Tired. So damn tired.
I was put on this case 5 minutes ago. Or was it 10 minutes ago. I can’t even remember anymore.
The story goes my client met some mook named “Dylan” in a bar last night. Apparently they hit it off. When the night came to an end and it was time to exchange numbers, Dylan was as good as gone. My client needed to find him. Facebook was the only way to do it. She needed someone like me to shine a light on some dark places. She came to the right guy.
The only description I have is his first name and a few facts. He’s relatively tall, he has dark features, and he likes to play basketball. She also said he’s most likely in a fraternity. Helen Keller could have given me more information.
A simple first name and college search proves to be inconclusive. This is going to take more prodding than I thought.
Luckily I have an old contact who knows his way around the fraternity and sorority underworld. I call him The Greek. Awhile back, I helped him locate the secret Facebook profile his ex was using for her Tinder endeavors. I found out she was two-timing him with some sap on the a capella team. A day later, the sap had a broken jaw but The Greek still had it worse. He had a broken soul. The only way he tried to mend it was by spending time with his two pals, Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. I told him that wasn’t going to work. It sure didn’t work for me. Truthfully, he hasn’t been the same since.
I’m sending him Dylan’s casework with hopes he’ll have an answer. This is the best lead I have.
I’m nearing the end of my last Marlboro. I swear these things have me in a death grip. I told myself I’d quit a long time ago but times were different back then. That was before I became more cynical than Nietzsche after eating bad bratwurst.
Shit. The Greek said he only knows of 2 Dylan’s and neither match the description at all. My coffee’s gone cold and so has my lead. Unfortunately, when I take on a case I see it through to the very end. I’ve been told I’m stubborn like that.
My dog Buster is looking up at me. Sorry buddy, it’s not playtime yet. I wish I could switch places with ol’ Buster. Sleep all day with not a care in the world. That would be the life.
Alright, enough daydreaming.
The only other clue I have is the fact he plays basketball. If there’s one thing I learned from being a Facebook private eye, it’s that often the smallest details prove to be the most important ones. There could be a distant chance this mook plays basketball in an intramural league. Maybe, just maybe, he’s in a Facebook group for that league. This is my last shot.
I cross-reference his name with the member list of the intramural basketball Facebook group. There are 4 Dylan’s. He has to be one of them. He has to be.
Judging by a few of his photos, the first Dylan is 5’8” at most, so he’s out. The second Dylan has a profile picture of a late model Mustang. His cover photo shows a group of 15 people with no tags. I’m sure he has more pictures but his privacy settings are locking me out. Hold on. I should have seen this earlier. His bio says he graduated two years ago. Definitely not the guy. The third Dylan could be described as tall but dark features would be a stretch. His last name is Erikkson and he looks like Hitler’s gay lover. I can cross this Swede off the list. It all comes down to Dylan #4.
Bingo. Dylan Richardson from Evanston, Illinois. He definitely matches the physical description and his cover photo shows his intramural team. He’s also a fraternity member of Sigma Pi. Got the sucker. I’m sending my client the link to his profile now.
You see that ol’ Buster? I haven’t lost my touch. Not quite yet.
You know, I really hope my client re-connects with this guy. She deserves happiness.
We all do.