Rick and A.J. Simon's first step in their investigation was visiting Ben Hojnacki's last known workplace, Ace Appliances' warehouse, which was conveniently located within a relatively short distance from his apartment. A couple of workers informed the brothers that Ron Sanders was in his office on the second floor.

"Let's split up. You go talk to Ron, and I'll find Ben's buddies on the floor. It's quicker that way." Rick suggested.

It made sense, but A.J. wondered if Rick was still angry with him. He had spoken only a dozen words or so during the drive from the Hojnackis' apartment.

"Okay. See you in a bit, Rick."

Rick was already walking off without another word. He sure knew how to make his brother feel guilty for no good reason even when A.J. was trying his best to look after him.

A.J. knocked on Ron Sanders' office door, and someone inside barked, "Come in!"

Ron was seated at his desk, but A.J. could see he was a large man in his fifties with no neck and a barrel chest. The man glared at the visitor and said, "Sit down."

"Hello, Mr. Sanders? I'm A.J. Simon. I'd like to speak to you if you have a moment."

Ron grimaced when a suit walked in. He hated the suits from the home office, even a young minion like this one.

"What do ya want?" Ron snapped trying to prove to the snot-nosed kid he wouldn't get intimidated by a kiss-ass from the HQ.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions regarding Mr. Ben Hojnacki. I understand that you recently terminated his employment," replied A.J. wondering what he'd done to offend the big man as he seated himself in a chair.

"Yeah. He stopped showing up at work over a week ago. No calling in sick, no explanation. It's all in my report. Didn't you read it?"

It took A.J. a couple of moments to realize that Ron had mistaken him for another Ace Appliances employee from the Human Resources Department. He briefly debated with himself over this misconception and decided not to correct the error.

"Yes, of course. But I'd like to ask you a few more questions on the events and circumstances that might have led to the unexplained absenteeism."

"Like what?" Ron detested those college snobs that spoke like they'd learned to speak English by reading textbooks, or watching PBS.

"It was brought to our attention that you had less than a cordial work relationship with Mr. Hojnacki…"

"Who told you that?" shouted Ron. A vein popped out on his temple.

"That's not for me to say or know," said A.J. cautiously. "You should know as a person in a managerial position that it is against our company policy to sanction a whistleblower, and that any employee is allowed to report their concern or problem at work freely and anonymously," bluffed A.J., betting on that Ron hadn't read the employees' manual cover to cover.

"Makes no difference anyway," said Ron, still posturing. "I never did anything wrong. Ben's a know-it-all with a big mouth who doesn't like to be told what to do."

"So, nothing out of the ordinary happened during the last few days before his disappearance?"

Ron glowered at A.J. "Are you trying to insinuate I did something to him?"

"Certainly not. This is only a routine question for our investigation." A.J. kept a straight face, but he was getting fed up with Ron's attitude. "Do you have anything else to add to our report?"

"No!" Ron spat out the word. "Is that all?"

A.J. was about to say 'yes' then changed his mind. "Just one more thing—do you still have Mr. Hojnacki's personal effects stored somewhere?"

S&S S&S

Rick ambled into the employees' break room ignoring the 'employees only' sign. No one stopped him or cared—he looked like one of them, but had they looked closely, they would have noticed that he was wearing cowboy boots, not work boots like everybody else.

It was not yet noon, but there were some people having early lunch. Probably on a mandatory lunch break regulated by the union, Rick figured. He walked up to a couple of men his age and sat down on the bench next to them like it was the most natural thing to do.

"Hi, there," greeted Rick.

One of the men acknowledged him with a slight nod, his mouth full. The other man with a bushy mustache said, "Hey," and looked at Rick with mild curiosity. "Are you new?"

"Nah, not really." Rick kept his answer vague and open-ended. "I'm just looking for Ben. Ben Hojnacki. You know him?"

The two men exchanged a knowing look.

"You mean, you don't know?" asked the Mustache.

"Know what?" Rick feigned ignorance. "I've been out of town for two weeks."

"Ron Sanders finally got his wish—he fired Ben."

"What?" Rick cried out with all of his thespian skills he could muster. "You mean, Bennie finally popped him one?"

"No, nothing like that though I do wish someday someone would give Ron what he deserves," said the Mustache shaking his head.

"So, what happened?"

"Nothing. Ben simply stopped showing up about ten days ago, which isn't like him 'cause he's never missed a day of work except the time he had the flu."

"Know what happened to him? Did anybody talk to him, or his wife, Karyn?" asked Rick.

"Ask Hank. He called Ben's wife almost a week ago. He's on the same team as Ben's," informed the Mustache.

"Is he here?"

The Mustache took a look around and shook his head. "No, he's not…" He paused in the mid-sentence as he saw another man in a plaid shirt and jeans with a lunchbox walk into the break room. "Oh, there he is. Hank! Hey, Hank!"

Hank made his way to the table Rick was sitting at and sat across from the Mustache. "Hey. What's up, Pete?"
"Well, this fella here," Pete the Mustache turned to Rick. "What's your name?"

"Rick."

"Yeah, Rick's looking for Ben and wants to know if you heard anything from his wife."

Hank shook his head. "Nothing much. Said she hadn't seen him for days, has no idea where he is." He looked at Rick apologetically. "Sorry, Rick."

