Rodney sat, leaned back, put his feet on the desk, and stared at the ceiling. He had two choices, he decided. Choice one: sit, wait, and hope John had a plan to find him.
Was this how Sheppard felt when he was stuck in the time-dilation field? he wondered. Waiting, hoping for someone, namely you, to find him, and at the same time, trying to cope with his new reality?
Which brought him to his second option. Accept there was nothing he could do to help himself and try to muddle through the best way he could until something changed.
Rodney stared at the water-stained patterns in the ceiling tiles as he weighed his options. From what he had seen of the city, it appeared he was trapped in a universe only in the equivalent of the 1930s or maybe the 1940s on his Earth.
No chance they would have the technology he needed to punch a hole in the multiverse, then, he realised. His only chance of getting back to his world was if someone in Atlantis came to him.
"And you're the best person to do that," he grumbled. "So basically, you're screwed."
It was the sinking jumper all over again.
John found you then, a corner of his mind reminded him.
But that was different, the louder part countered. All of his multiverse research was still theoretical. At least with the jumper, all John had to do was convert the existing cloak into a shield. The technology to cross into a different universe didn't even exist! He was still inventing it.
And yet, here you are, he thought, looking around the office. If you did it once, maybe Sheppard can do it again.
"And then he'd be stuck too," Rodney muttered. He closed his eyes and rubbed his aching head.
A car horn blared through the window a moment later, breaking Rodney out of his morbid thought spiral.
"Stop it," he ordered himself. "This isn't solving anything."
He blew out a breath, dropped his feet on the floor, and reached for the picture of Carlton Blake.
"You can't rescue yourself, but maybe you can at least help him."
He looks like Carson, Rodney thought as he studied the stiff man in the picture. He's a doctor, just like Beckett. From what Elspeth had told them, Carlton also had Carson's compassion and desire to help others. So think logically. Assuming Eslpeth is right, and he isn't already dead and wanted to hide, where would he go?
Rodney shuffled through the papers on the desk, looking for a pad of paper he could use to make notes. He didn't find one on the desk, opened the bottom right-hand drawer, and found the unmarked liquor bottle.
Lost somewhere with no team and no idea how to get home, Rodney thought. There's someone who looks like your surrogate brother but clearly isn't making threats, and you're about to take on the city's biggest mob boss.
He picked up the bottle and muttered, "Now I know why Marlowe drank so much."
The empty water glass was within arm's reach. Rodney hesitated, then poured a healthy shot into the glass, drank it off, and choked on the burn.
"Marlowe might be an alcoholic, but you aren't," he wheezed. He capped the bottle and put it away while he tried to catch his breath.
Once his eyes stopped watering and he could breathe, Rodney opened the next drawer. This time, he found a stash of notepads, pens, scraps of paper, and a few file folders. He grabbed one of the pads and a pen, shut the drawer, opened the top left drawer, and saw the one thing besides the liquor bottle he had expected to find. He pushed aside the box of .38 ammunition and pulled out the pistol.
The gun was about the same size as his Beretta with a carved wood inlaid grip. He looked along the barrel and saw the word "Colt" stamped into the metal. He found the magazine release, checked the weapon was loaded, then snapped the magazine back into place, and set the gun on the desk.
He peered into the drawer, looking for the holster and found a vest-like shoulder holster instead of the leg holster he was used to. It took him a few minutes to sort out the straps, but once he had it on and the straps adjusted, Rodney holstered the Colt and grimaced.
"How do people stand wearing these things?" he grumbled as the butt of the gun rubbed the underside of his arm.
Two additional magazines held in loops under his right arm helped counter the weight of the pistol held snug under his left arm. The Colt was heavier than his Beretta, and he was still fiddling with the gun and the holster's straps when Talia returned.
"Katie found the address for us," she announced as she entered the office. She glanced at Rodney and smiled. "Doing okay, Boss?"
Rodney stopped tugging on one of the straps and shrugged into the suit jacket draped over the leather chair. "Fine. What did Katie say?"
"She thinks this is the address for the phone number," Talia replied, holding up a slip of paper.
Rodney took the paper and glanced at the address. "845 Hudson Street, number 204."
"Only a few blocks from Carlton Blake's clinic," Talia added.
