I didn’t have to see the reel. “Wasn’t obliged to,” as the dame put it. I did, anyway. Very disturbing.
The holster-harness hurt my chest, and I threw it and the Walther P22 on the desk, while helping myself to a double-shot of Finnegan’s from the bottom-drawer. Dames tend to drive me into actions like that.
The late octember’s early eve did nothing extra for the perpetual gloom of my office, shying – at all costs – any kind of daylight.
My “better self” started and argument, when a certain urge hit me. It was accompanied by the hysterical pleadings from my heart and lungs. I told them to get lost, and lit a cigarette.
Mighty sea-voices reveberated through the canyons of the city beyond my feeble walls and windows. As howling wolves set free in cargo holds.
Another sip of the Finnegan. Down to work.
Apparently, my “client” had some sort of idea, that her husband was “something else”. And I was sorely tempted to refer her to my colleagues down the corridor: “The Laundry”, led by Mr. Stross, “The Holistics Bureau”, directed by Dirk Gently or the Ltd. “Victor Janis&Son”, down in the basement
Personally – with my two obnoxious partners “Good Will” and “Shootin’ Yew” – had set business behind a glassdoor, spelling “Etymological & Epistemoligal Detectives”.
And since I hadn’t reason to believe that the damsel was dyslexia in any way, I had to take her issue serious. With good reason, I was about to learn.
I loosened my tie, threw my hat into a corner, where – presumably there would be a “dumb waiter”, as they call a coat stand in Scandinavia – and helped myself (noone around to do it for me) to yet another shot. Then: – thinking.
Something plain odd about the title of the reel: “Lyckantropen”.
It hit me, that someone – somewhere – wasn’t quite safe or happy with greek or latin, or whatever. He or she couldnt quite decide. Should it be a “c” – or should it be a “k”? Why not both? our reluctant author asks hisself: “Lyckantropy”.
Argh! That’s not a word. Unless ….
“You can split a banana in two ways,” the monkey said!
Have I had any silver-bullets in my “death-thrower”, I would have emtied the chambers, in that moment. This reel – this real problem – had nothing to do with were-wolves, but all to do woth relatinship. With love – moving in mysterious ways. With happiness – killing it’s darlings.
I knew it too well!
T’was not “lykantro – pen”; it was “lyckan – tropen”. The picture on the reel dealt with the Trope Of Happiness, and the impossibilities of retaining, conserving, perpetualizing a fixed perception on said “trope”.

I handed my results, in a manila-envelope, to the lady, three days later. She was not surprised. She wasn't happy either.


– Mobilepay? she asked
– Rather cash! I replied
She flipped a coin in my direction – and left forever out the door.
Well! It’s not always easy being a wereman.