Escalation

I tossed the box down on the desk, sat down in my chair, and leaned back. Not as comfortable as before, and I had a feeling that nap was going to be all the shut-eye for me. I rubbed my face and wrapped my hands around my head, hoping I'd be spared this ongoing nuissance by some greater intervention. Unfortunately, there'd been no indication of any higher order to this point; why now should there suddenly appear some divine source. Shit. Let's move fate forward on our own then.

The box wasn't that heavy but most of the important things in the world were written on pieces of paper, so that didn't mean anything. I unwrapped the bow and lifted off the lid. Pink tissue paper. Nice. Must be my birthday. Underneath all the fluff and ceremony was something cold, impersonal, and sensitive. A file folder, no official markings and unhelpfully titled "Rothschild, Donald," was filled with the kinds of things that get prying eyes in trouble: financial statements, printed emails, phone records, banking transactions. I closed it quickly and tossed it back in the box. I didn't want to see anything I couldn't unsee. Besides, I was hungry. I grabbed the phone number, slid it inside the folder, put the lid back on, and retied the bow. I didn't have a great hiding place so the lock drawer would have to do, but I wasn't going far. Eggs were just across the street.

* * * *

Mikey's was a dump, but always busy for early risers looking for a hard start to a long day. I grabbed a booth in the corner, away from the bustle of either businessmen starting their day before the world can spin too far ahead, or shift workers on either side of a twelve.

"What'll it be, hon."

These broads all look the same. Big hair, shrill voice, last thing you want to see or hear at this time of day.

"Hash and scrambled, side sausage, black coffee. And today's newsrag if you have one yet."

"Sure, hon."

"And tell Mikey I want to see him."

"He's cookin', won't be seein' nobody fo a while."

"Fine."

Wear some more makeup. I looked out the window, realizing again how little the rest of the city's done since last night, how little change their lives had been put through. Now I had even more valuable information I didn't want, a file full of background information tracking a dirty CEO's shopping habits. That number too, maybe I'd call it later and see what happens. From a payphone, I had to remind myself. Damn. Head was hurting again. What was that other thing Skinny was talking about? Some car company?

"Coffee and paper, hon. Mikey'll be out in a minute."

"Good."

Ah, that was better. Shot of black adrenaline, a little harsh but always welcome this early. I unfolded the front page and stared at the world, all laid out in black and white for me. The Legacy Foundation, that was it. Skinny proved to be at least that useful, but with all the clutter in my mind it was like handing me a flashlight with no batteries in a pitch black room; might do some good later, but for now it was just one more thing to carry around.

"Don't waste my papers, you never read them anyways."

"Mornin' Mikey."

Mikey never looked happy to see me, but he really looked uncomfortable today. He was a guy better suited to hiding in the kitchen, both in looks and termperment. They say never trust a skinny chef but when you're faced with the alternative, in this case, all three hundred pounds of alternative, it'll make you think twice. But I come to this dive for two things, the eggs and the information, and both went through the sour-face covered in breakfast grease that was already impatient.

"So, what, missing dog? Wife wants to know which one of her friends he's doin'? Case of the haunted house?"

Not all shirt and tie jobs get respect.

"Heard anything about a missing girl, since yesterday evening, might be someone important?"

"No. Who is it?"

"No name. Came to see me yesterday and it was communicated to me in a way that I believed that she's since gone missing. Know anything?"

"Just because you can't find her doesn't mean she's missing."

He was going on the offensive a little early. A good sign.

"Two guys came to see me last night. A big one and a skinny one. They seemed sure that this girl wasn't going to be around anymore."

"Sounds like solid sources. Case closed."

Mikey got up to leave. That wouldn't do. I liked visiting him during rushes, no matter what information had drifted his way, what sensitive names he had come across, his top priority was always his diner. His first attempts to leave always signalled that some rushed info would come out of his mouth pretty soon. Interesting, though. He tried to leave pretty early this time.

"Sit down. I just want to know what you know because, well, if you know anything it can't be that important."

"They'll stop eating here if they feel threatened."

"Nah, this place is perfect for upscale clients like them. They can't afford anywhere else. Talk."

