Who's Being Bad

I sat in the last seat. Always. "It's the safest place on the bus," she said. "The Johns' can't sneak up on you from behind."  I was new to this; never in a million years did I think I would ever do this. But since getting back from California, I was broke and needed money, and the money was good. I didn't want to be a secretary anymore, but a lady of the night? Big leap from sharpening a man's pencils to soliciting for the nasty-nasty.

Lady of the night

Linda was her name. I met her at a party at the Here Apartments at Shadeland Avenue and 38th Street. She was a heroin user but I didn't know that when I met her. Her sordid drug history didn't come out until after she had jumped off of a tenth floor balcony at a downtown hotel. Raised in foster care, she was abused by husbands of the women who tried to rescue her. She hated men, but she wasn't adverse to using them, conning them to survive in a world she called "living hell."

Linda was one of the most beautiful women I had ever known, but she didn't see her beauty. All she saw when she looked in a mirror was damaged goods. Five foot seven, slender yet buxom, perfect skin, long wavy naturally blonde hair, and over-sized blue eyes. Men tripped over their feet to get her to notice them, and notice them she did, but for reasons for survival.

A few weeks after I arrived home from the west coast, I was introduced to Linda, and I was drawn to her fun-loving, devil-may-care approach to life.  Easy to laugh, she completely fooled me about the black hellhole in her head. I liked her positive attitude and willingness to climb outside of the box that women were supposed to stay in. Secretary? Clerk? Typist? Receptionist? Housewife? Hell no!

So when Linda asked me to be her partner--the only two female private investigators to be hired by Pinkerton as an experiment to see if women could actually handle the pressure and danger--I said "I'm in."

My first assignment was to dress provocatively so as to explain the reason why a woman would be riding a shuttle bus from downtown hotels to the airport and back again, over and over, late at night. The reason for the assignment: to catch the shuttle driver charging more than the fee and pocketing the difference. After a week pretending to be a lady of the night, I found no wrong doing. "Good job, Carol Louise. Now here's your next assignment."

Neighborhoods: Go to the worst neighborhoods in the city--one was called "The Shooting Gallery"-- park your car, walk up to neighbors of the people we are investigating and ask a bunch of questions. I did as I was instructed, even though there were a couple of times my knees would buckle from fear. To calm my nerves, I told myself my employers would never put me in harm's way. "Good job, Carol Louise. Here's your next assignment." 

Criminal Investigation, Out of Town: Somewhere in a small town north of Indianapolis, there is a company who believes one of their employees is stealing equipment. Go there and ask a whole lot of questions from suspect's neighbors and anyone else he might know. I knocked on all the doors in the neighborhood where the suspect lived, but only one person opened their door to me. "Seems like an okay guy to me," the neighbor said.

While driving back to the company with my discoveries about their suspected thief, a car pulled up beside me. Inside were four very rough-looking men, and I was the focus of their attention. At the next stoplight, the man riding shotgun motioned for me to roll down my window. "HEY! I HEAR YOU ARE DRIVIN' ALL OVER TOWN ASKIN' QUESTIONS 'BOUT ME!" Shit! I was caught. What now?

"Is your wife's name Susan?" I said. "I'm trying to find a friend I went to high school with and I heard she was married to a guy with your name."  Whew! That worked. He turned his anger off and became very nice. Said I had the wrong guy. "Bye, have a nice day now."  Suddenly, I had an urgent need to pee. "Good job, Carol Louise, Here's your next assignment."

Surveillance: A union company in town has gone on strike, and some of the union workers are vandalizing company property in the early hours of the morning.  A male investigator will pick you to be his partner. You will be wearing guns. You will sit in a car from midnight to 4:00 a.m. watching for trespassers, you will not fall asleep, and you will report back to the office at 8:00 a.m.

Here's what the boss didn't say. You will be subjected to your partner's sexual advances, but that's your problem to solve and if it does happen, don't tell us because we don't like whiners or snitches. 

After a week of surveillance from midnight to 4:00 a.m., there was no wrong doing on the part of the union workers, but plenty to report on my married partner's inappropriate behavior regarding his desire to take me places I'd never been before. I reported to work every day at 8:00 a.m. sharp. I said nothing about my partner's wrong doing.  "Good job, Carol Louise. Here's your next assignment."

Year-long spy for a company out of town: Move to another town, take on an alias, work as a factory worker and spy on co-workers to see who's being good and who's being bad.

"I quit!"

Regarding the experiment to see if women are qualified to do the same job as a man at Pinkerton.

Results: Experiment failed.

Note: Linda and I were supposed to be partners, work together, travel together, but shortly after we began working for Pinkerton, they separated us. Women together, not a good idea. In the two months I worked for the company, I never worked with Linda. About a week before I quit, we were told Linda had a nervous breakdown--another story was she told the bosses about the sexual harrassment--and she was fired. Shortly after I quit, she climbed over a balcony railing and jumped to her death. Everyone blamed the drugs.