The Source - Part 1

[Proteus]

I know, I know: I need to finish Placebo Effect. Also, some of you really want a sequel to Bulking. But this was an idea that built itself up, probably because I read the first Dresden Files book recently. Hopefully I'll find a way to manage my stories in a way that satisfies the readers.

Also, no growth in this part. Sorry.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | Epilogue

The Source

A Henry Himura Mystery

Part 1

My office was dimly lit by my banker’s lamp on my desk. I was reading an anthology of H. G. Wells’ short stories on my Kindle (I never pass up a free book, so long as it’s any good) in the golden light, but I was not getting very far. I kept rereading the same few sentences over and over again. My mind was unable to focus.

A knock on my door roused me from the repetitive strain of failing to read. It had to be Darnell. I saw the silhouette of an average-built man through the frosted glass inscribed with “H. Himura, Private Investigator.”

“Come in,” I said, with a little trepidation. Not that I was afraid of anything—my job had made me unphased to many situations that would frighten other people—I was just anxious because this might amount to nothing.

You see, business has been slow as of late. When Darnell called that afternoon, I was on my computer, going over my expenses; it did not look like I would be able to afford to rent the office much longer. The call had excited me at first, but something was fishy about it.

“You charge by the hour?” his suspicious voice inquired.

“Only if I get results,” I insisted.

“Are you good at following—at tracking people?”

“Sir,” I answered, “that’s most of my business.”

It was true. Most of what I do is not glamorous crime-solving, but finding the whereabouts of cheating partners.

“And you can be discrete? I don’t need any unwanted attention.”

“Discretion is my middle name.”

That’s not true.

“I need you to follow—to track someone for me.”

“Let me guess, your wife—your girlfriend?” (he sounded a little young to be married).

There was a short pause and I heard the ambient white noise of the line before he said, “Something like that.”

“Well, lucky for you, that’s practically my specialty.”

Another pause: “It’s my boyfriend.”

He let that sink in. I gave the moment some time to breath, but for his sake, not mine. It was no big deal in this day and age—besides, I was quite partial to the company of men myself.

He refused to give me any identifying information beyond his first name and would not let slip any details of his situation over the phone. He was being very paranoid for someone calling about infidelity; I have dealt with people afraid to say things over the phone before, but usually that was because it involved some illegal activity like insurance fraud or petty theft that they wished to go unnoticed by the authorities. He agreed to meet me at my office, but only at 8:30 pm—way later than I usually stay there.

But I obliged. Have I mentioned I’m kind of desperate for work?

Flash forward to that night. I switched off my Kindle’s screen and stowed it in the top drawer of my desk. The door swung open, creaking a bit (I really needed to take care of that). Into my office stepped a very good looking man with tanned skin and strong facial features. I guessed he was half-Black, based on his skin tone. I have a good sense for deciphering people’s heritages—I’m a quarter Japanese myself. It works almost like gaydar—somehow I can identify other biracial/mixed people. And not just the continent—I determined my best friend Jane’s pedigree down to the countries (German, Polish, and Czech).

“Darnell?” I asked.

He did not answer, but turned around to make sure the hallway was empty and closed the door. I winced, slightly embarrassed, as it creaked even louder on its way shut. He took one of the two folding chairs I placed out for clients and sat down, facing me with sharp, hazel eyes. He wore a dark blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and if the veins on his forearms were any indication, he was in good shape.

After an awkward moment I cleared my throat to break the tension. This prompted him to finally introduce himself.

“Hudson. Darnell Hudson,” he said, “I’d rather not give my full name but I think you will need all the information you can get.”

He was smart. I was getting a little turned on by this mystery man.

“And your boyfriend’s name?”

I got out my yellow legal pad and jotted Darnell’s name down.

“Sam—Samuel Roth.”

Over the next few minutes I learned about Darnell and Sam’s relationship. Darnell was 24 and studying as a grad student at the city university. Sam was a senior. They had met while Darnell was assisting in Sam’s anatomy class.

I opened up my laptop and started Googling Sam. The first hit was a social network profile.

“Does Mr. Roth have a Facebook?” I asked.

“I’m not paying you to sit around Googling my boyfriend,” he said indignantly.

I smirked. I probably should have waited to research my target, but I wanted to find a picture of him and confirm it was the correct Samuel Roth.

“You didn’t bring me a picture, so is this him?” I said, turning my laptop screen so that Darnell could see it.

“Yeah. That’s him.”

Sam was an athletic kid, with sandy blond hair and a nose that indicated some sort of Semitic ancestry. He was easy on the eyes, though not in the same league as his boyfriend; if he was looking for something else on the side, he was a fool.

I explained my billing rates to Darnell and he went to leave.

Before he opened the door, he turned back and said, “I appreciate your help with this, Mr. Himura. This is something very dear to me.”

“Please,” I said with a smile, “call me Henry.”

He left and I mentally kicked myself for not coming up with anything cleverer. I know I should have been all business, but a part of me sincerely hoped that once he discovered the extent of Sam’s infidelity, he would be open to dating someone else.

[TKnTexas55]

Very nice start... I like a good mystery. Can't wait to see where the characters go.

[Proteus]

Neither can I.