The night was quickly coming as a dark purple slipped over the city below, illuminating the grand buildings and their nightwork inside.
Meanwhile a man, nothing more than a silhouette appeared through the vast amount of fog bellowing into the sky from the grate in the street.
He was cloaked in darkness, not allowing any of the dull streetlights to touch him as he waited, only any looking for him would be able to see him.
Soon enough a car pulled up, only meters from where he was waiting.
A rusted old silver Volkswagen whose headlights stood out in the dark quiet of the street.
"Mr Rogers? Steve Rogers?" the woman who had stepped out of the car issued the rather anxious question, as if the possibility someone else had come to the arranged meeting place.
She had perfectly pin-curled brown hair that reached her shoulders and wide brown doe eyes. Quite pretty, Steve noted.
"That would be me, doll," He removed his hat and stepped forward into a place with less shadow, his now uncovered hair shining a pale gold in the streetlight, and nodded his head slightly at the woman, who sighed in relief and gave a nervous smile.
"Now, what can i do for a pretty girl like you?" his thick American accent was smooth as he spoke, clean and controlled.
She hesitated for a minute, as if choosing her words and how to start.
"I need you to find someone for me. A writer." A moment of silence passed as she made no further attempt to give more detail.
"As long as you have the money and a name i can do that in a jiffy, m'am" A writer would be an easy gig, for names are scribed plain and simple in the spines and in the fine print under the title.
"And also if you wouldn't mind, perhaps yours?" he continued slyly
"Mine is Connie," she said, although slightly higher than before, he was sure she would have been blushed in better lighting, she hesitated once more,
"but the matter of our writer is a bit more complicated, but they tell me you are the best in the business."
"I'm sure i can handle it, miss Connie, as long as they are walkin' and talkin' i can find them" perhaps he was a bit more cocky than usual tonight but the last few weeks had been good- and it was his 'can-do' attitudes and 'honest, no-bullshit' policies that had made him quite a known private detective in the back alleys of Brooklyn. If you knew where to look.
"This writer... published a book a few years ago. But there doesn't seem to be much, or any information about him anywhere- we aren't even sure if he's real." By this stage she had piqued Mr Rogers interest.
Searching for a seeming ghost would certainly be interesting- but there's never as much to the story as people make it out to be.
"There's only so far i can look so i figured it was best to hire a professional" she said, leaning back into her car to pull out a hardback red novel,
"The name he goes by is Buchanan J" she handed over the novel for proof.
Doubt crept into his mind as he arched an eyebrow,
"M'am the only time i've ever heard a name like that is on a fine scotch." he turned the book over to glance at the cover-
The Soldier of Winter
Buchanan J.
"And why are you so determined to find this man?"
"I'm quite a fan, and too curious for my own good. But i'm willing to pay you handsomely for your assistance"
There was something she was withholding from him. Steve was certain of that. But it wasn't his job to question the ones hiring him. It was his job to question others until he found who he was seeking. And as long as it was good pay- who was he to argue with her.