Rodney nodded and picked up the picture of Carlton. Where the hell is Hudson Street? he wondered.
He absently tried to stuff the picture into his inside jacket pocket but stopped when he felt something large and made of leather already in the pocket. He frowned, pulled out the object, and realised it was a large, flat, leather wallet. He opened it with a curious frown and checked its contents. The wallet held a variety of currency bills and a few other scraps of paper.
Rodney placed the picture of Carlton inside the wallet, replaced the wallet in the jacket pocket, and turned to Talia.
"So, Hudson Street, right." Rodney glanced out the window. "Hudson Street. That would be …" He peered up and down the street.
Talia sighed. "Three blocks north and five west."
"Right. Of course. I knew that," Rodney replied, turning away from the window.
Talia rolled her eyes.
"I'll, umm, go see what the people on Hudson Street can tell me about Carlton and the night he left. You, umm …"
"I'll stop by Carlton's clinic," Talia told him. "Talk to his staff. Find out more about this alleged accident and if anyone has heard from Blake since he disappeared."
"Good, Yes. Umm, do that."
Talia tied the scarf over her hair and pulled on her coat. "I should be back in a couple of hours," she said. "We can compare notes and then decide where to look next." She picked up her handbag, nodded to Rodney, and left the office.
Rodney waited until she was gone, then took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. "Let's get this over with," he muttered.
He felt a tiny thrill in his stomach as he reached for the trench coat and fedora hanging on the coat rack. His situation was precarious at best, he knew, but he couldn't help but feel excited that he was actually working on a case.
Just like Bogart in The Big Sleep, he thought as he shrugged into the coat, set the hat on his head at an angle, and opened the office door.
The hallway outside the office was deserted. A few other doors lined the hallway leading back to the elevator. Each door had a number nailed above the lintel. Rodney glanced up and noted that the office number was '5'.
The door across the hall had a crooked '6' over it. Rodney tried the door, found it locked, and crept down the hallway. The floor creaked, but he didn't hear any noises from the other offices he passed.
"Wonder where everyone is," he said as he walked down the hall.
He found an old-fashioned birdcage elevator at the end of the hall, glanced at the cable drum, the worn cable, and the counterweight, and backed away from the sliding metal grate across the opening.
"Stairs," he muttered, turning to the staircase winding around the elevator shaft.
He pushed through the building's outer door a few moments later and flinched when the wind blew a stinging drizzle into his face. Rodney buttoned the coat, turned up the collar against the drippy weather, and looked up and down the street. Talia had already disappeared into the bustle of men and women crowding the pavement. The vehicle traffic was about the same, and Rodney winced as a car ran the traffic light to the chorus of multiple disgruntled horns.
Rodney joined the throng of pedestrians and followed Talia's directions to find Hudson Street. The farther he walked from the office, the more the pedestrian traffic thinned. Instead of relaxing once he was away from the press of people, Rodney felt his back muscles tighten as he crossed the last northern intersection and turned to his left.
He glanced behind him but didn't see anyone who looked like they were purposely following him. "This place is making you paranoid," he muttered.
Rodney hunched his shoulders and kept walking. He felt another shiver up his spine, and it took him a moment to realise his problem wasn't the drizzle or the biting wind. It was that he was walking into a potentially dangerous situation without the rest of his team.
No Teyla, with her wealth of local knowledge, leading the way.
No Ronon watching their back trail, ready to defend him against an attack.
No Sheppard watching for anything out of place that would signal they were walking into a trap.
"This isn't like the movies," Rodney reminded himself. "Philip Marlowe is a fictional character, and Humphrey Bogart was an actor."
He glanced behind him and thought he saw someone duck into a doorway. He stopped and stared at the doorway, but when he didn't see any movement, he kept walking.
"This was a stupid idea. You're going to get yourself killed." He checked his backtrail several more times, didn't see anyone, hunched his shoulders, and walked a little faster.
By the time he found Hudson Street, he was the only one on the pavement, and the streets were empty of vehicles. He hadn't seen anyone following him and chalked up the continued feeling of being watched to nerves.
Brownstones lined both sides of the street. Children played in the street, and Rodney passed several people standing or sitting on the steps leading up to the building's front doors. The wind shifted, and Rodney wrinkled his nose when he caught the scent of salt water and dead fish mixing with various cooking smells emanating from the open windows above him.
