THREE

The Day wore on. There was no such luck as I had with Mrs. Peel with my account keeping. One defaulter had topped himself, I discovered, and another had went and joined the army. Some people will do anything to avoid paying their bills. It seemed as though the only thing I had to look forward to was having my trousers mended by Mrs. O'Halloran. It might be the high point of her day too. I had enough money to eat and pay Joe with just enough shrapnel left over to fill the ol' Buick's tank. Well, half fill it. I hadn't held a steady job in a while, and the business of investigating always seemed to cover the bills. People were always going to cheat. People were always going to be intimidated. Mostly good people, who for whatever reason can't or wont go to the police, and have nowhere else left to turn. Most of my clients came to me after hearing of my services through good word of mouth. Some of them, Like Judge Folberg, came to me because they didn't want their lives plastered all over the front page of the Times. My financial status notwithstanding, I did enjoy my job.

The point is I have no concept of what any other job would be like. I've been working as a P.I for about seven years, on and off, and I can't recall any vocation before it. That is to say I remember doing things that I know was part of something bigger than myself, but for the life of me, I couldn't place it. I think I may have been a cop. I think. My instincts and my love for this kind of work would put me in that sort of field. I've lived in this city for the past seven years, and I feel like it's my home now. I can't imagine myself anywhere but here. It is an assault on the senses and a mindless sprawl of architecture and pollution and beauty. I wonder if it was by accident or design that I had wound up lying in a gutter in this fair city. Whether I was dumped there or whether I just fell and conked my head, I don't know. Seven years later I call myself Logan and I move forward because that's all I can do.

I eased the Buick close to the curb outside Harry's Bar N Grill, A neat little dive that had a mean steak sandwich and a cold glass of beer for two bucks. The tables were greasy, the windows were dirty and so were the other patrons, but Harry's was my sorta place. I fit in and no one looked at my ugly mug twice.

I pushed open the cracked and dusty double doors and entered the bar. A haze of blue smoke hit me and I inhaled deeply. Music played dully in the background, weaving it's way through drunken conversations and the occasional chinking of glasses. Harry's Bar N Grill was a relic from prohibition days. You could still feel the oppressive, almost secretive air as you approach the bar. The pitted and scarred wood topped bar looked as if it could tell a thousand stories on its on. I took a menu as I slid onto a barstool and the barmaid came over, pencil and pad at the ready. She was no more than a girl, really. Long brown curls with an almost albino white stripe running from the middle of her forehead all the way back. She spoke in a southern drawl and she was always obsessively wearing a pair of small black velvet gloves. She leaned against the bar, chewing gum, and grinned at me. "Ah'll just not bother with this ol' thing, shall ah?" She said, holding up the order pad. "Ah know what you're gonna order even before you open your mouth, Sugah."

"Oh?" I replied with an arched eyebrow. "And what makes you think that, Marie?"

"You always order the same thing. Steak burger, barbeque sauce. Side of fries and a Bud. That's it."

"That a fact? I always order that exact thing?"

"You haven't varied from it while I've been working here, Logan. A man needs variety. We don't want him getting' all stale and repetitive now."

I winked at her. "Naw, I ain't getting repetitive, Marie. The rest of the food on this menu is crap."

She giggled and started pulling my beer. "You watch your mouth or I'll tell Harry." She slid the beer over to me and grinned.

I sipped my beer and watched her disappear into the kitchen. Marie was no more than 19 years old, but her spunk and her big brassy attitude made her appear older. She had this knowing grin that saw through even the toughest customer. No one knew much about her except her first name. Something told me she was working in this dingy bar because of the anonymity it afforded. She didn't have the demeanor of someone who was being hunted. I would have picked that up right away. She was running away from something though, but I thought the better of it to ask her. Everyone runs from something.

After a few moments, she returned with my burger and fries. She slapped them down on the bar and popped her bubble gum. I took a huge chunk out of the burger and grinned at her with a mouthful of food.

As I chewed, a man pulled out the stool next to me, and ordered a bud. I chased the burger down with a mouthful of beer. The man was dark, his skin like coal. He wore a hat and he had a graying beard. He slapped his money down on the bar and I could feel the other patrons watching him warily. He smiled at me and I held my beer up in salutation. He settled onto his stool and propped his elbows up on the bar. He lit a cigar with a sliver lighter engraved with the word Wraith. "Logan. I've been looking everywhere for you, man."

This stopped me mid bite. I dropped the sandwich back onto its paper plate and looked at him with a frown. "You have, huh."

He nodded and exhaled a long stream of smoke from his nostrils. "Yep. I thought I'd lost your scent. Look, we gotta talk. You've been out of the loop a long time and you're in a whole world of trouble."

"Is that a fact?" I sat back and sipped my beer, watching his face.

"You have no concept of how deeply in trouble you are. They have been looking for you for almost eight years now. They have been half way round the world looking for you."

"I don't know anything about this," I said slowly. "I don't know you, more to the point."

"Oh Lordy, Logan," He said, his face a mask of concern. "You really can't remember?"

"Nope."

"Doesn't that scare you, man?"

I thought about that. Maybe I was scared that I would find out what I had lost. Maybe. But I had been going forward all this time with no recollection of where I had been and I was living a decent enough life. I had no idea whether I was being hunted or followed because I wasn't really looking. "Who are you?" I demanded.

"My name is Wraith. Johnny Wraith. We used to know each other. Look, if I can find you by myself then think of how easy it will be for them. You know things that they will kill you for. They want you back."

"Huh. Interesting. Who are they, Johnny Wraith?"

"Our old employers. They have sleepers everywhere, Logan. They didn't mind losing the others so much, but they need you. It took one botched up operation and the whole thing became unraveled. Now they have regrouped and they're recovering whatever they can."

"Why do they want me?" Christ, I was starting to buy into this crap.

"The rest of us were expendable, it seems. You were the success story."

"Who are they?"

Johnnie Wraith grinned and took another puff of his cigar. "Look, I'm not gonna say anymore than what I've just told you. You may think I'm some crazy man, but I cannot impress upon you how serious this is. The less you know about them, the better. I just wanted to make you aware. Alert. You just need to exercise that caution and start looking at things a bit closer."

"You're right," I replied. "I do think you're a crazy man."

Johnnie Wraith laughed out loud. "Nice to see some things never change then, eh?" He drained his beer and stubbed his cigar out, then slapped me on the back as he headed for the door. "Look, if something is about to go down, I'll find you. Just keep your eyes open, OK?"

He left the building, and the air of tension emanating from the other customers slowly faded. Marie came over and watched him exit. "He made a few people nervous here." She said under her breath.

"People here are drunken idiots." I slapped my money down on the bar and she collected it with her velvet-gloved hands.

"I couldn't agree more, Logan." She said with a smile.