TWO

The sun rose sluggishly over the city skyline, burning away the veil of smog that clung to the very tops of the buildings that glinted in the orange light. I was up and looking out of my tiny window, sipping lukewarm coffee over the sink. My mouth felt like a cactus garden and the stubble on my chin scraped the ceramic mug like steel wool. My head was about ready to implode. I washed down three aspirin with whatever coffee dregs I had left, and scrounged for a suit that didn't look too crumpled. It was debt collection day and I couldn't go around town looking like a bum. Maybe some of them would take pity on me with the shabby attire and shell out what they owe.

The episode with Worthington was playing in my mind on loop. I played it from every angle. Worthington never usually dealt with any of his more troublesome customers himself, least of all me. But his interests were not in club security but old scores to settle. I was stupid enough to step on his patch, drunken pride counteracting common sense. Worthington dealt with all his enemies the same way. All of them disappear without a trace. I knew that was what he intended for me last night, but he had too many witnesses, and after all, he didn't become the richest jerk in town by being stupid.

I shrugged myself into the least wrinkled sports jacket I could find, after giving it a preliminary sniff. It didn't smell sour, but I doused it in aftershave anyway. I glanced into my tiny shaving mirror above the sink and decided shaving with a hangover was probably not a good idea. Hell, if I cut my throat shaving, Worthington would get the blame. It wouldn't be so bad.

My gun was sitting on the bedside table where I'd dumped it last night before heading to Volcano. I stuck it into the waistband of my trousers and covered it with my jacket, hoping I wouldn't have cause to use it today. It hadn't been fired in a long time. The handle was taped up after I had to pistol whip some guy, but otherwise I wasn't sure if she even worked anymore. It felt good, comfortable, in my hands. I didn't see the need to go blasting my way into a situation if I could use my head and my mouth at the same time. Most men would call me a coward, but I haven't stayed alive this long by being stupid. Like Worthington, I know where the limit lies.

A soft click in the hallway outside followed by shuffled footsteps. Mrs. O'Halloran was about to go to the markets. I checked my watch. 8:00 a.m exactly. The old bird never misses a beat. Her life had become clockwork since her husband Vincent died. She worshipped the shrine of routine, and she pitied those who didn't. I crossed the room and opened my door to see her mid-shuffle in front of my apartment. She looked up and regarded me with sharp, grey eyes. Her face was a mass of wrinkles and her iron colored hair was perfectly set into a beehive bun. She stooped a little when she walked, but she never mentioned being in pain.

"Good morning mister Logan," She said. She had resumed shuffling towards the stairs and I locked my door and pocketed my keys.

"Mrs. O'halloran. You're looking lovely." I took her arm, which had become somewhat of a custom lately. She needed help down the stairs but would never ask, and I was always around about the same time.

"You're a liar and a cad," she replied, looking stiffly in front of her. "You don't look so bad yourself. Where are you off to?"

"Just catching up on some accounting."

"Someone needs to mend the hem of those trousers, mister Logan. When was the last time you had a woman's touch?" her words were meant in a different context, but it left me trying to recall the last time I had been with a woman. Not since Madripoor. Could it have been two years already? Jeez, time flies when you're getting the shit kicked outta you. "Bring them to my apartment tonight, and I will mend them for you."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your trousers, Logan. And they call me deaf."

"Look, I appreciate the thought Mrs. O'Halloran, but I really…"

She smacked my arm as we reached the lobby. "Nonsense. You will have them at my place tonight. You bachelors are all the same. You'll never snag yourself a wife looking like you do. I will not take no for an answer, do you hear me?"

"I like being a bachelor." I mumbled. She frowned at me like I was slow witted.

"No one likes being a bachelor. Except for my dear brother Benjamin. Never married. Mother called him a confirmed bachelor, but I never understood what that meant."

I smiled despite myself. This woman was a gem. She knew quite well what she was saying, she was just getting a point across with her usual subtlety. Mrs. O'Halloran liked to play the doddering old fool but she was sharp as a tack and she knew I had her number. I kissed her on the cheek as she walked through the big double doors, out onto the pavement and into the early morning sunshine. I watched after her, hands in my pockets, as she disappeared around the nearest corner. I was smiling and shaking my head as I headed out after her and towards my Buick parked in front of the building. I fished my keys from my pocket and looked up just in time to register the shadow that was suddenly cast over me. My first thought was that Ricky had returned, but this guy was broader and taller, plus he wasn't a lard ass.

"Mr. Logan?"

The big boy had a crew cut and spoke in an accent. He wore an expensive suit that was tailored to fit his near seven-foot frame. His eyebrows were knit, but not with concern. He was waiting for a response. I nodded, and tried to look as if I had been expecting him to be blocking the path to my car at 8:10 on a Monday morning. "Yeah, that's me."

"Am I to understand that you are the Mister Logan who is a private investigator?" The big boy was Russian, no doubt about that. I was likely to be lynched in the street of a good upstanding citizen ran to tell good ol' Joe McCarthy. Since the big Russian was clearly going nowhere, I decided to play along. "You assume correctly, tovarish. What can I do you for?"

The big man squared his shoulders. Something cracked. He had a baby face, with a strong jaw line and serious blue eyes. If he was surprised I picked him as a red, he didn't show it. "I represent a man who would very much like to discuss business with you. He would like to meet at a time of your convenience, as he understands you are a busy man. You will be well rewarded for your time, even if you decide you do not want to work for my employer."

"You're offering me a job, red? From who? This got anything to do with the mafia?"

The bid man shifted now and leaned in over me. He was frowning. "No. This is not anything to do with mafia, or any lawbreakers for that matter. I have given you the message, so now it is up to you."

