St. Louis Missouri… Not exactly number one on my list of must-see destinations.

Muggy… crime rate's through the roof… cool arch though.

But yet - here I was, and not by choice. I needed to make contact with one of our informants from the mid-west who had gone to ground. And for whatever reason, he decided to do it here. It had been several weeks since we had a check in from this guy and the situation was now a serious concern for my employers.

Naturally, there was next to no intel other than our boy's name and a run of the mill profile. I accessed my internal files and brought him up again only to find the same old shit: Chester "Chet" Bostik. Six foot one, brown/back hair – a little thin on the top, blue eyes… oh, and he's prone to going off the rails on serious drinking and gambling binges. Always made me smile…

At least he has some redeeming qualities…

In fact – it was those very weaknesses that got him into big trouble with some very bad people. And that's when Uncle Sam rides in to the rescue… for a price. Bostik became our bitch and one of our best damn informants in the mid-west. But now, all that sweet-juicy info had dried up and we didn't know what happened to our guy. Hell - for all we knew, anything was possible. Could have been intercepted by the competition, shot in a back alley and dumped in the river over a bullshit card game gone bad, or maybe he just stumbled into the street, drunk outta his mind and got his dumb ass run over by a city bus.

Oh Chet… you stupid bastard… where oh where can you be?

St. Louis was kind of bigger than I had imagined… I was now three days in, staying at a funky little dive called the Northwestern Inn.

Not exactly as stylish and fancy as your typical Motel 6, but it happened to be the last place we'd received a transmission from "Chet" before his tracking chip went dead… or his liver exploded… or whatever.

I absently flicked a little mint off of my pillow and watched it smack the far wall then plunk into the rust pitted garbage can below.

Two points… hmp… that went well.

I reached over and pulled an old blue grey sweatshirt on over my head as a soft, little "ding" sounded somewhere between my ears.

Shit - that'll be Bob calling.

I really didn't have the time or patience for his condescending tone, or the witty back and forth bullshit he likes to get into. I closed my eyes briefly and slapped on my shoulder holster while I answered.

"Bob - lissen' to me. I'll call you when there's news. Okay? I've got nothin' concrete yet… it's only day three - this shit takes time."

There was a long silence. Enough for me to finish pulling my jeans down over my faded brown work boots before he answered. He sounded a little agitated.

"Get it straight Fury. It's you who listens to me. If you don't have anything solid, then a status report will have to do. But I need you to give me something… anything to take to the brass upstairs."

I threw on a battered black leather jacket - mostly to conceal the Beretta M9 I had just slung under my arm - and stomped out the door and across the uneven parking lot. It was practically empty, only a few cars left. Most customers here only paid by the hour. The Northwestern didn't exactly attract the cream of St. Louis' society. I saw the hotel manager standing in the doorway under the stained, red awning. She was watching me with those shrewd little eyes of hers. I could tell she was the kind of person that didn't miss to goddamn much. I shot her a quick wink and waved.

"Hey Anu!"

She beamed at me with a huge, gleaming smile, and waved back vigorously.

"Mr. Furious! You have glorious day today!"

She perked up as if she just remembered something really important, then added.

"Hey - you find fancy mint I leave for you on pillow?!"

I gave her a thumbs up and a friendly nod - as I kept walking towards the street.

Yep – that's me – gettin' all the perks… well I did pay for three months - in advance - hell, I'm probably the best customer she's ever had. I earned that mint.

I was just starting to play back my conversation with Anu from when I had checked in. I jumped to the part where she was telling me how she had been working hard to change the reputation of the Northwestern - make it nicer - when the nasal, authoritative voice of Major Robert Burns burst into my brain again.

"BRYAN! Did you fall asleep on me?! I am already late for my meeting and I NEED something from you to take upst-"

"Yeah - Bob… I heard you the first time. Look - just tell 'em I got a red-hot lead and should have everything wrapped up here real soon."

"How soon?"

"Um… super soon?"

"HOW soon!?"

"Shit Bob - a couple weeks… tops. How's that? Oh, and since I now have this real tight deadline - thank you very much - I gotta get back to work."

"Yeah - but exactly how red hot is that lea-"

I abruptly disconnected the call as stepped onto the cracked sidewalk. The road it bordered was in equally shitty condition. Full of potholes - trash all over the place. I checked the street sign – it was called Natural Bridge Avenue. An interesting name for a street with no discernible natural bridge.

It was a drab day, overcast… sullen. I immediately felt better - then I realized…

Huh… I'm hungry.

I followed Natural Bridge Avenue northwest… looking for a "natural bridge" I knew I would never find and wondering how the hell I was going to make good on my new deadline when I got distracted. What hit me first was the smell.

Chicken? Waffles? Ohmygod…

I looked up and saw the red and white sign looming over a humble looking little diner. It read: "Goody Goody."

It was a beat up old, neon relic from the 40′s… even before my time.

I immediately swung open the door and went inside. It was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch so the place was pretty much empty. Just a fat, super friendly looking black dude behind the counter wearing a paper hat with "Goody Goody" written on it in black type. He immediately greeted me with a huge smile and a rhyme…

"You look like a chicken and waffle man - lemme get busy with my fryin' pan!"

How the fuck did he know I wanted - ah, maybe everyone comes here for that.

There was a waitress there too - she was real young and pretty - probably not much older than nineteen, maybe the fat guy's daughter or niece…. Friendly, but she looked real tired.

Must be close to the end of her shift.

I grabbed a table in the corner window where I'd have a good view of the street and pulled the plastic menu from the little metal stand and rubbed the grease off of it with my sleeve.

The waitress shuffled up to me and raised her eyebrows. I looked up, smiled and tried to appear friendly.

"Guess what I'm havin'?"