Click cover to enlarge it
No wisecracks, no smart-aleck remarks. One of my ancestors was a German, many many eons ago. His last name was Fokker. He was the only German in the history of my family, but it was he who had the son, who had the son, who had the son, and so on, so that although I’m a hybrid of English, French, Spanish, and Latin American descent, for the last three generations I’m one hundred percent North American, from the good old U.S.A. with just enough German in me to be called Fokker.
It was mother who loved the name Ira, and so stuck me with it, while father wanted to name me after William the Conqueror, so I became Ira William Fokker, or I. Will Fokker. I lived with the name through the first thirty years of my life with a bit of embarrassment, and then decided to live up to it. I don’t know how or why, but women find me attractive, despite my ugly face, or perhaps because of it.
My nose was bashed in at an early age, and is twisted in six different places. My brown hair is straight, cut short, and though not sparse certainly doesn’t cover my head in tremendous quantities.
With my face I belonged in the Marines, and tried to join. They rejected me. So did the Army and Navy. Flat feet. You’d think the police would’ve been overjoyed to accept me, but they turned me away as well. So I went into the area of private investigation, and became more than a little wealthy that way. I have only one virtue. I complete whatever assignment I accept. How I complete, whatever unorthodox methods I use, and bow long I take to complete an assignment is my own business.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.