Thu 17 Nov 40 PY
Dear Diary,
I live in Kings now. Roger's mansion lies where Central Park meets the north side, near 135th street.
My apartment is in a subdivision of an old soap factory. The bedroom is drafty, but I do not mind the cold. If I reach out my arms, I can touch the stained wallpaper on the opposing walls. A single window looks out onto a dirt lot behind the complex next door. Outside, a fire escape descends to the first story.
The two narrow windows in the living room open onto the weathered brick face of the neighboring building. The living room will be my office. I am sitting on the floor and writing by glare of a bare bulbed lamp, which sits on the lone chair in the room.
A threadbare door mat completes the decor.
The kitchenette is cramped, and the half bath is half the size. I am glad that I do not have to use the commode, and I shall leave it at that. Public Bath #17 is a few blocks away. A twenty-four hour laundry mat is next to the bath house.
The surrounding buildings are three-story brownstones and apartment complexes. Some of the lots lie in rubble, and the ruins have been sifted for piping, wiring, and even intact brick and masonry. Even these lots have tenants. Cardboard boxes, jury-rigged tents, and burning trash cans furnish these areas.
In the distance, I can see the tops of the domes. They look larger from street level.
Most of the neighbors are quiet. Loud arguments flare a few doors down and across the street, but quiet down after their neighbors out shout them.
I accomplished several tasks today. I cleaned. I contacted several leads concerning furniture. I shall start work tomorrow; my ad is now in the newspaper:
R. Dorothy Private Eye
Paperwork $50 research pass
Footwork $50/day expenses
Phone: 16.718.2034
Dolomite St, Old Soap Factory
I set rates a few dollars below the average of the others in the paper, since I am a newbie. I wrap myself in a shawl. The chair will serve as my bed tonight. I cannot bring myself to sleep on the floor.
I am home, it is good to be home.
R. Dorothy Wayneright
Fri 18 Nov 40 PY
Dear Diary,
I awoke with several vertebrae disks compressed in a strange way. It took an hour or so for the elastomeric material to rebound. In other words, I had back pain.
In early the morning, I picked up my furniture. There were a few raised eyebrows on the street when I walked by carrying a bureau or a bed. The combination of my weight and the furniture made some of the apartment stairs creak alarmingly.
Beer bottle littered the streets. Street cleaning and trash pick-up are on Monday evening. Each resident pays a service fee to the local Neighborhood Organization. It is part protection money, part street cleaning fee, and part utility bill.
The life of P.I. is not glamorous. I realized this when I chose the job. In the muddle of Paradigm's Amnesia, much of the records were lost. What little remained is locked away by Paradigm. Drips and drabs of the records are released to the public. Paradigm created a labyrinth of rules to complement the fragmented records. Since businesses inside of the domes do business with the outside and the domes exapnd occasionally, the laws are written to include all of Paradigm, though there is no enforcement Outside.
Outside, a sort of honor has settled between theives. P.I.s and lawyers argue before the Brothers of Justice, a powerful arbitration group respected by most groups. They are second to the MPs in fire power (I don't count the Megadeuses, they are in another class). The syndicates try to sort out their turf wars with trails of paper rather than hails of lead. When two groups fight, a third usually walks away with the prize. Dastun and Roger discussed it over dinner once.
At eight, I was called by the Plumber's Union. Their headquarters were in a closet of a water filtration plant. A single bare light bulb lit the room. The leader had a square jaw and a five o'clock shadow at nine in the morning. He and his lieutenant wore stained jump suits. They needed leg work to claim the right to service the water mains around Gun Hill Road. Work meant pay, and they said that Utilities, Ltd. was muscling in on their work. I got a pass to enter Dome #6 and use the Archives for reasearch. I took a bus to the EL station, got searched at the station, and by noon, I was at the library. I scoured the reference cards and cross referenced musty books. My black dress is white with dust, and my hair is gritty with spider webs.
At 2:00 PM sharp, I made it to the offices of Levine and Tang. They scanned the information and released my pay of $50. The Dome pass had already expired. I'll know how it went by the amount of business I get. I'm not sure why the lawyers did not contact me directly. They told me that different firms do it different ways.
Right now, I have a dress and a head of hair to wash.
R. Dorothy Wayneright