I ordered a drink and waited with long-suffering patience as Rory strutted along the back of the bar doing another of his gangster imitations. I had not been able to contact Jarmon, and I was beginning to worry that I never would. Carleton Smithee was no easier.

The rest of my day had proven fruitless; unreturned calls, snotty desk clerks, blank stares and the usual lame excuses from my mechanic so by dinnertime, here I was at the Howden, listening to Rory's lousy imitations.

"I'll have the beef sandwich and fries," I said, setting my hat on the stool beside me.

"Saaay wise guy, you give'n me orders? I don't take no orders from anyone, seee, yeah. Nobody tells Rocco what to do, yeah, seee."

"Any time Rory."

"It's Rocco, seee, yeah."

"Okay, Rocco, I'll have a vodka and lime while I'm waiting."

He plopped a glass in front of me and shoved a dish of peanuts down the bar. "So, C.W. Private Eye, what's up? Did you see Jill?"

"Yeah. Nice kid... well not a kid any more but still nice." The drink burned a little on the way down reminding me I hadn't eaten since breakfast; lunch was forgettable.

"But not too helpful?" He worried a stain on the counter top with his bar rag.

"Some, but not her fault. I honest to god just don't know what I'm doin' on this case. The guy I'm supposed to follow, I spotted once. I know he's foolin' around 'cause his wife told me and I met the dame - I think. I've also met, well at least seen, the accountant for my client's father's firm - there's a story - and as well there's the lawyer who I saw Jill about, who also works there. And who is boffing the accountant's wife, a real, 'dangerous in a dark alley' type. It's a mess."

"I don't follow any of that, but you're startin' to sound a little out of your weight class."

"Yeah? Well it's a heavy bloody mental load."

"But the money's good." Rory winked and stepped back, in case I swung at him. "Listen, when you first came in here cheering about your new case, you said she wanted you to tell him to cool the cheating until the end of the month. Okay you haven't been able to do that, but you found the broad and told her, so just call it over and collect your bread."

He wiped some more of the bar. "Christ, Christopher, you might wear the Alan Ladd hat but you're no more than this jerk for hire."

"I have to speak to the guy, Rory, I can't even find out where the hell he is! And telling the broad doesn't guarantee squat. My impeccable intuition aside, I need something like proof to back up what I do...did...done—shit!"

I gave him a dirty look, accompanied by Sigourney's finger salute. "What if I'm wrong? What if there's someone else, a different woman?"

"So what if there is? Does it matter?"

I gaped at him in exasperation. "That's the bloody problem, Rory, I don't know! And yes, it matters... I think."

"Too much information, Christopher. Take the money and run, what's she gonna do, sue you? Not likely."

We sat in silence for a while, occasionally floating an idea or some extraneous thought, while Rory moved up and down the bar as service required, and I sat moping into my drink. I knew now why I didn't like domestics. I hated getting pictures or coercing confessions from involved parties.

Normally I would have sourced the business out, taken my cut and wrapped the whole thing up, but something about the fact that all these people were connected to Bravo Consulting really bothered me; stirred my curiosity. It was so- so... Daphne du Maurier.

"Maybe this is more than just a simple cheating husband gig." Rory dragged his rag down the bar, sopping up condensation rings from spent drinks. "Maybe somehow the company is involved... a stock thing or some power play for control. Wadda ya think?"

I looked at him and thought what a stupid ass I was. Of course! He was right. With all this other stuff happening around these people there absolutely must be something else going down. "So you really think there could be more to it?" I blurted, without thinking.

Rory moved down the bar then turned and came back, shoulders rolling slightly forward, skin pulled tight on his face and one hand brushing past his nose. "How long yu bin in thu navy, soljur?"

"Don't," I held up a hand and slid off the stool, "don't try John Wayne, please, or at least try a new line."

With my pre-eminently investigative mind on rev, I knew that the only way to stir the nest was to poke the stick in the main opening, in this case, Jarmon Wyatt - kind of reverse his own actions. It should have been my first accomplished objective. I pulled out my phone and punched in the number yet again. The voice that answered my call sounded at best shaken and at worst, stirred. I couldn't believe I'd finally got through.

When I described the reason for my call, he muttered something unintelligible, swore aloud, saying he didn't care and bravely invited me to come over anytime. I hung up, weighing the advisability of going then, when he sounded more than a little drunk, or going the next day. Next day won, only because I had forgotten to get an address.

I studied my image in the lobby window, dubiously adjusting my hat. You're a useless wonk, Wallace. Tomorrow I'd worry about that, besides, I was starving, and I threatened Rory with an impression of my own if my sandwich didn't come soon.

●○●○●○●○●

Bernie splashed another extra large dollop of whiskey into his glass and immediately drained it, clenching his teeth and squinting as the fiery liquid drilled a hole to his stomach. He paced over to the picture window framing a spectacular view of the city and its lights, twinkling like coloured gems against the black, night sky. He sipped at the dregs from his glass and mused about Jorge, about the benign attitude when reporting about wanting to work someone over.

"Jorge, Mr. Devers won't be much use to me in hospital."

The man pursed his skinny lips together and canted his head slightly. "If the hospital was necessary, believe me, he'd be there now. I simply accentuated your request for payment." Bernie bit his lip. "I asked after his wife. I'll get your money." The accompanying chortle was pure evil.

Bernie asserted himself once again. "You understand, we can't have people welching on their debts, but neither can we risk any police interventions." He nodded at his own warning and added, "Nothing that will give us legal trouble, Jorge. I've endured more than my share of that."

"It's a risky business we're in, boss."

Bernie looked at him confounded. Was this guy for real? It's a risky business? "Maybe you could just continue to infer a threat to Mrs. Devers, sometimes that shakes the fruit loose from the tree." Bernie paused, he liked that analogy. Yeah. The fruit from the tree.

"I can give it a shot. Maybe even speak directly to her."

"Hmmm, let's see how it goes. Just be discrete, Jorge. I won't tolerate any police intervention."