They exited into East 42nd Street, heading towards Bryant’s Park. Her pace had slowed once they left the confines of the Station. At the crossing, he noticed she took a long look in every direction while waiting for the traffic lights.
He didn’t speak. He decided to wait until she told him what she wanted with him. In the meantime, He pondered how she could know who he was. He had never seen her before, didn’t think he knew anyone who would know her, and to find him in the phone book was near impossible.
As soon as they crossed Madison Avenue she said, “I need you to do a job for me. A thousand dollars, half now, half when you report back. It should only take you 24 hours, 48 at most.”
That initial euphoria of getting his first major case suddenly wore off with the news it was not going to be as her thought. 24 to 48 hours? Surely it couldn’t be another lost cat?
He tried to keep the disappointment out of his tone. “What would you like me to do?”
She stopped, and he nearly crashed into her. Way to make a good impression, he thought.
“I have a lying, cheating, son of a bitch husband. I need you to get the evidence he’s cheating. A photo will suffice. He’ll be at a bar called the Mailman, near Brooklyn Bridge Park, after 8 pm.”
“How will I know him?”
“He’ll be the one with the red-haired floozy hanging off him.”
She took an envelope out of her handbag and handed it to him. A glance inside, a wad of the twenties.
A car stopped at the curb and the rear door opened. Harry glanced in the direction of the car, but the figure who opened the door was just out of sight so he couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.
He turned his attention back to the woman.
She handed him a piece of personalized paper, with a name and phone number on it. “Call me as soon as you have the evidence.” She didn’t wait for an answer, got into the car, and it was gone before he could say, “Thank you.”
He looked at the note she’d handed him.
A name, Jennifer Jones, and a cell number. That was it.
The job, a photo of a cheating husband, the one, she said, who would have a red-haired floozy hanging off him. What were the odds it was a fancy dress night and every man in the bar would have a red-haired floozy?
It would be just his luck.
In the car, Jennifer turned to her traveling companion, another woman, her sister-in-law.
“What did you think?” the other woman asked.
“He’ll fit the bill. I’m not sure what Al will think of him, but he’s not like the others.”
“Good. That’s phase 1 complete.”
© Charles Heath 2016-2018
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