Building 845 sat in the middle of the block. Rodney climbed the seven steps to the door, glanced up and down the street, then knocked. No one answered, and after a second unanswered knock, he tried the handle. The knob turned, and after a brief hesitation, Rodney stepped into a small atrium. Three closed doors lined the walls between him and the staircase at the opposite end of the hall.
"Hello?" Rodney called.
An old man opened the door to Rodney's right. "Keep it down. People are trying to live in peace around here."
"Oh, umm, sorry," Rodney replied. He walked over to the man. "I'm looking for umm, number 204?"
The man looked Rodney up and down, then sniffed. "What are you supposed to be? Bill collector?"
Rodney looked down at the trench coat and his polished shoes spotted with rain. "No, umm, private investigator. I'm looking for -"
"Don't want to know," the man interrupted. "204 is up the stairs and down the hall to the right. If anyone asks, I ain't never seen you before." The old man shut the door in Rodney's face.
"Right," Rodney muttered and stepped back from the door. "Thanks."
He turned and walked toward the stairs. The faded red carpet was worn through in places, and the steps creaked as he climbed up to the second-floor landing.
Four more doors lined the second-floor hallway, and Rodney found 204 at the end of the hall.
He knocked and waited.
A man an inch or so taller than he was, wearing a dirty white t-shirt and black trousers, opened the door. "Yeah?"
"Oh, umm," Rodney stuttered as the man glared at him. "I'm looking for Carlton Blake. I was given -"
"Ain't no one here with that name."
The man started to shut the door, but Rodney stuck his foot between the door and the frame. "Look. I know what's going on," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "His sister hired me. She's been worried about him since she called here the other night looking for him."
The man shook his head. "Ain't no one called here lookin' for a Carlton Blake, female or otherwise."
Rodney frowned. "That doesn't make sense. I traced the phone number he gave his sister to this address. He has to be here."
He glanced up and down the hall and stepped closer to the door. The smell of alcohol and stale cigarettes wafted across his face, and Rodney tried not to gag. "You and he can trust me. I'm here to help."
"I'm only gonna say this one more time," the man growled. "Ain't no Carlton Blake here." He pushed against the door. "I suggest you move that foot before you lose it."
Rodney jerked his foot clear of the door jam, and the man slammed the door in his face.
The door opposite opened, and Rodney saw a mousy woman peer through the crack.
"I don't suppose you know where I can find Carlton Blake?" he asked with a hopeful smile.
The woman shook her head and quickly closed her door.
"Great," Rodney sighed and walked back toward the stairs. "Talia sent me on a wild goose chase."
He exited the building and grimaced. The drizzle had turned into a light shower. He pulled the fedora lower and noted that the street was deserted other than himself and another man standing a few stoops away.
"Nothing suspicious about that," he grumbled.
He glanced behind him, keeping one eye on the other man as he walked back up the street toward the intersection. The man followed a few paces behind, and Rodney was ready to turn and confront the man when he abruptly turned and entered one of the brownstones.
Rodney blew out a relieved breath and walked a little faster.
"Elspeth must have written the number down wrong," he muttered as he walked. "Or Talia's friend, Katie, got the address wrong."
He stared at the brownstones lining the street. Was Carlton hiding inside one of them? he wondered and hoped Talia had had better luck with the people at the clinic.
He was a few steps away from the intersection when two men stepped around the corner and blocked his path. Both wore dark pinstripe suits. The one on Rodney's left was tall, almost as tall as Ronon, and wore a black hat, while the one on Rodney's right was closer to his height and wore a white hat.
Idiot, Rodney mentally chastised. You knew that guy on the stoop looked suspicious. He was probably a spotter for these two.
"You ain't from around here," Black Hat said, poking Rodney in the chest.
"Umm, no," Rodney replied and tried to ease his way around the two men. "So I'll just be going."
Black Hat smirked and shoved Rodney back a few steps. "We didn't say you could leave."
Rodney sighed. Some things never changed, he grumbled to himself.
"Look, I don't want any trouble -"
"Oh, but we do," White Hat said with an evil grin. "You ain't goin' anywhere until you pay the toll."
Rodney shook his head and stepped around the men. "I don't have time for this. Go find someone else to play with."
