Once back in the van, B.A. drove off down the road and around the corner. It was never good business to let a potential client see them discussing a job. He stopped the vehicle a few blocks away, and parked along the side of the road.

Hannibal shifted in his seat to face the other three more directly. "Well?" he asked, as they knew he would. "What do you think?"

"I think that guy stepped out of 1890," B.A. replied.

Face half nodded.

After leaving the house and slipping into his preferred spot in the van, Murdock had pulled his knees up to his chest—ignoring B.A.'s angry looks that his feet were on the upholstery—and sat awkwardly in the bucket seat the entire drive. He muttered something behind his legs.

"What was that, Captain?"

He lifted his head. "I don't think we should take this job," he repeated very clearly.

B.A. copied Face's half-nod. "Yeah. Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones? Seriously, Hannibal?"

The ex-Colonel nodded thoughtfully.

In his silence, Face deliberated too. His knee-jerk reaction was the same as Murdock's. How strange was that guy—he spoke too deliberately, there was an air of superiority to him that was off-putting, and he wanted a stupid statue more than his so-called good friend? It was fishy. It felt bizarre.

The man had given them a bit more information: where his friend lived, how he conducted his research and the books he collected for it, the schedule of his travels. That was odd too; apparently he never left the Massachusetts or Rhode Island area, and stayed mostly along the coast. The towns Mr. Smith mentioned didn't ring any bells to anyone, so they must be tiny burgs. And if they were that small, and you already knew the lay of the land, how difficult would it be to find him by yourself, without needing outside help?

But on the other hand . . . Mr. Smith had passed a folded piece of paper to Hannibal, and Hannibal passed it to Face. The monetary amount written on it was substantial.

More than substantial; Face was one of the best con artists working, and he prided himself on being smooth in front of potential rubes—strike that, it should be strangers, potential clients—but even he had slip-ups now and then. He'd been taking a sip of coffee as he read the figure; the sip turned into a sputter and he forced the liquid down by willpower alone.

"Of course, that's simply a retainer," Mr. Smith had told them, politely overlooking Face's choking. "You understand I'll cover your travel expenses and incidentals as well."

Deep down, Face may be suspicious of the man's motives and peculiar, genteel demeanor, but that amount of cash spoke easily overrode instinct.

Finally Hannibal spoke. "Care to expound on that, Captain?"

Murdock hid his face again. "Just don't like it, is all. That guy is weird. This place is weird. It smells bad and where are all the people?"

Automatically the other three men glanced out the windows. No one was in sight.

"It's the middle of the day, fool!" B.A. told him. "This is residential, people's at work!"

Face shifted a little in his seat. Something in Murdock's tone discomfited him. "There were plenty of people at the University . . ."

The dull gaze Murdock fixed him with made him more uncomfortable.

Hannibal studied his pilot, and didn't say anything more.

Face finally shook himself and his fingers found the crumpled piece of paper with the amount of money promised them in his jacket pocket. Numbers drifted behind his eyelids, and from his mouth sprouted,

"Listen. This guy's weird. So what? We've dealt with weirdoes before. It's a simple missing person case—plus that statue thing, of course—we chase down some leads, figure out if Mr. Jones has gone to ground or whatever, and report back. Piece of cake."

Two sets of eyes looking back on him seemed in agreement; one set peered at him over the tops of his knees and seemed let down. Face could deal with Murdock's silent disappointment of not being supported later.

"You're changing your mind?" Hannibal asked. "You seemed a little put off by Mr. Smith too."

That was the problem working and living so close to the same people so much; everyone was attuned to everyone else's feelings.

"It's a lot of money," Face defended. "A lot of money. Enough that we could take a break, maybe, and be choosy about the next job. B.A., you could go visit your Mama. Hannibal, you could head out to Montana and do some of that fly fishing you never get enough time to do. Murdock . . ."

His friend cocked an eyebrow at him, finally slightly amused. Face grinned.

"Murdock, well . . . you and I can hang together. We could hit Vegas, or Monte Carlo or—"

"Or the Albuquerque International Hot Air Balloon Fiesta?"

Face rolled his eyes, but it wasn't horribly sarcastic. "Sure. Why not."

Murdock picked his head up and looked, if not more enthusiastic, at least not like he was only half with them.

"Okay, then," Hannibal agreed. "We'll call Mr. Smith later and tell him we're on."


They returned to Mr. Smith's house again after informing him by a land line they'd take the job.

B.A. complained about what the wooden road outside his house would do to the shocks on his van. Hannibal made the same comment but referenced his back.

Murdock muttered evilly what the Miskatonic swamp would do if it reclaimed its rightful place.

Mr. Smith gave them their retainer in cash as well as all the information he had regarding his friend's itinerary for his latest research. He mentioned again that Mr. Jones kept a residence elsewhere in Arkham. He gave the address and directions.

When Hannibal asked if he'd gone there himself to look, Mr. Smith gave a wan smile.

"I did, and peeked in the back door. But the curtains were drawn everywhere else in the house and place was locked tight as a drum. And as I don't have a key . . . "

Face sighed and mentally added a 'breaking and entering' fee to the final bill.

Mr. Smith wasn't very forthcoming when they pressed him about this statue he was dying to get his hands on either. He gave them an idea of its rough size—easy to pick up with two hands—and the material it was made from—stone or maybe ironwood—and told them they would know it when they saw it.

That wasn't horribly much to go on, a fact that B.A. mentioned when they left his house the second time that day.