Marcus meandered through the auditorium, walking past cops and bakers, farmers and librarians, doctors and artists. None so much as pulled his attention, most were already swamped by other students vying for attention. It seemed a few students had already chosen their career for the week as he noticed several adult bodies with teenage heads being instructed by teen bodies with adult heads. He even spotted his friend Victor in the mix, his pale, acne covered face and blazing red hair humorously contrasting with the dark, slender and curvaceous body of the female dance instructor he'd managed to convince was worth her time. When she wasn't looking, he pointed at his large jugs, gave them a good shake, then gave Marcus a thumbs up from across the room, who smiled weakly back. It was clear Victor had other ideas in mind for the upcoming week. And the way things were going for Marcus, he may have to take Mr. Whitman up on his job offer...
Then someone caught his eye. Amongst the packed halls, he spotted a lone man tucked away in a quiet corner. If he was trying to look inconspicuous then it failed. Despite his hunched posture, he still towered over everyone else. He wore a long, tan overcoat and a fedora that cast a shadow across his face, which was peculiar since they were inside a stuffy auditorium. Yet despite his distinct appearance, most people were keeping their distance. The mystery man didn't look too friendly or eager to be attending the fair. He watched over the crowds with a scowl, and kept turning away anyone curious enough to interact with him. Maybe there was someone interesting here after all, Marcus thought to himself. He made a beeline for the peculiar man.
Getting closer, he took in the man's appearance. He was a rugged-faced, scruffy man who appeared to be in his late forties. He had a few days worth of mostly grey stubble across his cheeks, covering his cleft chin and cinder-block jaw. His short, cropped hair was grey at the temples and mostly obscured by his fedora. Underneath his tattered overcoat, it was clear he was a broad-shouldered yet wiry man who still kept in shape. Despite his slim stature, he had craggy, weather-beaten skin and a misshaped bent nose that appeared to have been broken several times. As Marcus approached the man, there was the distinct smell of alcohol and stale tobacco emanating off of him. He briefly wondered whether a homeless guy managed to sneak into the event.
The man grimaced as he approached him. "Whaddya want kid? I'm busy ova' here" he growled in a husky Boston accent.
Marcus was slightly taken aback by his surly attitude, but replied "It's a careers fair, I wanted to know what your career was."
"It's non'ya business, dat's what." The man turned his head in an effort to ignore him. When it was clear that Marcus wasn't going to budge, the man sighed and asked "What kinda job y'looking at?"
Marcus stroked his chin and replied "I'm not sure... My dad works in finances, and that always sounded dull so-"
"What a coinkidink," the man rudely interrupted. "Dat's me, kid. A financial whateva'. Now scram." He shook his hands at Marcus, signalling for him to leave. Marcus weighed his options. He wanted to know the guy's deal, but the guy also looked ready to shove him away if needed. In the end, Marcus sighed and left. He didn't know why the school invited him to the fair if he didn't want to participate...
However, Marcus wasn't too quick to give up just yet. The man's aloof nature and unwillingness to participate made him the perfect candidate to be Marcus' mentor for the week. It was like they were kindred spirits. Making sure he kept out of sight, Marcus crept through the crowds and found a nearby alcove he could silently observe.
Several minutes passed before someone else attempted to talk to the mysterious man. Marcus' heart sank. It was that big lug Chad, the one whose filthy rich family bought him a different body for every occasion so he could be the team captain of every sport in school. He was currently using his quarterback body, his favourite for its sheer size. He didn't look too pleased that he wasn't the biggest person in the room. He sauntered up to the taller mystery man and bellowed in that loud voice of his "Hey, what's Inspector Gadget doing in a place like this?"
The man's brow furrowed, more so than it already was. "I ain't no inspecta', pal. I ain't nobody. Now I suggest ya find some otha' career t' look inta"
"Oh no, I wanna know your business." Chad bellowed, prodding the man in the chest then crossing his arms, making sure to flex every muscle he could in an attempt to intimidate. He cocked his head to the side and said "What are you, some kinda doctor? What kinda fruit-loop wears a get-up like that in their normal life?"
The man gritted his teeth. "A guy wit' very little patience..."
"You stink of hobo. You look like one too. Hey, who let this hobo in the gym??" Chad looked around him with a shit-eating grin, doing his best to rouse attention.
