The agency hadn’t burned down while I was out. This day didn’t have a bright side at all. At least if it had I would have the insurance money, or would I. I don’t remember if I paid that bill this month. Who do I have to kill to get some money? I opened the door and made sure no one was there to bother me before I went inside.
The Marshal Agency specialized in getting things done, as long as you paid the bills. Nothing was too big or too small, or for that matter too shameful that I wouldn’t do it for the right price. Yes I would do even that, but you better be bringing me a mountain full of cash.
James wasn’t there with the money he said he was bringing by. Damn, I could have gotten lunch. Maybe he just dropped it behind the counter. I look back there and find a whole lot of nothing. It was only a hundred, but you’ve got to start somewhere.
The agency was a present from my mother. It had been a small delicatessen that had gotten behind on its payments and my mother had foreclosed. You figure out what the payments were for. I don’t want to know. I had left the lunch counter and the old fashioned register there for nostalgia and working space. A large desk dominated the rest of the old floor space with plenty of mix and match chairs for clients. I live in the back where the walk in cooler and storage used to be. It’s not much, but I have one hell of a kitchen, complete with salamander. See, I knew you would be impressed.
I plopped myself into my throne and checked the answering machine. “This is your father. I was wondering if you have some time free if you can mow the lawn for me. My back has been killing me lately. Thanks.” My thumb enjoyed pressing the delete key. The door opened and it just sounded like money. It was that click clack of high heels, expensive ones. How do you know you ask? It’s my job to know. How else would I ever get things done? I looked up to greet my next paycheck.
Never Short On Words 