You like to read through the papers when you get the chance, to pick up on interesting tid-bits, and to size up where would be productive places to put your ads. But it was someone else's ad in one of the local papers that caught your eye this time. In small type, in the personals column, it simply reads, "Lost: one angel. No sense of humor, likes: fast cars and hot women. Help?" and there is a box number next to it.
Jules squints through the smoke in the bar at the ad, "Angel? Cute pet name. Wonder if that's a son or husband?" He stubs out a cigarette and pauses, "Or maybe a daughter?"
Jules stands up, feeling slightly more intrigued now. He pays his bill and folds the newspaper under his arm as he goes out to find a payphone.
Jules calls his 'hotel' to make sure there aren't any messages left for him.
Late morning crowds of people scurry the streets, hurrying about the city with their coat collars pulled up and their heads bent down against the wind. The payphone is slightly shielded from the noise, but you have to shout to make yourself heard on the other end.
Only one message awaits. A police mortician you got drunk with a couple of nights ago is keen to try to drink you under the table again. (Will these people never learn?)
Jules snorts softly into the phone and remembers to thank the clerk before hanging up. He deftly extracts a cigarette and puts it between his lips but doesn't light it. "Time to see what sort of work this might be." He looks around idly for a store that will have some paper in it. He knows better than to use the stationery of the hotel he's staying in. (Or use that as the 'return' address.)
Finding a pad of lined foolscap proves a simple matter, formal writing paper a little more difficult.
Jules is merely looking for some paper and a cheap packet of envelopes to leave a message in the box.
Jules writes a message: Lost Angels are rarely a problem, particularly ones with habits like yours. Give me a call
Jules tucks his note into an envelope, affixes a stamp. He takes the time to locate a mailbox and drops the note into it.
The little brown envelope disappears into the black gaping maw of the mailbox, as if it was being swallowed by the gates of Hell. Then again, sometimes a mailbox is just a mailbox. Maybe a night out on the town with the police guy wasn't such a bad idea at that.
Jules glances at his watch, "Bloody hell, I could have at least given them a time to call when they got it." Jules issues an annoyed hiss around the cigarette which he finally takes the time to light. After a deep drag on it, he sets out to contact the cop and humiliate him again.
Predictably, the next day the weather is grey and overcast, and it starts to rain as you leave your hotel for the park, still slightly hung over from the night before.
Jules holds a battered umbrella with one hand, keeping the other shoved down into his trenchcoat. Trudging along he utters a quiet litany similar to "Got away from bloody home to bloody escape weather like this"
You stake out the payphone. Just as you arrive there, a young black girl with multiple piercings in her ears makes a call to some friend. It's a looong call.
The cloud of smoke becomes thicker and thicker around Jules the longer she is there. He keeps an eye on the time, timing her call.
She's chatting happily about nothing and everything, including intimate details on her new boyfriend that you could have lived without nkowing. 10, 15, 20 minutes go by. She empties her pockets of change and feeds the phone as she talks.
Jules looks the girl over very carefully. She doesn't look like the type that's trying to find her angel, but it doesn't pay to ignore her either.
After about 25 minutes, you hear her say quite clearly. "Shit, I'm all outta change. Lemme give you the number, you gonna phone me back girl, you hear?!"
Jules mutters to himself and goes over to her, "Yeah, sorry to butt in like this, but I -am- expecting a call. You mind if your friend calls another phone?"
The girl puts the phone down and turns to you, hands on her hips. (She's the cutest little punkette you've seen all week.) "Yo," she snorts. "Get outta my face, man. This is a free country, you hear?" She looks you dead in the eye and squares her jaw.
Jules takes a slow drag on his cigarette, apparently unimpressed. You know what they say about honey and vinegar, though. He offers a somewhat crooked smile, "Cerainly. Free country. That's why I was merely asking, hoping you'd be willing to cut a poor guy a break."
She inserts a tab of chewing gum into her mouth and is about to answer when the phone starts to ring.
Jules lets her answer, but gets readies to keep her from hanging up if it's not her friend.
The girl smirks at you and grabs the handset to her ear. As she hears the voice on the other end, you see her pout irritably and her face sets.
Jules holds out his hand, "I'll just be a moment."
She scowls cutely and admits, "It's for you," handing it over with a bad grace.