I stood my ground. I was likely to get a punch in the mouth for my cockiness. "Alright, you've delivered your message. Would you mind getting out of the way so I can get into my car?"

The big Russian shot his hand out and I flinched. He grinned and held out his hand. On his palm, dwarfed by his big hand, was a business card. I took the card off him but didn't bother to read it, instead slipping it into my jacket pocket before unlocking my car door. Whoever he worked for wanted to make an impression on me. The big Russian was obviously sent to make me take notice, or scare me. Either way it worked.

I intended to find out who this mystery prospective client was, but I had other matters to attend to. My financial state was such that if I didn't recover the amounts owing I would be eating my shoes by the end of the week. I would probably be able to work around Joe Greenson for a few days but he wasn't going to wait forever. He was desperate. Joe was normally easy going about back rent but lately he must've gotten himself into some sorta mess.

To say I was distracted when I opened the gates and headed up the path to Lenny Peel's house is an understatement. I almost tripped up the steps as I approached to knock on the door. Very professional mister Logan. I straightened my tie and took off my hat, as a shadow appeared behind the frosted pane of glass in the wood paneled door. The door opened on a short, round woman with wide eyes. She wore a powder blue dress and a kid had scurried behind her and peered at me from underneath her dress. "Mrs.. Peel?"

She nodded, wiping her hands on her dress. "Yes."

"My name is Logan. I was wondering if I might be able to speak with your husband?"

"Lenny isn't around at the moment, I'm afraid. I can let him know you called around."

"That would be very kind, ma'am." I hesitated for a few moments. I knew she was going to slam the door in my face. She didn't like the look of me in my crinkled suit. Might have mistaken me for a door-to-door salesman. "I did some work for your husband a while back now. I was investigating the threats to his business?"

Her eyes glimmered with recognition. "Oh. You're the private investigator!"

"Yes ma'am."

"Was there something wrong, mister…Logan…was it?"

"That's right. Well, I was hoping to settle up his account. It's been in arrears for a few months now. I'm just calling in to see if we can at least work something out so I can balance my books."

She gripped the edge of the door. Her nails were digging into the lacquered wood. "Did he not pay you, sir?"

I ducked my head. "Not as yet. Now normally I wouldn't be standing on your doorstep, but I…"

She shook her head. "Not at all. Please, come inside." She stood aside and let me pass. As I stepped over the threshold I felt as if I knew the place. The hallway, with its polished floorboards and ornamental throw rugs, was tasteful and inviting. I'd never been to Lenny's place before. I never knew he lived like this.

Mrs. Peel took my hat and promptly placed it on a hook on the wall. She offered to take my jacket and I declined. She sighed and started smoothing her dress, then looked at me with weariness. "Mr. Logan, I think it might be a good idea if we had a word in the kitchen." She knelt down and patted the little boy's head. "Go and play in the back yard, Benjamin. Don't get into mischief." The boy scurried off and she stood up with some difficulty. I offered my hand but she waved it away. After a few moments, she composed herself and asked that I follow her.

The rest of the house was tastefully appointed. There was nothing out of place and there was nothing expensive here, but it was still a home one could be proud of. It was clear that Mrs. Peel was not fond of overstatement. When I was seated she started making coffee. When I told her it would not be necessary she waved me away again. In moments she had a steaming mug set down in front me, and another for her. She finally sat down and I could see in her pinched features that she was suffering. It wasn't the kind of suffering one could complain about but it was the kind that can stay with a person for life.

"Lenny mentioned you a few times, during those horrible few months," She said softly. "I told him we should invite you over for dinner, to thank you for all your hard work, but Lenny said you were not the sort of man to accept a dinner invitation in the suburbs. Lenny had such strange notions about people sometimes."

I sipped my coffee. It had become painfully obvious that Lenny was not at home. "He's right though. I don't normally accept dinner invites in the suburbs, because I usually don't get them in the first place."

She smiled and nodded, then put her cup down purposefully and looked back up to me. "Lenny isn't here, Mr. Logan," she said slowly. "He…he ran off one night and I haven't seen him since. I knew he was having an affair but I didn't think it was serious…" Her voice wavered and she took a shuddering breath. "I heard they went to Europe. Being the coward he is he hasn't sent me a letter or a postcard, but he does send me a check each month without fail." She pushed her chair back, it's legs scraping over the polished floorboards, and she walked into the kitchen. She pulled a cookie jar out of an overhead cupboard and returned to her seat, clutching it awkwardly. "He left behind all kinds of debts, as you can imagine. But the checks I get each month allow me to manage fine on my own. That and I marched into my lawyer's office and had all his businesses signed over to me."

She reached into the cookie jar and produced a wad of cash. Which she did not count, then placed it in my hand. I shook my head. "But this is not your debt to pay, Mrs. Peel."

She snapped the lid back on the cookie jar decisively. "But it is a debt incurred by the business my husband once ran. He didn't employ you personally, instead preferring to hide behind his business name. So Peel's Coffee House has incurred this debt. Which means I am obliged to pay you for your fine work, as managing director."

I closed my fist around the wad of stiff bills and shoved it into my pocket, smiling broadly at her. "Thank you, ma'am," I replied. "You're some woman, you know that?"

"Lenny didn't think so." She smiled. Something about that smile wiped the years away and I saw a woman who had gotten what she wanted. I finished my coffee and stood up, not wanting to outstay my welcome. She showed me to the door and I shrugged into my coat again. The kid had come in from the yard and he was staring at me. I patted him on the head. "Keep your nose clean, squirt. Look after that mother of yours."

She held the door open and I retrieved my hat. On the threshold, she grabbed my arm. "Mr. Logan, I've always wanted to know…is Logan your first or last name?"

"Pick one," I replied with a wink, put my hat on my head and stepped out into the sunshine.