Mikey looked around and saw the lineup at the door. He started whispering quickly.

"Look, some of 'em were in last night, coming and going. Lots of drinking, got all rowdy but more than usual. Yelling, at each other, something about a job and who'd have to do what. I couldn't really tell because my Spanish is shit, but it sounded like a couple of them drew the short end of the straw."

"Which ones."

"Couldn't tell, like I said, they were all drinking and yelling so you couldn't tell who was mad at who. It wasn't much different from other nights, except for one thing. One of 'em left something on their seat, a picture, some broad who looked familiar. I made the girl throw it out but I pulled it from the garbage later on, you know, just in case."

"Let's have a look."

"I don't think so. If you get it and start picking away it'll get traced back here. If I keep it, things stay quiet and this place doesn't attract any more information than it already does."

"It won't come back to you. Hand it over, I'm not working any case. Just tying up a loose end."

"You've got loose ends all over town. I don't want this one tying off one of the bigger ones."

Mikey was trying my patience, he was eager enough to spill but when it came to giving me anything useful he was stonewalling.

"Listen, it might be nothing. One could have nothing to do with the other, I just want to know for sure."

"Forget it, it's better if I keep it, I don't want anymore shit coming around here."

Asshole. I leaned towards him.

"Give me the picture right now, you fat piece of shit. If those assholes that were here last night had some girl's picture then that girl probably didn't have a good night, and whether it's the one I'm looking for or not shouldn't matter. You're a spineless fuck for not going to the police with this, but keeping it from me means that this girl, whoever she is, has no chance at all."

"Sanctimonious prick, you should measure the lives you saved against the ones you've wrecked before you walk the high ground with me."

"Um, hash and eggs, side sausage?"

She looked uncomfortable, which was strange since I assumed every day went by with at least one person threatening her boss. Mikey got up, this time for good.

"Forget it," he said. "I'm not getting involved and I don't want to know."

The waitress looked alarmed. She glanced at me then at Mikey's departing back. She set the plate down and left quickly.

"Yeah," I said to myself, "Nobody does."

Sunrise of last resorts

There was too much sun shining through the streets for my liking. It'd been a long walk back from downtown, and even from the rear seat of my empty subway car I was feeling pretty exposed. Too much to think about, and yet for a private investigator I had very little information. A brown-haired broad, daughter of Abraham Marley, a guy I'd never met whose partner leased his office overnight to a couple of low-level street archetypes. And this phone number, which wasn't even current, had only been a mild curiosity in my desk drawer until it beat me over the head, and the rest of me, with its apparent importance. That headache wasn't getting any better either, the kind only a Jack and a broad can give you, or take away. That was the plan now, as the train slowed to a stop. Few more blocks back to the office and I'd figure out the next move, unless it'd already been figured out for me.

* * * *

I closed and locked the door, hung up my jacket, and drew the blinds closed. Without a steady rain to soothe my mind it was better being in the dark; what did I want with an interrogation lamp from another morning sun come too soon. This was softest my chair had ever felt, a hard plastic with only a thin cushion but it felt like a Serta after a night that long. I closed my eyes and I tried to stir the facts together, but all I was getting was a half-baked mess. I couldn't concentrate at all, it was like trying to keep water from going down the drain with your bare hands. There was nothing that made me want to stay involved either, no money down, no real case and, it seemed, no more client. That was a thought I could cling to, that there didn't seem to be any reason to stay involved in this mess. I sighed. So was this thing over?

The number. Right. Skinny sure seemed to think I knew something, and even if I didn't it sure seemed like I had something whose importance I should know. I leaned forward and opened the top drawer. I only kept three things in that drawer and each of them helped me feel better in a different way. Now, though, it also had a piece of paper that only made me feel worse. I stared at the open drawer, wondering if I should just get rid of it. Shit. I reached in and pulled out my glass and a bottle. Jack never did give good advice and I didn't want to hear it when he spoke, but I always felt better after listening for a while. It's been along night when the first one goes down that easy, and I was pouring a second before the bite hit my empty stomach. That's a pang Jack only hits you with in the early morning, a reminder that you shouldn't call on him with a full day's work still ahead. I listened and held back on the second round. I pulled out the piece of paper with the phone number on it and tossed it on the desk. Leaning back on the chair and holding my glass, I stared at it, hoping it would tell me what it wanted. If it was talking it was doing it pretty quietly and my attention was drifting into blackness. Hell with it, I thought, there's no money down.

