A Small Gray Dot

I liked having an occasional break from working as it allowed me a quiet stretch for writing, something I’d taken up again. But, I was getting antsy because it was a couple of months since my last case and I was getting low on cash. I was hoping something would turn up soon else, I would have to take on an odd job or two. Like dishwashing.

The guy walked into my office and introduced himself as Abe Harlow, and plunked a hog-choking bundle of green down on my desk. His promise of an equally as fat stack when the job was done got my interest right off. He said his wife got mad at him and left him for another man. He swore he loved her and just wanted her to come home so they could talk and work things out. I’d heard such stories before and it was unnecessary information that wouldn’t influence whether or not I would take the job, but I listened politely.

After I found his estranged wife, it proved to be one of those cases in which the sought after wanted to remain unfound. I informed the client that she declined to return, and gave him the letter she asked me to take to him. It bought me a broken nose.

Harlow, a man in his mid to late forties, lived on the outskirts of a town about ninety miles from Charlotte, in one of the crappy little temporary huts the government put up for people who’d been displaced because of flooding a few years back. It was my guess he’d continued to stay there because it was free. Except for him, everyone had moved on and all but a few of the empty huts deconstructed and removed. The area was pretty isolated but the fact that no one else was around didn’t faze me. I’d visited clients under similar circumstances before.

He didn’t ask me in when I knocked at his door. I got a quick look before he stepped out and closed it, and from the glimpse I got of its condition, I didn’t blame him for not wanting anybody to see inside.

He directed me into the front yard where I gave him the information. He tore open the envelope and scanned the letter his wife sent. I never open and read the letters given me to take back, so I don’t know what was in it, but whatever it was, he didn’t take it well.

He began frowning as he read, then he crumpled the letter and hurled it across the yard. Then he became enraged.

His eyes flew to mine. “Oh you gonna tell me where she is, you little fucker!” he shouted his face turning red. “You ain’t gitting shit else ‘til you do!”

I suppose I should’ve backed up but I didn’t. I said calmly, “Sir, I will remind you that according to our agreement all that was required was that I find her, not bring her back or even tell you where she is. Now—”

He punched me in the nose. I staggered back but quickly steadied myself. My ears rang, and my nose hurt like hell, but at the last moment, I’d seen the punch coming so I’d managed to jerk my head back thus mitigating some of its force. I gave a quick shake to clear my head. I was alert. I was also pissed. I hated getting interrupted mid-word.

He stood there screaming and waving his arms around. “I know she ain’t got no money – what’d she do, fuck you to keep you quiet? Bitch ain’t nothin’ but a goddam slutty whore! You might as well git to talking, old man, ‘cause I’m gonna beat your ass ‘til you do, you—”

I shot him in the foot.

Dumb bastard. You don’t bash someone in the face and then stand around hollering without following up.

Aside from the .357 Magnum I carried in a shoulder holster under my jacket, I’d taken Simon’s advice on keeping a secret weapon and kept a mini .45 attached to a spring release up one sleeve and a knife up the other. I’m fast and I’m strong but I’m not stupid enough to try and go toe-to-toe with someone twice my size while my head is ringing and with what might possibly be a broken nose, so I’d hit the release for the mini. He was lucky I only shot him in the foot.

He howled and fell on his ass and grabbed his foot. Then he fumbled at a pocket. I kicked him in the jaw and he went over like the sack of shit that he was. I reached down, sprinkling his blue plaid shirt with blood from my nose, and extracted the little 9mm he’d been trying get. I stuck it in one of my inner jacket pockets. I was only a little unsteady as I turned and clomped over to my nearby jeep, hauled out a rag from the back seat, and mopped my nose.

I leaned on the side of the vehicle watching him for a few minutes, then, since he was still dozing, I went over, patted him down for any other weapons, and confiscated a pocketknife. I left the bundle of money I found but took his keyring on which there were two identical keys. Both turned out to be for his pickup truck. This indicated the idiot kept his spare on the same ring.