"I don't think you understand," Black Hat growled, grabbing Rodney's arm.
Rodney squirmed out of the hold and backed up until he bumped into the brick building behind him. "I'm warning you," he tried to bluff. "You really don't want to do this."
"Oh, I think we do," White Hat said. He glanced at his buddy and smiled. "And I think what you need to pay just doubled. Grab him, Maxie!" He closed on Rodney's position while Maxie came up on Rodney's left.
Rodney swallowed as the two men stalked toward him. He glanced up and down the street, hoping someone would see what was happening and intervene. He saw someone duck into the space between two stoops, but the rest of the street was deserted.
Not good, Rodney thought, reaching for the Beretta that wasn't there.
"Watch it, Maxie," White Hat warned. "Guy might be strapped."
"Just means more loot for us," Maxie replied and swung a wild punch at Rodney's head.
Rodney ducked and winced when he heard Maxie's fist slam into the brick wall.
Maxie backed off, shaking his hand, and Rodney smiled when he saw Maxie's scraped knuckles.
His satisfaction was short-lived, however, as the momentary distraction allowed White Hat to attack. Rodney saw the fist aimed at his face too late to avoid it, and the punch hit him in the jaw.
Rodney staggered until his back hit the brick wall, and he pressed his fingers to his split lip.
White Hat came at him again, and Rodney let instinct take over. He swung his fist at White Hat's nose, and to his surprise, as much as White Hat's, his punch landed. Rodney heard a satisfying crunch as blood flowed from White Hat's broken nose.
White Hat staggered back, holding one hand to his nose. "You'll pay for that," he growled, but the threat lost most of its bite thanks to the nasal whine.
Rodney didn't wait to see what the two men would do next. He ran across the street, nearly getting hit by a car barreling through the intersection. He heard a screech of tires, turned, and glanced behind him.
Maxie slapped the hood of the car with one hand and pointed his gun at the driver.
White Hat kept one hand pressed to his bloody nose, waved his weapon at the driver, and yelled, "Hey! You know who we are?"
Rodney couldn't hear the driver's reply but saw the man shake his head and raise his hands.
Maxie aimed his gun at the driver as he and White Hat charged past the car blocking their way.
"There he is!" White Hat shouted, pointing at Rodney.
Rodney turned and ran faster. He heard running footsteps pounding behind him and panted as he forced his legs to move.
Keep going, he ordered himself as he looked for a place to hide. He spotted an alley ahead and to his right, and with a last glimpse behind him, bounced off the wall as he turned into the narrow opening.
A dumpster stood against the side of a building a few meters from the entrance. Rodney collapsed on the far side of the dumpster and tried not to gag on the smell of rotting garbage emanating from the metal container.
He curled his knees against his chest, trying to make himself more inconspicuous, leaned against the brick wall, and tried to catch his breath.
Who were those guys? he wondered and felt his swollen lip. Friends of Johnny P? Kosta? Some other two-bit criminal? "You've been here less than a day, and you're already racking up enemies at a stunning pace," he muttered.
He heard running footsteps and peeked through the crack between the dumpster and the wall. Maxie and White Hat stopped at the mouth of his alley and looked up and down the street.
"Where did he go?" Maxie asked.
"Don't know," White Hat replied. He glanced into the alley, and Rodney held his breath. "We could try down here," White Hat said, pointing his gun down Rodney's alley.
Don't come this way, Rodney mentally chanted. Please don't come this way.
White Hat stepped into the alley, and Rodney readied himself to run.
"Cops!" Maxie hissed, grabbing White Hat's arm. "We gotta go. The boss don't want Kosta finding out about our operation yet."
White Hat peered down the alley, then holstered his weapon and followed Maxie across the street. Both men disappeared into the scattered pedestrian traffic, and Rodney blew out the breath he'd been holding.
A police car cruised past the alley a few seconds later. It never stopped, and Rodney waited several seconds until he was sure the coast was clear.
When he was sure no one was watching the alley, Rodney slowly stood, crept to the mouth of the alley and glanced up and down the street. He didn't see Maxie or White Hat and tried to look casual as he stepped out of the alley and joined the growing press of people on the pavement.
