Page 85 of Space Oddities

Twenty-One

Cuff Check List

Ian

I havefour letters of complaint mentally prepared and ready to go for the Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia transportation departments. The four states I drove through during my 800-mile road trip last night. Though I should probably make it five and send one to Texas, as the drive through Houston wasn’t all glitter and rainbows either.

Between the lane closures, detours, and reduced speed limits due to road construction, I didn’t reach Atlanta until three in the morning. It was a long drive that was exacerbated by all the works calls and meetings I had to attend by phone. Plus the hundreds of emails I answered whenever I stopped for gas or food.

My head had barely hit the hotel’s pillow when my alarm went off.

A shower and five cups of coffee later, I’m feeling somewhat capable as I pull into Gary Ranos’ office parking lot located next to an abandoned Blockbuster building.

That’ll take you back.

The Audi bottoms out in a pothole I failed to see, and the hard shock jars both the suspension and my back. I used to love my car— the speed, the luxury. But as I swing the door open and get out, my muscles and bones creaking like they’re twenty years older, I have an urge to burn it.

I head toward the door that readsGary Ranos, Discreet Inquiries,where a flickering neon light depicting an eyeball wearing a fedora blinks in the window.

Atlanta weather isn’t much different than Houston weather—hot and humid. The only thing I have going for me is it’s before noon, so it isn’t sweltering yet.

The door chimes when I enter. “Hello?”

No one answers.

Something bangs from an office door behind the empty receptionist’s desk, followed by a curse and then the door swinging open and crashing against the wall.

“Kincaid?” A small man with a large mustache blinks at me.

“Uh, yes. That’s me.” I close the door behind me and reassess my previous opinion of the private eye. I’m not sure I should trust a man whose facial hair is wider than his face.

“Come on back.” Without waiting, he turns and walks into the office. “You must’ve caught an early flight.”

I step into the small room. “I drove.” A large window provides an amazing view… the cement wall of the abandoned video store.

He stops in front of his desk, his eyes frowning. His mouth probably is too, but I can’t tell with the mustache. “You drove?”

“Yes.” He has one of thoseAChristmas Storylamps, the ones with the net stocking leg and tassel shade, standing in the corner.

“Why the hell would you drive?”

When I answer him with only a stare, he raises his hands in apology. “Never mind, none of my business.” He shrugs. “Rich people do crazy shit all the time, I guess.”

“Rich people?” I clear the metal fold-out chair in front of his desk of manila folders and sit down. “So you know who I am?”

I’m not sure if the look he gives me is supposed to seem superior or offended, but to me it comes off as stupid. “Well duh, it’s what I do.”

I can’t remember the last time someone “duh’ed” me.

“Son of a judge, now son of a senator.” Ranos whistles, the bristles of his mustache fluttering in the wind. “Patty’s got good taste in men.”

A tilt of my head is all it takes for him to duck his head over his desk. “Sorry, sorry, that was uncalled for.” He rearranges the files on his desk into some organizational system that only a hoarder could understand. “You’re not the only one with no sleep, you know. Stayed up all night doing the research you asked for.”

Yesterday, after I had packed my bag and hit the road, I called Ranos and told him I’d be in town today. Paid him a lot of money in advance for him to get together all the information he could on the Mitchells and the supposed theft for me by this morning.

Picking up the file that was sitting on top of his mess the entire time, he shakes it. “And you’re going to beveryinterested in what I found.” He hands it to me over the precarious piles of papers.

Sitting back, I flip through it. My blood pressure rises with each page turn.

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