My name is Leonard Johnson. Friends call me Leonard, enemies call me Mr Johnson, clients call me Mr Johnson, and the people at Readers Digest called Mrs Jo-Anne Sonne.
I am a private dick, so I am not well liked.
I remember the first time Fraser entered the office: It was a wet Thursday afternoon and stepped from the street looking like he’d just been spat out by a washing machine. He took a space at my desk and told mr his story. It was the usual, a dame had walked out on him without some much as a trace and he was looking for her. Despite my insisting it was just a one night stand, he insisted otherwise. It was business and it was important he find her. She was a visiting diplomates daughter and had last been seen at the steps below the water tower. He set a good fee so I took on the case.
He gave me a list of the places they had gone and I went to the first one on the list. It was a run-down gin-joint just on the rightside of the slums called ‘Smokey Joes’, now this was the sort of place you would visit if you were of higher social standing and felt the need to rough it and see how the other half lived, but didn’t really want to visit a place detrimental to your long term health. ‘Smokey Joes’ was the sort of place where the worst you likely to get would be to pick the tab of a few hustlers or realise that you had given cash free board one of the little missys claiming to be from the local college. People here aren’t too keen on interlopers and they operate a strict “no questions asked policy” unless that question is “can I have another drink?”
Genre Challenge: Private Detective