He stared at every passing vehicle or pedestrian with suspicion and kept his head on a swivel as he walked back to the office. How do Sheppard and Ronon do this? he wondered as he walked. Constantly on guard. Evaluating everything as a potential threat. He wasn't completely oblivious on missions, but now he was hyper-aware of everything around him.
The number of people and vehicles around him increased as he neared the area with his office. Rodney twisted his head to look behind him more often. He caught a glimpse of white in the crowd on the other side of the street and felt his stomach lurch.
"No, no, no," he muttered, stopping short and staring across the road.
"Watch where you're goin'," a man grumbled when he ran into Rodney.
"Umm, sorry," Rodney muttered.
The man glared as he passed Rodney and nearly ran down another woman as he hurried to the corner.
Rodney plastered himself against the front of the building, out of the way of the people milling up and down the pavement. He blew out a breath when he realised the speck of white across the street was only a woman's hat.
He rubbed his head and hurried the remaining two blocks to the office building. He reached the door without further incident, stopped, and carefully checked both sides of the street before quickly entering and climbing the stairs to the fourth floor.
He stopped, panting for breath when he reached the correct floor, and glanced at the metal cage beside him. "Maybe the elevator isn't that dangerous," he muttered.
He took a deep breath, then walked down the hall to the office. He entered, hung the trench coat and hat on the rack, tossed his suit jacket on one of the visitor chairs, and flopped into the leather chair behind the desk. "That was a complete bust," he muttered, pressing a finger to his swollen lip. "Some detective you are."
He leaned back in the chair, rested his head on the top of the seatback, and closed his eyes.
"The boss don't want Kosta finding out about our operation yet."
So Maxie and White Hat weren't working for Kosta, Rodney thought, fingering his swollen lip. Maybe it was just bad luck, he decided. Just a pair of street toughs, and they had nothing to do with Carlton's disappearance.
He sat with his eyes closed, listening to the bustle from the street four stories below until his breathing and heart rate slowed, and he felt himself drifting.
"None of that," he ordered, jerking himself awake. "Who knows what might come through that door next."
Rodney stood and paced from the desk to the window a few times, then sat behind the desk and considered what to do next. What would the detectives in those movies do? he wondered.
The problem was Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe had contacts. The bartender who heard everything and would talk about it over a drink or four. The street girls with a heart of gold, willing to help the hero when needed.
"Even Holmes had the Irregulars," Rodney muttered. "Hopefully, Talia had better luck at the clinic."
He glanced at his watch. He'd give Talia another hour, he decided and reached for the newspaper tucked under a file folder.
THIRD BODY PULLED FROM HARBOR
screamed the headline in large, bolded type across the top of the page. A grainy photo of a police boat nearing a dock followed under the headline.
Rodney started to read the article but stopped after the first few sentences when he heard the doorknob turning and saw a shadow against the frosted glass.
"Now what?" Rodney wondered. He dropped the paper and rested his hand on the butt of the pistol.
He felt his heart hammering in his chest as he watched the knob turn, suddenly feeling very alone without the rest of the team backing him up. He sucked in a nervous breath and stared at the door, ready to pull his pistol from the shoulder holster, when the door opened, and Talia entered.
Rodney blew out the breath and rested his hands on the desk. "Don't do that," he groused as Talia walked over to her desk, carrying a large bag.
"Boss?" Talia replied. She set the white bag on her desk, removed the scarf covering her hair, and dropped her handbag on her desk. She shrugged out of her coat and hung the coat and her scarf on the rack near the door.
"What's got you so jumpy?" she asked as she opened the white bag.
Rodney caught a whiff of warm roast beef and felt his stomach twinge. When was the last time he ate? he wondered.
"You're kidding, right?" Rodney rubbed a hand over his chin and winced when his fingers grazed his split lip.
Talia crossed to Rodney's desk and studied his face. "Johnny P do that?"
Rodney snorted. "No, this was courtesy of a different pair of thugs." Talia reached toward him, but Rodney moved his head. "It's fine."
Talia narrowed her eyes but stepped back, glancing at the newspaper. "I heard it was a woman this time."
"What?"
Talia nodded at the headline. "The body they found in the harbor this morning. It was a young woman. Cops think she worked at The Pegasus Club, so chances are, whoever killed her will never see the inside of a courthouse." She shook her head and wandered back to her desk.
