Sam Flint, Private Eye. The case of the missing blueprint. YA (standard:mystery, 6803 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 23 2020	Views/Reads: 1476/1032	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A missing paper brings on a nation-wide search. Also, Sam must find two missing cats.

Private Investigator Sam Flint woke to a change in the position of his
mattress. Instantly alert, Sam opened his eyes and moved his head, just 
as a ham-sized arm slapped across the end of his pillow. He glanced 
uphill, at a forty-degree angle, to see the face of his alarm clock 
peeking over the edge of the mattress. It was 6:28 am. The clock would 
ring in two minutes. 

The small town's finest, and only, private detective sighed and laid his
head back onto his companion's arm. His girl, Sadie, was having a 
restless sleep and had kept him awake half the night. 

Also, Sam had worked late into the morning on a case. Mrs. Thompson had
hired Sam to find her tomcat, Giggles. The feline had been gone for 
over a week. 

Knowing the cat had a fondness for Ms. Adam's female, Jericho, Sam had
borrowed and staked Jericho out in the town square around midnight. 
Sure enough, just before two o'clock, Giggles had come pussyfooting 
across knee-high grass in pursuit of everlasting love. Jericho, being 
spayed, showed absolutely no interest in the prospective suitor, which 
annoyed Giggles to no end. He had escaped home in heartfelt 
desperation, trying to find and impress his love. Now he wanted to 
express it, confused by her lack of interest. 

Collaring the unfortunate lovers, Sam had taken both the crying kitties
home with him. He confined the felines in old birdcages in the garage 
-- separate, of course. He'd finally hit the sack, it seemed like only 
moments before. 

Throwing his left leg uphill and over the edge of the mattress, Sam then
grasped a pole at the head of the bed with his right hand, using it to 
lever himself up and out of the bed. He looked back at his sleeping 
mate, all 6'  2" and 430 lbs. of mate. And that was while she was 
dieting. It was a large contrast to his 5' 3" and 120 lbs. 

Sam had to dress and check on his employee at the Atlas Common Defense
Plant. Sam was in charge of security at that manufacturing complex, his 
largest and only steady account. He managed and supervised three 
security guards -- one each night. They worked twelve-hour shifts from 
7 pm to 7 am. Sam liked to -- well, actually had to -- relieve them 
prior to the office staff coming in to work. 

The guard currently on duty was named George. He was always alert and
businesslike. The trouble with George was that he had to babysit his 
three-year-old daughter, Debbie. His wife worked nights in another 
section of the plant. The few babysitters in the tiny, 350 soul, 
community charged too much to hire one five nights a week. Sam liked to 
get the tyke out before the office people saw her. 

Nobody from the ACDP checked up on them. The guards were only there for
insurance benefits. There was usually a night shift at the defense 
plant, even on holidays. The night foreman took care of any problems 
himself. 

Sam's second employee was Harry, an ex-college professor before he
started hitting the bottle. Now he was the town drunk -- every town has 
one. Sam had to get there before seven when Harry worked in order to 
pour him into his car or drive him home, depending on his condition. In 
any case, Sam wanted to keep the ACDP people from smelling Harry's 
breathe and have time to open a few windows before they came in. 

Tommy Jr., the third of his trio, was a fine worker. But the 83-year-old
often dozed off on the job. Junior, as he was known, was also afraid of 
strange noises in the plant at night. He would normally report to work, 
wait for the staff to leave, use the bathroom, lock all the office 
doors, put his feet up on a desk, open a book and start to read -- and 
then go to sleep for the night. Of course, Sam had to report early on 
Junior's shift, in order to wake him and unlock the doors. 

Sam Flint, also known as Samuel Kawaski, received his Private
Investigators license in a roundabout manner. It seems the then smaller 
ACD Plant somehow acquired a large government contract. One of the 
conditions was to provide professional security. Assigning an employee 
to the job wouldn't do for the government. 



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