A knock at the door, in my dreams at first but eventually on my office door. The fog cleared and I waited to see if it would mercifully leave. Mercy wasn't in the cards, and more knocking had me reach into my drawer for some backup. I flicked the safety off but waited in my chair, staring at the door and daring it to open. Silence. I waited a little longer to be sure, finished my drink, and walked to the door. Nobody in sight through the peephole, so I unlocked the door, opened it a crack, and eyed the empty hallway. Empty, except for a white box tied with a red bow. Shit. I checked the hall again, nobody, and brought the box inside and locked the door. Looks like a deposit was going to be put down after all. Shit.

Fair lady, I found you

No new chapter yet, first I have to explain why I couldn't write anything in the last month and whatever. I really expected that $700 billion buyout to go through in the U.S. so I'd have some funding for this and when it didn't, well, I just collapsed on into myself like a dying star. That and Telus refused to acknowledge the existence of our new place; to them we lived not in a basement suite of a forty-year house full of phone jacks and ethernet ports all over the damn place but at the Nexus of the Universe, a place between time and space where matter is crushed by massive amounts of gravity. It's like that Family Guy where Peter discovers his house isn't on the map and he secedes from the United States. Except, like I said, our domicile simply wasn't there at ALL.

Undeterred (or rather, EXTREMELY deterred, since it took them a month to figure out that this was the reason none of their orders were going through), Telus rose up to smite the pagans by showing the true depths of its divine power. When all seemed lost, when even the most faithful began losing hope and images of a false prophet (Shaw) began to arise it was Telus, in a miraculous display of invention, who broke the Law of Conservation of Mass and created our house out of nothingness. Tears welled up from the tired, the poor and the huddled masses as they saw, for the first time, a shocking display of the last horse finally crossing the finishing line and figuring out the problem. It then came to pass that having been blessed with existence, the House of Forehand would be granted the services for which they had prayed. And it was good to go.

The phone call begat the appointment. The appointment begat an entire shift missed without anyone's ass showing up. The entire shift missed begat an angry phone call and a $70 credit. The angry phone call begat a technician. The technician begat a phone line. The phone line (ever read the Bible? This is how it goes, okay?) begat another appointment two weeks later. The second appointment begat Forehand showing up late for work and angering his boss, but it also begat a most rewarding bounty: Internets, in all it glory (most of it anyway, it's only ADSL), along with HD Television (sort of, it's pretty compressed since it has to go through a phone line), a Harmony universal remote control (oh no, I'm happy about that. Those things are fucking sweet), and once again access granted to my virtual social network. And it was good to go.

Morning too soon

"What's that, some kind of country club trust-fund literary club?"

"Yeah, that's what they are. And they all drive Subaru Legacies, you big idiot."

I didn't care for his tone, so I drove the butt-end of the pistol into his injured foot. Skinny's face scrunched up in pain, but only a whimper escaped his thin lips. He was getting tired, energy dropping. I needed to speed things up.

"The broad didn't tell me anything, she tried to send me on a bogus missing person case. I told her not to waste my time and she left. That's all. Tell your little club to leave me the fuck alone. Savvy?"

Skinny looked at me and shook his head. His breath was becoming more rushed.

"Not good enough. They'll keep coming, she knew something pretty important and they don't want it getting out. If there's even a chance somebody else knows, they'll take any and all steps to protect it."

"What did she know."

"No idea."

No surprise there. These guys were pretty low-level and if this secret was even half-way important they wouldn't know much. But I wasn't going to deal with wave after wave of thugs over something I didn't know. Now that I knew what they were after, and was sure I didn't have anything to offer them, it was time to get out. Better keep that number around though, in case something ever came up. Where'd I leave that anyways? Right, back at the office. Jesus it was getting late, I could see the first glimpse of sunrise off in the distance. Skinny was looking pretty worked over, that might come back to haunt me. Wouldn't be the first time, and if these guys were really going to keep coming, at least I'd given them a good reason. Moving Muscles' body was reason enough to be mad at me. Speaking which...