"I really hope you brought enough for two," Rodney said, eyeing the bag as his stomach rumbled again.
"You would starve if not for me. You know that, right?" Talia replied as she reached into the bag.
She pulled out two squares wrapped in waxed paper, two wax-paper packets, and two bottles, set one of the wrapped squares, a packet, and a bottle on Rodney's desk, then opened his top desk drawer and found the bottle opener.
"Root beer?" Rodney asked, glancing at the label on the bottle.
Talia opened her bottle and handed Rodney the opener. "It's your favorite," she told him and returned to her desk.
Rodney stared at the colorful label, opened the bottle, and took a careful sip. The sweet yet smooth vanilla flavors rolled over his tongue, and Rodney took a longer drink. Definitely not the root beer he was used to, he thought, dropping the opener back in his desk drawer.
He set down the bottle, opened the square package and found a sandwich piled high with thin-sliced roast beef. The wax paper packet held fresh potato chips.
Rodney took a bite of the sandwich, swallowed, and glanced at Talia seated at her desk. "Umm, thanks," he said, holding up the sandwich.
"You're welcome," she replied, picking up her sandwich.
The hum of traffic from the street below wafted through the open window, punctuated by the occasional shout or car horn. Rodney glanced at the window and suddenly realised the noise had blended far enough into the background that it barely registered on him now.
"Did you find out anything on Hudson Street?" Talia asked as they ate.
"Other than the fact someone decided I was an easy mark," Rodney pressed his finger to his lip, "No. The address you gave me was a dead-end."
He finished the sandwich and chips, swallowed the last of the root beer, and tossed his trash in the can beside his desk.
"No one there had ever heard of Carlton Blake, so I really hope you had better luck at the clinic."
Talia finished her lunch and cleared away the sandwich wrapper and empty chip packet. "I have something. I'm just not sure what it means."
"Oh?" Rodney asked and sat forward with his arms resting on the desk.
Talia opened her handbag and took out a small notebook. She flipped open the little pad of paper and skimmed one of the pages. "Everyone I talked to at the clinic agreed that Carlton was a good man. He only charged what people could pay, and many of his patients paid him in trade."
Rodney shook his head. "Yes, Carlton is some sort of neighborhood saint. We knew that from his sister. How does that help us find him?"
Talia pursed her lips into a thin line and focused on the notebook.
"What?"
Talia closed the notebook and sat on the end of her desk. "It may be nothing," she said and hesitated.
Rodney rested his arms on the desk. "Not from the way you're acting, it isn't. Spit it out."
Talia stood and paced from her desk to the window and back again. "Everyone at the clinic seemed … tense."
"They are sitting in a doctor's office," Rodney said with a dismissive wave. "No one goes to a doctor unless something is wrong. Of course, they were tense."
Talia shook her head. "It was more than that," she replied. "The few men and women in the waiting room refused to make eye contact with anyone, and the nursing staff hesitated to speak to me. Even after introducing myself and explaining why I was there, they refused to say much." She looked at Rodney. "I think a few of them thought I was really working for Kosta. When I told them we'd been hired by Carlton's sister to find him and help him …" She paused and glanced at the empty visitor chair in front of Rodney's desk.
"Yes?" Rodney prompted.
Talia sighed. "They seemed surprised his sister would bother," she replied.
Had Jeannie tried to look for him after he left for Atlantis? Rodney wondered. He thought back to the video message he'd sent her and how she refused to accept it.
"Probably never even noticed I was gone," he muttered.
"Boss?" Talia asked.
"Nothing," Rodney replied. "So the clinic is a dead-end, too?"
"Maybe not," Talia replied. "Someone there knows -"
A tentative knock on the door stopped her.
Rodney glanced at the door. "Someone else who wants to take a swing at me?" he grumbled as his hand drifted toward the pistol.
"They don't usually knock," Talia replied with a smile.
"Oh, thanks for that."
Talia crossed the room and opened the door. "Hello," she said. "Can I help you?"
Rodney stood, slipped on his suit coat to hide the pistol, and moved until he saw two people standing outside the office.
The woman was young. Rodney didn't think she was more than twenty-one or twenty-two years old. She had brown hair pulled back from her face with a wide blue cloth band. Her plain wool coat was unbuttoned, and she wore a plain blue dress belted at her waist and matching shoes. A purse dangled from her arm.
