Chapter Two

“Mr. Walker…you can come right this way.”

Apparently I had dozed off for a bit in the exceptionally comfortable, black leather chair, having missed out on my opportunity to come to my senses. I scrambled to my feet, trying to shake illusory cobwebs from my mind. Regrettably, this had become a daily routine. I proceeded to walk through an enormous doorway that hardly seemed in harmony with the tight fit of the outer office, and continued down a short, spacious corridor leading to a large door with “James T. Ridgeback” stamped across it in gleaming gold letters.

My guide, with his long strides, had already reached the door, knocked, and cracked it open. A low, authoritative voice granted him entrance as he pushed the door open, simultaneously allowing me to enter and announcing my arrival. Unbeknownst to him, this overly formal display was not only intimidating, but had interrupted my frantic attempt to unearth a legitimate purpose for this visit.

As I crossed the threshold, I was greeted with the customary firm handshake and polite introduction. “James Ridgeback. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Walker. Please have a seat.”

As I took a seat, Ridgeback, a husky, though hardly overweight man with streaks of black in his thinning grey hair, took his seat behind a dark mahogany desk, cluttered with open manila files, loose papers, and several take-out menus. He possessed the visage of a man deeply immersed in his work, with years of anxiety and late nights taking their toll. “What can I do for you?”

His amiable approach, yet direct nature eased my uncertainties somewhat, and I remembered why I had come to DIS. My divorce left me with precious little to call my own. Apparently, judges rarely favor alcoholics. I now have a studio apartment and a used car, neither of which I can afford. I haven’t had a case for two months, and desperation had set in. I needed a job, and I needed it now.

“I’m looking for a job, Mr. Ridgeback. Just something temporary. To help get me back on my feet.” Ridgeback simply nodded, and as I had not been halted, I hurriedly continued. “I’ve been a private-eye for nearly two years now, but business has been slow. I was wondering if you could utilize an…’independent contractor,’ so to speak?” I was expecting nothing, but discovered I had disregarded all respiratory functions since I had begun to speak. I took a breath and ventured a glance at Ridgeback. He had not made any gestures that could be interpreted as good or bad. Rather, he remained sitting, peering pensively through a side window.

An uneasy silence flowed through the room like an icy veil, freezing any possible words in my throat. I was certain my appeal was too little. Like a cornered animal, I had nothing to lose, and I was most assuredly not going down without a fight. As I worked up the nerve to speak once more, Ridgeback suddenly swiveled his chair toward me.

“I think I can help, Mr. Walker. I have one case in particular that requires the full attention of a detective, and unfortunately, I cannot give it.”

Not daring to interrupt, but understanding his words as an offer, I merely shook my head in assent and let him continue.

“It is a delicate case requiring heavy surveillance and, I believe, involving some form of organized crime. I haven’t learned enough yet to make that judgment.” Ridgeback paused momentarily, and seemed to deliberate on his next words. Before he could compose his thoughts, he shook his head and grabbed a file from his desk. “It’s all in here.”

As he handed me the file, he appeared relieved to have it off his desk. He rose, indicating it was time to leave. I wasn’t able to take more than a cursory glimpse into the file as I pulled myself from the seat and followed Ridgeback to the door.

As he swung the heavy door inward, he abruptly finished the conversation, informing me that my pay was contingent upon completion of the case, I would have to work from home, and he would expect frequent reports of my progress. I was thrilled to be working at last, but astonished by the relative ease with which I was signed on. As I left the office and crossed the street, I couldn’t help but laugh. Ethan Masse couldn’t find work to save his life, but apparently Johnny Walker had no problem.