I was crumpling and uncrumpling the worn stationary in my hand over and over, opening it up and closing it each time as if wondering that by doing so eventually what was written there would fade. But I knew better than that. It just so happened that there, in the cramped little scrawl of some stranger's fountain pen, was something I hadn't seen in quite some time, and something I was anxious to return to. Work. "Meet me on Pier 5, 8 o' clock. I got something you might want to hear."
There was just one problem, this little note that had shown up stuck in the door-frame of my office was unsigned and unannounced. And notes of these kind of sort are almost always trouble, the kind of trouble not worth getting mixed in with by far. The kind of trouble that maybe a private dick like me gets mixed up in and wakes up at the bottom of some lake. But the fact of the matter was that work was slow, real slow. And my bar tab was certainly not paying itself-- I'd know, I waited long enough to see if it would.
So that's how, against my better judgment, I got to be standing alone at the end of that shady Pier, with the dull glare of the street lamps far off in the distance. I came there some time earlier than the listed time, maybe by half an hour. If trouble was coming, I at least wanted the honor of seeing it arrive. So I struck a match, lit a cigarette and waited.
And a few minutes later, arrive it did, in a ratty-looking trenchcoat and a short-brimmed fedora. As he came closer, I could tell he had the jitters, bad, like he'd jump out of his skin if a guy tapped him on the shoulder just to ask him the time. He walked with a funny gait, taking small steps, as if he didn't trust the wood of the pier under him, but shuffled along fast enough that it wouldn't make a difference anyway. He wringed his hands as he walked toward me.
"S-so you came a-after all. Thanks, Hyde. I'm in a bit of a bad j-j-jam."
"Most people who come to me are. Now what's this about?"
The man smoothed his hands over his lapels and made a visible effort to even his breathing and calm down.
"I just got done with a stint in the slammer, okay? I cracked safes. I know you probably see my hands right now all over the place like I got the shakes, but if you put my hands on the dial of a safe, I swear, it's like giving a chisel to an artist. I didn't make mistakes."
"Getting caught's a pretty big mistake, stranger."
"Yeah, well, that part wasn't my fault. I cracked safes, I wasn't the lookout. I can't shoot a gun. I guess I'm not so great at being a criminal. But that's not important, on the last job I had, just before I got hauled in, I was cracking a safe in a hotel. Ritzy type, it
There was just one problem, this little note that had shown up stuck in the door-frame of my office was unsigned and unannounced. And notes of these kind of sort are almost always trouble, the kind of trouble not worth getting mixed in with by far. The kind of trouble that maybe a private dick like me gets mixed up in and wakes up at the bottom of some lake. But the fact of the matter was that work was slow, real slow. And my bar tab was certainly not paying itself-- I'd know, I waited long enough to see if it would.
So that's how, against my better judgment, I got to be standing alone at the end of that shady Pier, with the dull glare of the street lamps far off in the distance. I came there some time earlier than the listed time, maybe by half an hour. If trouble was coming, I at least wanted the honor of seeing it arrive. So I struck a match, lit a cigarette and waited.
And a few minutes later, arrive it did, in a ratty-looking trenchcoat and a short-brimmed fedora. As he came closer, I could tell he had the jitters, bad, like he'd jump out of his skin if a guy tapped him on the shoulder just to ask him the time. He walked with a funny gait, taking small steps, as if he didn't trust the wood of the pier under him, but shuffled along fast enough that it wouldn't make a difference anyway. He wringed his hands as he walked toward me.
"S-so you came a-after all. Thanks, Hyde. I'm in a bit of a bad j-j-jam."
"Most people who come to me are. Now what's this about?"
The man smoothed his hands over his lapels and made a visible effort to even his breathing and calm down.
"I just got done with a stint in the slammer, okay? I cracked safes. I know you probably see my hands right now all over the place like I got the shakes, but if you put my hands on the dial of a safe, I swear, it's like giving a chisel to an artist. I didn't make mistakes."
"Getting caught's a pretty big mistake, stranger."
"Yeah, well, that part wasn't my fault. I cracked safes, I wasn't the lookout. I can't shoot a gun. I guess I'm not so great at being a criminal. But that's not important, on the last job I had, just before I got hauled in, I was cracking a safe in a hotel. Ritzy type, it