Jules grabs the phone and juggles his cigarette and umbrella for a moment. Finally choosing to drop the cigarette, but only because it was nearly to the filter anyway. He eyes the girl and says into the phone "Hello?"
There's a hesitant pause, then a male voice says, "Hello. This is about the ad."
Jules says "Yeah, that'd be me. Like I said, it's funny how nobody tends to put ads in for the other type, eh?"
The voice sounds positively nervous. "And you are?"
Jules says "Let's just start with 'Jules'"
The voice says, "Okay, 'Jules'. I need a professional to look for someone for me. You're a professional, right?"
Jules starts rummaging for his cigarettes again but stops himself. "Yeah, I run my own ads from time to time too. I can't really prove anything to you on the phone of course."
The voice says, "No. So where do you want to meet?"
Jules says "Ed Debevick's. That retro 50's place in the north of town .. it's clean and safe enough for both of us I think."
The voice says, "Okay. Who should I look for?"
Jules says "Tall. Short .. ish brown hair. I'm hardly remarkable. Tell you what, just for you I'll put a blue bandage on my right hand too. Who am I looking for?"
The voice says, "I wear a trenchcoat and I've got short brown hair too. And I . . ." He pauses. "I'm missing my right thumb. I'll see you there in half an hour." The phone clicks off.
Jules quirks an eyebrow at the phone and mutters, "Dat four-fingered man .. he keel-ed me the day he keel-ed my father."
Jules hangs up and gives the girl a wink as she walks away if she's still standing near.
The girl gives him a scowl back as she reannexes the phone.
Jules eyes his watch again and decides to grab a cab up there as it's not near an 'El' train station.
Shortly he is at the retro 50's place in question. It's mid-morning, and the place is moderately active, but there are plenty of free tables.
Jules fumbles a cigarette, the bandage he promised to wear intefering. He looks around the foyer first.
The foyer shows no signs of mysterious thumbless men in trenchcoats yet.
Jules leans in to look around the restaurant quickly, not expecting to see him. If he fails to spot him, he'll simply wander back to his chair.
There is a man in a trenchcoat at the back of the restaurant, positioned so he can watch the place, his chair close to a side exit. He looks thoroughly nervous and twitchy.
Jules grins around his unlit cigarette. Any hostess who attempts to ask is simply told his party is already here. Jules walks slowly in the direction of the person, making sure his bandaged hand is plainly seen.
The man looks up, catching Jules' eye. He raises his own right hand. It can be seen that the thumb is neatly severed in a scarred ridge against the body of the hand.
Jules gives a slight nod. He pulls out a chair and sits down, moving slowly.
The man gives a small nod in return. "Want a drink?" he queries, voice edgy.
Jules says "yeah, they make decent chocolate malts here. I'll save anything else for later."
The man nods again. He gestures over a server, and repeats the order. The server brings two chocolate malts in short order, putting them on the table.
The man picks up the one closer to it, his disfigured hand closing around the glass. "You good at your job, then? Know if you can find her?"
Jules's grin is broad and meant to put the man at ease. Damn, when he's right he's right sometimes. "Missing persons is someting of a specialty. Got a long track record and maybe even a few cop references if you really want 'em."
The man seems to relax. "Okay. Look, situation is this. I had a private employer. I got talked into going on the lam from her, together with this painting of hers. Then the person who did the talking dumped me and took the painting, and when I got back, my employer had vanished too. I need someone to do some looking. Someone professional." Someone that won't involve me, his voice says.
Jules leans back in his chair, absent-mindedly rolling the cigarette around between his lips. After a moment he nods, "I can handle things discreetly. I think you've seen I've learned to be cautious. So, of the three items we're talking about, what's the top priority? This guy who's got the painting?"
The man sips his chocolate malt nervously, then wipes the froth from his lip. "My, um, boss. Ex-boss. She's the one who likes fast cars. I figure she has to be involved there somehow, and she may be in trouble."
Jules lets that one settle for a moment before asking, "Ok, so she's into fast cars and hot women? Do you have a dossier on her? Her company, house locations, possible places she has a tendency to run off to?"
The man puts down his glass, and fishes in his coat pocket. He brings out a colour photo of a young blonde woman. She's very pretty. She's wearing a white leather miniskirt and jacket, and a shocking pink top, and high white leather boots. She's standing in front of an incredibly suburban house with a white picket fence. The front of a white car is visible to one side, as is the numberplate; SM1 TE.