An older man, wearing a rumpled brown suit, grasped her other arm in one hand and a wooden cane in his other. He quickly untangled his hand from the girl's arm as Talia spoke and removed his hat, revealing a bald pate with a white fringe near his ears.
Rodney noted the hand holding the hat was wrapped in a white bandage.
The girl glanced at Rodney, then focused on Talia. "My name is Sarah Mitchell," she said. "This is my grandfather, George Davies." She glanced at Rodney again, then spoke to Talia, "We were at the clinic this morning when you were asking about Doctor Blake."
Talia opened the door wider and motioned them into the office. "Please," she said.
Sarah hesitated, then entered the office. She led her grandfather over to the wooden visitor chairs in front of Rodney's desk, helped him sit, then sat in the other chair. She glanced at Rodney, and her eyes widened as she swallowed.
Rodney looked down, noticed the butt of the pistol was visible, and shifted his jacket as he sat behind the desk. "Umm, you have information about Doctor Blake?"
Sarah hesitated. "You really are looking for him to help him, yes?" she asked, looking first at Rodney and then at Talia.
"Yes," Talia replied. She moved her chair to the end of Rodney's desk and sat. "His sister is worried about him."
Mister Davies made a harumphing noise and shifted on his chair. "Let me say what I came here to say, little girl," he said to his granddaughter.
Sarah rested her hand on Davies' arm. "This could be dangerous," she whispered with a sideways glance at Rodney and the hidden pistol.
"I fought in a war, my dear," Davies replied. "I saw everything one man could do to another. Nothing much scares me anymore. Certainly not some young buck with a gun under his arm."
Sarah sighed. "We don't know these people. Grandpa. They could be lying."
Davies patted Sarah's hand. "I learned to size people up real fast in the army." He glanced at Talia, then gave Rodney a longer once-over. "These two are telling the truth. They want to help the Doc. Well, so do I. Now hush and let me do this."
Sarah hesitated, then nodded.
Rodney waited a moment, then leaned back in his chair. "Do you know where Doctor Blake is?" he asked Davies.
Davies eyed him again, then grasped the top of his cane with both hands. "No."
"Oh," Rodney replied and glanced at Talia. "Then what -"
"There was a car accident a few nights ago," Davies interrupted. "Over on Second Street."
Rodney raised his eyebrows and glanced at Talia. "There really was an accident?"
Talia nodded. "There was a report in the papers the next day. I didn't get a chance to show it to you."
Mister Davies scowled. "You gonna listen to what I have to say or not?"
"Apologies, Mister Davies," Talia said. "Please continue."
Davies sniffed. "Two young hotshots thought it would be fun to race each other. Too bad neither of them knew the first thing about driving their daddy's cars."
"What happened?" Rodney asked.
"What do you expect happened?" Davies retorted, "The road was wet from the rain, and they lost control. One of 'em hit a parked car, and the other jumped the pavement after clipping a light pole. Smashed up the front of his car when he hit a building." Davies shook his head. "Some investigator you are."
"Grandpa," Sarah admonished, "be nice."
"I owe that Doctor Blake a debt," Davies continued, ignoring Sarah.
"How so?" Talia asked.
Davies looked down at his feet. "I don't move as fast as I once did," he admitted, tapping the cane with one finger. "I barely got out of the way when that boy hit the lamppost. Fell." He rubbed the bandage covering his right hand. "Sprained my wrist and twisted my knee."
"And where does Doctor Blake fit in all of this?" Rodney asked.
"He's the one who patched me up," Davies replied. "Once the screamin' and noise stopped, I opened my eyes, and here's this young man kneelin' next to me, telling me I was going to be fine. He helped me sit up, checked me over, and told me I'd been lucky. The car had missed me by a foot at most."
Davies sniffed again. "I've got bruises all up and down my side. My wife was hysterical when I got home, and she saw how black and blue I was." Davies shook his head. "Anyway, this young man tells me he's a doctor and opens this battered bag at his feet. I wasn't too sure of him at first, never having seen him before, but he seemed to know what he was doing."
Davies paused and cleared his throat. "Could I get something to drink?" he asked, glancing at Talia.