"Where are we, whose office is this."

"Don't know exactly. It's just a place we use." Skinny was getting more helpful all the time, too bad he was on the verge of passing out. It was also too bad he knew so little, though a guy who knows more doesn't usually find himself tied to chairs. I got up, tucked the gun into my pocket, and started to leave. Skinny propped himself up.

"What, you're leaving me here?"

"Someone'll find you."

"No wait, come-"

I closed the office door and looked around for an elevator. Damn. Nothing. I headed towards the stairway and took a quick look back. There was a name on the door.

Donald Rothschild III, CEO.

A stiff drink

I kicked my legs straight up, bringing the chair upwards and into Muscles' hand, the one holding the wrench. I brought my legs to my chest and drove them, and the chair, up into his chest then kicked up to catch his chin. Not much chin on this one as he went down hard. Skinny was fumbling in the desk, trying to find something better than a tool I figured, so I hurried my hands out of the tape and untied my legs. I grabbed the wrench off the cold floor, walked over to Skinny, and drove it into his temple. Good timing too, he'd found something better. I pulled it out of his limp hand, clicked the safety back on, and tucked it in my pocket. Those things can be useful.

Skinny protested little as I hauled him up, tied his hands and feet, and sat him up on the ledge in front of the window. He'd probably have something to say about it when he woke up, but with some persuasion the only talking he'd do would be the kind I wanted to hear. Muscles, even with the weak chin, wasn't going to be moved so I rolled him up against the opposite wall. I set the wrench on the desk, straightened my tie, and started checking out the cabinet in the corner. The smile hurt my swollen cheek but it was worth it: a twenty-year single malt and a clean glass. Things were looking up.

Skinny's eyes rolled open. It took a while for him to figure out where he was, and would take him longer to figure out how things had gone so wrong.

"Hi there."

He looked up at me, sitting on my chair, gun in one hand and a reload on the rocks in the other.

"Let's have a chat, eh?"

He said nothing, and looked over at Muscles.

"He won't be moving for a while. Just you and me."

Skinny's eyes had no expression, a blank slate that I figured I needed to write a script on . Something with emotion, something maybe dark. It's best to let your creativity take over.

"It's late and I'm tired, so let's keep this short. What's the deal here?"

Still a blank white canvas. Sometimes getting started is the hardest part of writing anything.

"Too complicated, I see. Let's try this. Who are you, who's your friend, why do you care about the girl?"

The best way to start, even if you don't know where you're going, is just to write something, anything, that'll get things moving. I clicked the safety off the gun.

"Come on fella, let's hear something."

Oh hell, I'll edit the thing later.

"FUCK!!!!" yelled Skinny as the bullet went through his shoe and into his foot. No loss on the shoe, but any more favors and he might not think I was serious.

"If you still want to hobble home tonight I'll need something more specific."

"You pathetic piece of fucking shit! You don't have any fucking clue what you're getting yourself into!"

"Usually don't. Talk."

Skinny tried to smile, but it was a struggle. His breath was fast now, heart pounding away like it was opening at a jazz club. He'd drenched his suit in sweat too, which was like spilling coffee on an old newspaper. Normally it would be a problem, but in this case...

"You'll be lucky to live another day after what you've done tonight, if you think this is going away you're in for a fucking surprise."

Skinny's eyes looked past me for a split second. I whirled around to find Muscles up and about to bring that wrench down, but he quickly changed his mind. Or would've, if he had one. My own arm was a little faster, and Muscle changed his direction in a hurry. In a moment, the only movement in the room was smoke rising from the gun barrel, as Muscles lay still on the floor after slumping down the wall. Nice piece, I thought, could've been a tough skull to penetrate. I turned back to Skinny, finished my drink, and smiled.

"Was that it? Was that the surprise?"

I'd broken through, finally. Skinny was looking as all his confidence, his backup, his manhood, lying on the floor behind me. His outer defense gone, his inner defenses has little protest left in them.

