for a private eye, he’s
the guy to look for.
Studd can
usually be found hanging out at
O’Leary’s Bar. You can’t miss him.
He’ll be the one talking. If you want to
catch his attention quickly, get two bottles of
Heineken at the bar, walk over to him, hand him a
bottle, click yours against his, and say
“Here’s to you, Studd. You’re the
man.” You’ll have him eating out of
your hand. Just don’t talk about witness
protection. He’ll shut you right out.
It seems that
one day some guy approached Studd using the two
Heineken bottle ploy to get his attention, while
purporting to know him. Studd didn’t
recognize or remember him, and they went back and
forth with each other.
“We used
to be tight, Studd. Don’t you remember?"
“And what
do you mean by tight?.”
“We
worked undercover together.”
“I hope
you mean that in the investigatory sense.”
“Don’t
worry, Studd. We never kissed under the mistletoe.”
“Well, if
this game must continue, at least give me a clue.
After all, I am a private eye.”
“Witness
protection.”
“Okay,
let me guess. I knew you. I don’t recognize
you. So, you must be in witness protection.”
“Ah,
it’s good to see that you’re still
quick on your feet, Studd.”
“Well,
according to the rules by which you seem to be
playing, all I have to do now is identify you,
right?”
“I’m
hoping you can, and that you’ll be glad to
see me.”
“It may
not be politically or socially correct for me to
say this, but I sense that you have had some
plastic surgery. You appear to have had state of
the art dental care, as well as some facial bone
augmentation. Did you have a beard or mustache
when we worked together?”
“No, but
good question.”
“You know,
I’m rerunning the videotape in my mind of
everyone with whom I did undercover, but I’m
not coming up with a match. I can think of
several people you might be, but I don’t see
enough of a resemblance to really believe it.”
“You’re
making my day, Studd.”
“Do you
have an old photo of the original you?,”
Studd asked.
So the guy
pulls out a photo from his wallet. Studd takes
one look at it, becomes ghostly white, and faints.
“The
punch line? You really want to know?
It was Onna
Offa, a former ecdysiast of great notoriety. She
and Studd had a long term on and off relationship.
They hit it off immediately, saw each other
frequently, and then boom, that’s right,
boom, it was all over. Oh, an ecdysiast is a
euphemism for stripper. Hey, come on, give her a
break. Some dentists I know call themselves
odontologists.
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