Clearly unhappy, the man straightened his posture and rose to his full 6'6" height. He cracked his knuckles with a wicked glare. "I fink you'll find I was invited, pal. And what if I am a hobo? Hobos still gotta get down n' dirty t' survive. You gotta problem wit' dat?"
Chad cowered a little. It was rare for anyone could look down on him, let alone threaten and intimidate him. He threw his hands up defensively, crying "Geez, OK! I didn't want your lousy job anyway..." he turned away, mumbling under his breath "No way I'm spending a fucking week with hobo stink..."
Marcus watched on in glee, he'd never seen Chad look so humiliated and submissive before! That settled it, he had to find out who this man was. Marcus bolted out from his hiding spot and approached the man whose steely gaze sank. "Not you again... I already told ya t' scram."
"Yeah, you also told Chad you were a hobo. I thought you worked in finances. Can't be very good at your job then..."
"Never said I was. A guy can be two fings at the same time. 'Sides, I don't want nothin' to do wit' the either of yous. Can't a guy people-watch in peace?"
"Not at a career fair, no..." The man grunted and turned away. Marcus sighed, being coy was getting him nowhere. He only had one other option. He tugged on the man's overcoat and pleaded "You have to tell me what your job is, please! It's driving me nuts!"
"Hey! Hands off!" The man slapped off Marcus' grip and leaned down to his face. His warm breath stank of tobacco as he growled "I don't gotta do nothin' for the likes of yous. Now fuck off before fings get unpleasant..."
Marcus slumped in defeat. "Oh, what's the use..." He whined. "You're the only guy here worth my while and you won't even give me the time of day. I may as well take up Whitman's offer to do his job for the week..."
The man suddenly perked up. "Whitman? You mean Jim Whitman, the principal in this joint?"
Marcus nodded. Did he say the magic words or something? Better roll with it while he's caught off guard, he thought. "Yeah, my parents are friends with him and his wife. They came over for dinner last week and he told me he could show me the wonderful world of education or something... I couldn't think of much worse than a whole week with him..."
The man quickly bent down to one knee so he was eye-level with Marcus. "Sounds like ya don't like da guy. Not a good principal?"
"He's alright, I guess. There's just something... Off about him, I dunno. He and my dad were college mates, so he's been around practically my whole life. Yet we've never properly clicked over anything. He's kind of secretive about things..."
The man signalled him to come closer. "Alright kid, ya reeled me in. What wit' yer eavesdropping and your connections..."
"Huh? What do you..."
The man leaned in close enough for Marcus to feel his prickly stubble on his earlobe. He mumbled something Marcus was just able to hear over the din in the room. "I'm a private detective, see? Yer ol' principal's up to some shady shit, money laundering, tax fraud, dat kinda stuff. I'm s'posed to go undacova' as a student to get sum dirt on 'im, but I ain't come across anyone I could trust, 'til now."
Marcus' eyes lit up. "Really?" he gasped, a little too eagerly. "You trust me with this?"
"Ah-ah, don't get cocky, kid! You still gotta work on dem undercova' skills of ya own. But with my help, you'll be sneakin' about in no time."
To think, Marcus had gained the trust of a real-life detective. It was like a dream come true! A little too unreal, come to think of it... "Hang on, how do I know any of this is for real? I don't want to get into trouble. I mean, I don't even know your name so..."
The man hesitated for a moment, before he said in a hushed tone "Steel. Detective Logan Steel..."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Steel? Really?" he said unconvinced. "Isn't that a little too on-the-nose?"
Steel sighed and softened his posture. "C'mon, kid, I don't share personal info like dat wit' just anybody. I trusted ya enough t' spill the beans on my part. Ya can't leave me hangin' here."
Marcus thought about it. The man looked and acted real tough, but he could tell he had a soft heart and a passion for truth. They really were like peas in a pod... "Marcus MacAuley, at your service." he said, holding a hand out to shake. Steel returned the offer, his hairy, calloused hand almost swamped Marcus' delicate mitt. He then asked "But what do you expect me to do? I can't exactly let you pretend to be me."
"Oh I thought about dat, trust me..." he said somewhat ominously, patting his chest pocket with a shifty smile. "On the otha' hand, y'could accept Whitman's offa. Be the principal f' the week, be my man on the inside. Whaddya say?"
Marcus stroked his chin in thought. He never expected to have to make a decision like that today. What to do...