"I asked you earlier why you cared about some girl whose name you didn't know."

I said nothing.

"It doesn't matter anymore. She's dead now. We had eyes on her as soon as she left your office."

"Why was she killed, she didn't tell me anything."

"We don't believe that. She told you something, or gave you something, and we need to know what it was."

"Who's 'we,' you and your big friend?"

Skinny snorted. "Of course not."

"Then who are we talking about here."

"Have you ever heard of the Legacy Foundation?"

The interview

"The girl. What did she tell you."

"What girl?"

Not the answer he wanted I guess, as Muscles reached into the desk and pulled out a monkey wrench. Skinny was wrong, this wasn't much different than my divorce proceedings after all.

"The girl in the trench. She came to your office three hours ago. Stayed for ten minutes, then took a cab down East Sherman. What did you two talk about."

"Human rights abuses in Sierra Leone."

Yeah, that was definitely the wrong answer. Muscles walked around the front of the desk and took a homerun swing that would've cleared center in the Bronx. That familiar taste of liquid copper brought back memories, the kind you don't quite suppress but try not to think about too often. I shook away the stars and spat on the floor. Dammit. Got some on my shoes.

"Did she tell you her name?"

"No, but I got her number without a name. Pretty good eh?"

"What other information about herself did she share with you?"

"Hey, I got her number didn't I? Broad like her, that's more than I should expect."

"Tell me, how much longer would you like this line of questioning to continue? For a girl you don't even know?"

"Got no appointments until Tuesday."

Skinny tilted his head to one side slightly, like a dog does when they don't understand something. I didn't care too much about the broad, fake phone numbers are one of my turnoffs, but I wasn't going to give her up to this chump. Not in a suit like that. Muscles looked at Skinny for direction and got none.

"What number did she give you."

"Never got to find out."

"Was it local or not?"

"This'll take a lot longer if you ask each question twice."

Skinny didn't move but his eyes flicked towards Muscles. That was direction enough, one straight shot to the moneymaker and I was flat on my back. Bigger stars this time, stayed around long enough to form a constellation or two.

"How long this takes is up to you."

Sure was. The backrest of the chair had broken away from the seat. Muscles was walking over and I started to slide the backrest further up my spine, slowly getting my hands loose. He looked down at me, holding the wrench in his right hand. He smiled. Good thing my feet were still tied to the chair. Otherwise it might've been harder.

That's a nice desk

So little while ago I dabbled in a self-aggrandizing noir adventure that I quickly became bored and displeased with. Now unbored and armed with lower standards, I'm continuing on. Here's where I left off. Here's where it begins again...

******

Damn, that's a headache only Jack and a broad can give you. I couldn't see any lights but I had to figure that was a blessing. As the world unmercifully started making sense again, I started seeing shapes in the fog. Big shapes, moving slowly. Where the hell was I?

I started to reach for a smoke when I picked up another funny detail about my situation, the kind of funny that gets polite chuckles at Mickey's on Tuesday nights. My hands weren't moving, a lot of duct tape was seeing to that, and doing its job real well. I shook off the last the cobwebs, found myself with my hands behind my back, tied to a wooden chair. The shapes started looking a little more familiar. And a lot less friendly.

"Nice office, you let the boss know you were working overtime?" Pissing people off was a skill of mine, too bad it didn't pay better.

Two of them, opposite side of the room from me, looking like they owned the world. Skinny was staring at me behind a big wooden desk, twirling a pencil in his fingers while the rest of him sat still. Cheap suit, fit too tight, you could spot the bulge under his jacket across the street. Bad tie, no class. And sit back in that chair will ya, you can't scare people unless you look relaxed and this guy looked like his chair'd have diamonds on it when he left. By default you'd figure the other guy, standing to Skinny's left, was the brains but one look would put that thought to rest. Probably six five, three fifty, but you figure a track suit like that would add on a few. Didn't figure he was here to do the talking.

"This is my office" said Skinny. Deep voice, I was impressed.

"Last time I sat in an office this nice I was giving half my stuff away." Maybe they could be provoked with a bad joke.

Skinny smiled and nodded his head towards Muscles.

"Consider yourself lucky that day."