"Can you think of any explanation why he all of a sudden dropped out of sight? I've often heard Ben bitchin' about Ron. Do you know if anything happened between them before his disappearance? Did you hear or see anything unusual?"

Hank let out a sigh. "You know, I almost wish Ron had something to do with this, but, for the life of me, I can't think of anything to tell you."

Rick hadn't had high hopes to find any earth-shattering clues here, but still, he was somewhat disappointed at the news. "Thanks anyway. It's just that it's been hard on his wife…"

"Speaking of Karyn…" Hank broke in. "Could you do me a favor?"

"Sure. What is it?" asked Rick quizzically.

"Ben loaned me a paperback just a couple of days before…this happened. If it isn't too much, could you give that back to Karyn?"

"Sure thing. I'm going to see how she's holding up anyway. You done with the book?"

"Not really," confessed Hank sheepishly. "I'm kinda surprised he recommended it. It's just a dime novel. I know he reads classic whodunits and Gothic horror stories among other things, but this one is just plain trash."

Rick's PI antennae started to twitch. "You have it here?"

"No, it's in my locker. Why don't I go fetch it before I forget?" Hank started to rise from the bench.

"Wait. Do you mind if I tag along?"

Hank walked into the employees' locker room ahead of Rick and mumbled under his breath, "Well, looky here…"

Rick was surprised to see his brother with a big guy who looked like an aging, out-of-shape former wrestler and assumed he was Ron Sanders. A.J. was going through the contents of one of the lockers, presumably Ben's.

"Wonder who the other guy is," said Rick as if he knew exactly what Hank was talking about.

"Probably a suit, or a gofer for the suits from the home office." Hank replied absentmindedly as he unlocked his locker and shoved the accumulated junk aside in search of the paperback. "Ah! Found it!" He handed the book to Rick.

It was practically brand new, showing no sign of wear and tear on the spine or the cover. Rick's reading materials occasionally included some cheap dime novels, the kind A.J. would turn his nose up at; however, he was put off by the book he held in his hand. The title and the illustration on the cover were crude and simply in bad taste.

Rick opened the book and turned a few pages looking for some annotations, notes, or anything. As he turned another page, a piece of paper fell out of the book. He picked up and unfolded it. On it was a street address.

"Is this yours, Hank?" asked Rick showing the paper to Hank.

Hank read the address on the paper and shook his head. "No. That's Ben's handwriting."

"Do you know anyone who lives at this address? Does room number 522 ring a bell?"

Hank pursed his lips. "Not right off the top of my head." He shook his head. "Sorry."

"Hey, don't be. You've been a great help, Hank. Thanks." Rick patted Hank on the arm.

"I have?" said Hank skeptically.

"You bet. Well, I better get going now, but I'll let you know if I find anything."

"Yeah, you do that. See you 'round, Rick."

Back at the parking lot, Rick didn't have to wait too long for A.J. to come back to his Chevy. When he saw his brother sitting in the car, A.J. started to jog.

"Hey," said A.J. getting into the driver's seat. "Find anything?"

"Yeah. You?"

A.J. nodded and produced a business card from the pocket of his jacket.

"Mike's Car Wash?" Baffled, Rick looked up at A.J.

A.J. turned the business card over to show what was written on the other side: Fairlane #6, and a phone number. "I found this in a pocket of Ben's uniform."

"Fairlane #6… Must be an apartment, or a motel," muttered Rick to himself.

"What'd you find?" A.J. asked eagerly.

When Rick pulled the paperback out of the pocket of his jacket, A.J. recoiled, repulsed by the lurid cover. "Good God! That can't possibly be Ben's!"

"A guy named Hank says it is," said Rick chuckling at his brother's overreaction. "But there's more."

Rick took out the piece of paper tucked between the last page and the back cover.

"What's that?" asked A.J. still keeping a wary eye on the book.

"A street address of an apartment, maybe a hotel or motel. No phone number though." Rick put the paper in his shirt pocket, the book in the glove compartment. "So, what do you make of all this?"

"Odd—that's what." A.J. sneaked a quick peek at Rick. "Now, I don't want you to get mad at me for saying this, but you do know deep down that things are not quite right, don't you?"

Rick did, but he didn't want to admit A.J. was right. "Okay. Tell me what's troubling you then."

"Are you kidding? A matchbook for a non-smoker—Ron Sanders said Ben doesn't smoke, a car wash business card for someone who doesn't drive, a trashy paperback for a bibliophile. Don't tell me you don't think they're downright surreal. They stick out like a pro football player hiding among a bunch of cheerleaders. Just one of them might be a fluke, but all three? Uh-uh. You too think Ben planted these to steer us in our investigation, don't you?"

Rick shrugged noncommittally. "Possible. But the question is, for what? What's Ben trying to tell us? And who was supposed to find them? The police? Karyn? His girlfriend we don't know of?"

"How the hell should I know?" Frustrated, A.J. tapped the steering wheel with his fist. "One thing's for sure though; these clues he left for our convenience won't tell us where he is. If you wanted to go into hiding, would you intentionally leave clues to reveal where you might be? And if he's involved in a kidnapping case or something more heinous, there's no way Ben could have known what was going to happen to him, or where he'd be taken to."

"So, what do you suggest we do now? Just follow the crumbs and see what exactly Ben wants us to find at the end of the trail hoping it would give us some clue for his disappearing act?"

"You have any better idea?"

A.J. turned on the car engine when Rick couldn't come up with an alternative.