A/N: Please review on here or on the website for this story (Listed on my bio.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Jonathan Creek the show. I do own Genevieve Marston and her boss, Martin. Please don't use them without permission.
'Genny?' It was my boss, Martin's, voice but I couldn't see him anywhere, 'Genny, you have got to clear away some of this rubbish!' I moved away a mountain of papers and there he stood, hands on his hips, glaring at me through thick, soda bottle glasses that never made their way out of the seventies.
'Hi, Martin. Have a good lunch meeting?' I knew the answer to the question but decided to ask it anyway, pulling my glasses off in one swift movement and running a sore left hand through my wild dark brown hair.
'You Americans, you have no tact! No, I did not have a good lunch meeting! We're losing money, Genny, faster than you can make it.' He crossed his giant arms over his giant chest and his imposing figure would send any normal woman running for the hills. Good thing I wasn't a normal woman.
'Thanks for that shimmering compliment, Martin. What can I do for you?' Sarcasm was causing the air between us to thicken by the minute and Martin's brow was dropping at an equal rate.
He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and dropped it on my desk, 'I want you to find out everything you can about this guy. Go find him and meet him. Proposition him if you have to.' I glared at him disgustedly and he glared right back, there was no getting out of this, 'Do your job, Genny.' Martin started to move away and I wanted to jump up to argue.
I looked down at the slip of paper in my hand but didn't recognize the name. Jonathan Creek was all that was written there. It was written in a loopy script that clearly wasn't my employer's and I wondered who had given him the tip off for the story.
I sat back in my chair and relaxed for a moment, slipping my feet into my abandoned shoes and gnawing on my lip. I hadn't done any good investigative reporting in a year or so. I'd been stuck behind this desk since I'd moved to England after the, amply named, 'incident'. I couldn't help but wonder why I'd been given this job. It wasn't for my brazen good looks, of which I had none. I wasn't awful looking, I was just average looking.
I stood about five foot five on a good day and my most obvious feature was probably my dark brown hair which most people assumed was black. When I was a child, I used to yell at the other kids for telling me my hair was black. I wasn't skinny, but I wasn't fat either. I was just plain average. Maybe that was why they picked me. Average was this Jonathan Creek's thing.
'Stop fannying about, Genny Marston, and get to work!' Martin slammed his office door before I could get a good look but I knew he was the one that was yelling at me to get to work. He was in a hurry to find out about this Creek character. I couldn't lie, my curiosity had been piqued too.
The lights in the office were dim and my eyes were burning from staring at the computer screen for so long but I couldn't bring myself to look away. I didn't really understand why I couldn't stop reading. It wasn't as if this Creek character had a sordid past or anything. He seemed to be a perfectly respectable magician's consultant who did some work solving mysteries on the side.
Okay, so the mystery part was a little on the shifty side but after reading as much as I had about this guy, I was sure he was all bread and butter. I couldn't imagine what Martin had wanted me to uncover. Though, if it was something scandalous, it wouldn't be uncovered through the internet.
It was deadline the next day, of course, so many of the other reporters were still tapping away at their keyboards. They were oblivious to me and my manilla folder, sashaying around them to Martin's closed office door. His light was still on so I could only assume he was still in his office at twelve-thirty at night.
I knocked twice but didn't wait for a response. Instead, I simply stuck my head in the door and tried to look chipper, "Having a super night, Martin?" He hated it when I was chipper.
He glared up at me from a stack of papers and I could practically feel the waves of hatred. This was almost fun.
"What do you want, Marston?" He looked back down at the papers and started sifting through them again. I took that as a sign that I could enter and did so, closing the door behind me and holding out the folder.
"Everything I found on that Creek fellow. He's interesting. Sounds like the guy to take on a date. At least, he wouldn't be boring." I was babbling on because Martin was staring me down with a look on his face that resembled a dead fish.
"How long have you been at this?" He flipped through the file and his eyebrows got progressively higher. I worried they might fall off.
"Since you gave me the assignment. I would have quit hours ago and gone home but he really is interesting. Plus with those books he co-wrote-" I was going on and on, watching his eyebrows and the vein in his forehead.
He looked up and me and scowled for a moment, like he was sizing me up, trying to figure out if I was good enough, "You got all his contact information?"
It was totally unspoken. If it wasn't on the internet, I was to go through any authority I could, pull any string I needed to, in order to get in touch with him.
"Well, I know where he works. I can get a hold of his boss. I think I have an idea of how to get my hands on him, yeah." Martin slammed the folder shut in the middle of my 'yeah' and it made me jump.
"I want you to get close to him. Find out every detail you can – undercover. You'll report everything back to me. Got it?" He stood up and handed the folder back to me, "I trust you've done jobs like this before."
"Well-" My answer was something akin to 'not exactly', but he wouldn't let me get that far.
"There's nothing to it. Now go home and get a good night's sleep. You have a magician to meet with tomorrow." He pushed me out of his office and slammed the door.
I felt like I'd just come out of a whirlwind. After all that had happened back in the US, I was told I'd be suspended from outside casework for up to three years. It had only been one and here I was, out on the job again.
I walked back to my desk and packed up my things, deciding to take Martin's advice and go home for the night. He was right, after all, I did need my sleep.
I lived in a flat on the other side of town with my goldfish, Harry, and a box of photos that was taped shut and never opened. Of course, I had a lot more in the way of physical possessions, but the fish and the photos were all that I'd save in the case of a fire. My door was always double locked and my passport was kept in another city. No, I wasn't paranoid at all.
I entered my flat and locked the door behind me, flipping on lights and calling out an absent hello to Harry, who didn't respond. I wondered if I should get a dog just so I could get a hello every once in a while. Maybe that's why people got married. I checked my answering machine but it was empty, as usual. I didn't have any friends here and I didn't have any friends in America, so who would be calling me?
Sitting in the kitchen and eating a banana was the only thing I could think to do. I pulled the file out of my backpack and flipped it open, absently looking at the picture of this Jonathan Creek. He looked like he could use a couple of runs through charm school. I wondered if that was his charm. Maybe women were attracted to the fact that he looked like a puppy that desperately needed a bath and a scratch behind the ears. The photo was of him and another man at some dress up event. It was a press photo but Jonathan wasn't smiling. I looked at the second photo I had, one of Jonathan and his co-author, Madeline, and again he wasn't smiling. I wondered if he had a weird aversion to happiness or if he was just one of those stoic fellows who didn't get out much.
I finished my banana and threw away the peel, running through my nightly agenda and getting ready for bed. There was no sense in staying up past my bedtime. I made a note to call the theater the next day to see if Mr. Creek was going to be there and to see if I could set up an appointment to see Mr. Klaus, the magician in charge. I felt bad for using Adam Klaus but how else was I going to get to Jonathan? I couldn't just walk up to him on the street and say hi.