The man says, redundantly, "That's her.
Jules finds reason to put his cigarette away and says, "Shame I'm not her type. Ah well." He tucks the photo away, "This is a start, certainly. There's nothing more useful you can tell me?"
The man hesitates. "How are you when it comes to handling -- weird shit?"
Jules decides his malt is gong to waste and takes a long sip. He eyes the man over the glass and as he puts it down he says in a level tone, "I've had to deal with more weird shit than your average guy."
The man returns his gaze, but there's something very nervous behind his eyes. "Well, there may be other people after her and the painting. And the painting is weird shit. It can ... do stuff. It should be just a landscape, but it may have a picture of someone in it. If it does, be careful with it. Right? And the person who talked me into all this. She's a goth-type. She calls herself Lucretia. Steer clear of her."
Jules narrows his eyes. He lets her breath out and hangs his head for a moment, "bloody hell." He rubs his forehead and looks up, "Weird shit runs a bit higher. I don't suppose you have an advance for any travel and initial expenses?"
The man looks relieved by this. "Sure. I can tell you where to look, too. Fort Smith. Arkansas. What sort of advance is standard?"
Jules says "Ok, plane ticket. Rental car. Hotel. Time. Call it .. two weeks? $4,000. If I take longer than two weeks it'll be $200 per day plus travel."
The man winces, bites his lip, then nods. "Deal. You want an advance now?"
Jules says "Sooner I get it, the sooner I can get out there. I get the money now, I can get back to my hotel and pack and be there later today."
The man nods. "Can you wait here while I go to a bank? I'm assuming you'd prefer cash to a cheque."
Jules says "I think we'd both prefer that, yeah."
Jules starts sipping his malt again
The man nods, jerkily. "Right. Stay here. I'll be back." He puts down his unfinished drink, and heads for the door.
Jules settles back with a nod. He looks at the restaurant again.
The restaurant seems perfectly normal. People talk, one pair kisses, two children are reined in by a harassed mother...
Jules looks out the window again, sipping his malt and waiting on the guy to return. Wondering all the while if he could have gotten even more from this desperate guy.
Twenty minutes later, the guy is back, and walking in a way that would tell any competent pickpocket that there's something valuable in his coat pocket. He takes a seat at Jules' table again.
The man says, "Half now, half at the end of the two weeks, and then two hundred a day plus travel after that, as you said.
Jules narrows his eyes, "Half now will barely get me there and get the car." He grumbles, "Ok, fine, if that's all you can get for this then whatever. I better get the rest of the advance on time, though. I'll have a way to contact you later to give you updates and give you a way to contact me?"
The man nods. He passes across a plain piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. "Use this."
Jules looks at it carefully, doing his best to memorize it in a flash. He tucks it into his coat pocket.
The man nods, jerkily again. "That'll do. And your name is?"
Jules says "Told you. It's Jules."
The man says, "Right. Jules. Jules what?"
Jules sighs softly, "Julian Alastair Crownwell."
The man nods again. His right hand twitches, and he quickly shoves it into his pocket, pulling out a roll of cash. He separates away most of it -- two thousand dollars worth -- and pushes it across the table at Jules.
The man says, twitchily, "Keep me informed. I have to know."
Jules quickly puts the cash away. "Try an envelope next time. Small tip there. Sure, I'll let you know when I get there and update you whenever I can after that."
The man nods. He picks up his drink and finishes it.
Jules eyes him a moment before asking, "You ok? Seriously?"
The man says, "I... yeah, I'll do. I screwed up, right? I have to fix things, fast."
Jules shrugs slightly and nods, "Well, hiring me is a good start. I'll be in touch."
The man nods. "Give me your own phone number, too?"
Jules says "I probably won't be at the hotel long. I'll give you the one down there when I get there."
Jules fishes out a bit of paper .. a bar receipt apparently. He writes the number down and hands it over.
The man takes it, and rises. "Thanks. Be seeing you."
Jules simply nods and stands up to leave as well.
The man gives a brief nod, and heads for the door, and out onto the street.
Jules leaves his part of the bill on the table and sets out as well. He decides to catch a cab back to a place near the hotel again. This guy's vibe is definitely setting him on edge. He decides he'd rather get to Arkansas as soon as possible.
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