Tell Me About Your Bag

"Well," I leaned back in my chair in an imitation of those old detective movies I had always loved so much. "If you've got no money, and no ID, what exactly is in that briefcase?"

Hauling a large suspicious-looking brown case in, the woman gave me a look and replied, "Is that really all that you put in a briefcase, Mr. Noir?"

Oof. Only a few minutes and she was already launching sarcasm like my office wall launches cockroaches. "Just clarifying. What's in there?"

Wordlessly, Miss Blue Dress opened the briefcase to reveal a change of clothes, (Blue jeans and a blue shirt. Well, we know her favorite color.) a gaudy necklace that looked rather expensive, (Intriguing. If nothing else, I could pawn it.) and a small white card. "Hey, I thought you said you didn't have any--Oh." I blinked a few times. The photo on the driver's license was of a man, not a woman. He wore glasses and had a mullet-esque blonde hairdo. Apparently not a real winner. Evidently his name was Benjamin Knowles, and he was 32 years old this year. "Any idea who this is?"

"If I did, would I be here? I've asked everyone I can fine; No one knows him." Ouch. This one had a temper.

"Well..." I tossed the card back into the briefcase and pulled out the necklace, "How about this? An old family heirloom, perhaps?"

Miss Blue Dress rolled her eyes. "Can we get one thing straight? I know nothing. My name? No. My family? No. Why I'm here? No. If you can't even figure that out, how in hell are you supposed to figure this out?!"

Silence. I stared openmouthed, and I'm proud to admit that I was almost afraid. Sure, I had been yelled at before, and plenty of times, but the idea of some little amnesiac girl in a ridiculous blue dress calling me an idiot was an entirely new experience for me. "Um..." was all I could produce.

After a few more minutes of awkward silence, Miss Blue Dress snatched the necklace out of my hands and began repacking the briefcase, muttering little things like "And just when I think I have a chance!" and "Is this really the best they can do around here?"

I would have happily let the woman go if it weren't for my current financial problem, but as it was, I couldn't go letting a client slip out of my grasp. "Just wait a second, ma'am!" I cried as she began stomping out the door. When she kept going, I raised my voice and yelled, "I think I've figured it out!"

It was a lie; Of course it was a lie! A necklace, a useless driver's license, and a pack of blue clothing? Sherlock Holmes couldn't have figured out her identity yet. But as it was, apparently she wasn't as bright as she acted, for she seemed to believe me. Turning around slowly, she asked evenly, "Do you really know who I am?"

"Yes! Well, kind of," I was mentally kicking myself for that outburst. I had no more clue than she did. "You're..."

The End

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