“That’s what I hoped you’d say.” Around us, the others have moved to the doors, and we have the gallery mostly to ourselves. “I need a small favor. Is it too early to ask?”
“Not at all. Are you aware how payment works here?”
“No.”
He nods. “Simple enough. With Greenstone, we take a cut, but favors of a personal nature are strictly quid pro quo. Something of commensurate size at a future time of my choosing. Which is this?”
“Personal,” I confirm. “But I’m hoping this one should be straightforward.”
“What is it you need?”
I hesitate for only a brief moment, then tell him.
Eight
Vicky
Carol works from home on Tuesday, relegating me to my bedroom. I sit on my bed with my back against the wall, my laptop on my knees, and within two hours I’m aching everywhere.
But I have work. Projects. Money building up that will be paid (eventually).
My own fledgling business sprouting little feathered wings and taking its first cautious flight from the nest.
The lawyers at Heather, Mercer and Lowry are a delight to work with. Responsive, polite, and unstinting in their admiration for my work ethos and speed of delivery, so far. It gives me the encouragement to throw hours into it—that, and the only alternative is going for a run.Not appealing when it’s raining heavily outside my window.
Early afternoon, Carol raps lightly on my door and opens it, poking her head around. “Ah, good. You’re not on a call or naked. Something’s come up. Coffee and a chat?”
“Sure.” I set my laptop down, amused at the chaos that is my roomie in certain moods. It feels good to stretch, and I press knuckles into my lower back as I pad barefoot into the kitchen.
The kettle’s already hissing quietly, and Carol’s pulling mugs out of the cupboard. The detritus of her last six cups waits by the sink; she clearly doesn’t believe in re-using the same one.
“What’s up?”
“Possibly a new client for you, if you’ve got the bandwidth?”
I hop up onto the counter, swinging my legs. “When you’re in my position, the answer’s absolutely yes, even if it means no weekends or sleep. I can’t afford to say no to anything.”
“Apparently a woman came into us two weeks ago, looking for a PI. Franklin turned her down, but I’ve just seen the notes on what she was asking for, and it’s got your name all over it.”
“How so?”
“Well, uh… I guess you’d call it a welfare check investigation.”
My excitement fades. “Carol… that’s not me. I do documented trails and interviews, not surveillance and subject monitoring.”
“I know that, but wait. First, she’ll pay a retainer,okay?”
“For domestic stuff? That’s unusual.”
Carol nods, eyes dancing with enthusiasm. “Second, it’s the client’s sister that’s the subject.”
I grimace, hissing in a breath. “A personal case. Those get really messy fast.”
“You haven’t heard third.”
“Go on, then,” I say, resigned.
“The sister’s married to a man who works at Northbridge Capital.”