Talia stood, poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the file cabinet, and handed it to him.
"Thank you, my dear," Davies said. He drank the water, set the empty glass on Rodney's desk, and shifted on the chair.
"As I was saying, Doc was kind and gentle, but I could tell something was wrong."
"Oh?" Talia said. "How so?"
"He was distracted. Nervous," Davies replied. "Kept glancing every which way while he's wrapping a bandage around my hand."
"Was he looking at anyone in particular?" Rodney asked.
Davies shook his head. "No, no, more like he was watching everything and everyone. I saw it during the war. Men hyper-aware of what's going on around them. Eyes always watching for something out of place. Anyway, he was almost done with my hand when he froze and stared across the street. I asked him what was wrong, but he just shook his head. He finished wrapping my hand and told me to see the nurses at his clinic. He handed me a card, picked up his bag, and bolted down the street."
"Did you see what it was that scared him?" Talia asked.
Davies pressed a hand to his forehead. "Maybe." He took a deep breath and continued, "There was a man across the street. Seemed real interested in everything going on." Davies shuddered. "He saw me, and I swear I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Haven't had a feeling like that since the war."
Sarah squeezed his uninjured arm. "Grandpa?"
Davies smiled and patted her hand. "I'm all right, child."
"What did this man look like?" Talia asked after a brief silence.
"He was stayin' out of the streetlights," Davies replied. "Didn't get a good look at him." He rubbed a finger over his chin. "I'd say he was average height, wearing a dark overcoat, and he had his hat pulled low over his forehead." He gripped the cane tighter. "It was his eyes, though." Davies took a deep breath. "Predatory. He was hunting. Doctor Blake took one look at him, and I felt his hands start to shake as he finished wrappin' my hand."
"Did he follow Blake when he left?" Rodney asked.
"He tried," Davies said. "But there was people millin' all over the place. Cops, rubber-neckers. Them two boys were carted off in ambulances soon after the doc ran off. The man ducked down an alley. I didn't see him again."
"I don't suppose you saw where Carlton went?" Rodney asked.
Davies shook his head. "I glanced across the street, saw the man watching us, and by the time I turned back, Doctor Blake had vanished." He stood and looked down at Rodney. "I don't know what Doctor Blake is mixed up in, but he's a good man. He didn't have to help me. Even with all them people millin' around, no one else even bothered to see if I was still alive, much less care that I was injured." He held out his hand to Rodney. "You need to find him and help him. Promise me you'll do that. It's the least I can do for the doc."
Rodney stood and shook Davies' hand. "That's the plan."
Davies studied Rodney's face, then nodded and turned to Sarah. "All right, my girl. Time we got home before your grandmother starts to fret."
Talia walked Davies and Sarah to the door. "You'll let us know if you find him?" Davies asked, handing Talia a card. "I want to thank him for what he did that night."
Talia took the card, nodded, and opened the door. "We'll tell Doctor Blake how you helped with our investigation and give him your card."
Davies shook Talia's hand, nodded to Rodney, and left with Sarah.
Talia closed the door, returned to her desk, and said, "Well? What do you think?"
Rodney grabbed his overcoat and hat from the rack near the door. "I think we need to make a visit to Second Street. See if someone there remembers seeing Carlton running away and where he went."
Talia picked up her notebook and flipped through the pages.
"Are you coming?" Rodney asked, impatience coloring his tone.
"You go ahead," Talia replied. "There's something I want to look into."
Rodney stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "What?"
"Our client," Talia told him.
Rodney stared in surprise. "You're kidding."
'You weren't there," Talia replied, looking up from her notebook. "Those people at the clinic know something, and I think it behooves us to find out what."
Rodney waved his hand and reached for the door. "Whatever. I'll meet you back here in a few hours."
"Just be careful," Talia said.
"You too," Rodney replied.
"Don't worry about me, Boss." Talia hiked up the hem of her skirt a couple of inches and showed Rodney the pistol she had strapped to her leg.
"Umm, right," Rodney stuttered.
Talia narrowed her eyes and dropped her skirt. "Try not to get beaten up this time," she told him.
"Funny," Rodney retorted, pulling the door open. "Remember, Johnny P wants his money by the end of the week. If Elspeth fires us for snooping into her life instead of her brother's, we're going to have a big problem."