I was sick of playing games with this dame. She knew something. She was trying to cross those lovely stems in a way to distract me. I can't say that it was unpleasant, but it wasn't going to work. Not now that I'm this far in. Even if I don't get the rest of my fees, even if I hated the client -which I do- I had to find out what happened to Henry Snow.
"Just call me West." I said this as I stuck out my hand to shake that of a man named Oswald Nevin. We exchanged the usual how-do-you-do's and I offered him the chair in front of my desk. "What can I do for ya?" I asked, as I leaned back in my chair and displayed my feet on the desk.
"Well, Mr. West,"
"No Mr."
"Oh, o.k. then. As I was saying, uh, West" I nod in approval, he looked like he needed it.
"I need you to find someone."
"Oh? And who is it that you need me to find?"
"His name is Henry Snow."
"How do you know this Snow fellow?"
"He was a really good friend of mine in school."
I knew he was lying. "Old schoolmate huh?"
"Yes. It's very important that I find him."
"Why?"
"I'd rather not say."
Something smelled fishy and it wasn't my lunch. I thought I'd play along anyway. I hadn't had a good missing persons job in a while. Hell, to be honest, I hadn't had any good jobs in weeks. Only the maid-stole-my-silverware jobs, and those made me want to kill myself. Oswald Nevin was figety and sweating. Something about this guy didn't sit right with me. I thought I should find out more about him before I look too far for Snow. He agreed to my fees and wrote me a cheque. We stood, motioned polite, and I showed him the door.
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2 comments:
A perfectly good beginning of something. Looks like somebody's been hiding some serious Noir skills. Keep it up. I'd like to see where this goes.
Thanks. This is what happens when you're bored at lunch and you've just finished reading an amazing noir novel "Falling Angel" by William Hjortsberg (afuckingmazing!!).
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