“He did.”
“He works homicide,” I said. “I hope you don’t want somebody killed.”
“I want somebody found.”
“What’s his name?”
“Don’t know.”
“Where’s he live?”
“Don’t know.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Don’t know.”
“I charge more for don’t know, don’t know, and don’t know.”
“Money’s no problem.”
My kind of client. “Makes things easier,” I said.
“If you’re willing to take this job, I’ll give you a few days to see what you can do.”
He opened his wallet, took out a handful of hundred dollar bills, and put the stack on the desk.
“That’s a thousand. Will it do for a retainer?”
I looked at the stack lovingly. This month’s rent and some left over for necessities. Such as bourbon.
“It will if I take the job, which I haven’t decided.”
That was bullshit. I was going to take the job. Whatever it involved. If he wanted Jimmy Hoffa found, I was going to take the job.
“Keep the dough. If you don’t want the job, it’ll be hush money to keep your yap shut about what I’m about to tell you. Does that work?”
I picked up the thousand, swiveled around, and put it in the safe.
“I’ll take that for a yes,” he said.
He stood and turned the chair around the way it was meant to be. He sat, put his elbows on the desk, and rested his Jay Leno chin in his Michael Jordan hands.
“Make no mistake,” he said. “I expect you to honor the confidentiality I just purchased.”
“Mr. Overbee, I didn’t invite you here just to get a lecture on professional ethics.”
“You didn’t invite me at all. I let myself in.”
“Fair enough.”
He got up, hung his coat on the coat rack, came back, and plopped down again. He shifted around. He was too big for that chair. His butt hung over the sides, and his knees were at chest level. He stared at me. Then after a moment he said, “What we are about to discuss is a matter of life and death.”
“Whose life and whose death?” I hoped he didn’t mean mine.
“If you find the guy, it could be his. If you don’t, it might be mine.”
“Sounds serious enough. Who is it? Inquiring minds and all that.”
It didn’t matter who the target was. In my current situation I would have found his cat if the fee was there.
I shook a cigarette out of the pack on my desk and offered one to Overbee. He shook his head. This would be my last cigarette. I was determined to quit smoking.
Overbee waited while I lit up, took a long drag, and exhaled a plume of blue smoke into the room. Then he said, “The guy I want found is shaking me down, and if I don’t pay him, I could get killed.”
“By whom?”
“There are people looking for me. He could tell them where I am.”
“Who’s looking for you?”
“Still not convinced you’re right for this job,” he said.
“Well, I’d certainly try to convince you if you’d only tell me more about the fucking job.”
He looked me up and down. “You talk tougher than you look.”
“If you want somebody found, I’m your man. If you’re looking for muscle, I’m not it.”
“I can tell.”
I wish people wouldn’t be so quick to notice that.
He continued. “Suppose when I came in here, I came to beat the shit out of you. What would happen?”
I looked him up and down. “You’d beat the shit out of me.” I paused. “Assuming you could catch me.”
“You don’t think I’d catch you?”
“You’d be slipping in shit the whole way.”
Not even a smile. Jokes were wasted on Overbee.
“What about the street?” he said. “How do you handle trouble?”
“Mr. Overbee—”
“Buford,” Overbee said.
“Buford. The wise and noble framers of our great Constitution bestowed upon us the right to own and bear arms.”
That’s an argument never lost on a real man. Or so they tell me.
“How are you with computers?” he asked. “I don’t see one here.” He looked around the room again. I wished he’d quit looking around the room.
“I get by with them, but I have a guy who’s a whiz.”
“How good is he?”
“Well, I’m not saying Bill Gates calls him whenever he can’t figure something out, but he could. Now tell me more.”
He took a deep breath and said, “I’ll start with a warning.” That caught my attention, and I leaned forward. “There are those,” he said, “who would do anything to know what you are about to learn. My life wouldn’t be worth a dime if they found it out. Anyone who knows who and where I am could be in similar danger if the wrong people find out. Do you want me to proceed?”
I sat for a moment and cogitated about what he could say that would put me in danger just for knowing it. Who was Buford Overbee? Who wanted to know? I was hooked and wasn’t going to pass up hearing this story.
“Proceed,” I said.
“I used to have other interests that, if exposed, could compromise the fiduciary trust that I enjoy with my clients.”
“Clients?”
“Investors. I have a dubious past, you might say.”
“How dubious?”
“I used to work for the mob.”
I dropped my pencil on the desk and sat back in my chair with a thump.
“Are these the guys I should be afraid of?” I said.
“Everybody should be afraid of them.”
I couldn’t sense any fear coming from him, but what do I know? I’m a wimp. He’s Jesse Ventura.
“What was your job back then?”
“Collections.”
Which meant if you owed the mob money, Buford would encourage you to do the right thing and meet your obligations. He looked qualified for that line of work.
“Got it. Did you use words like ‘fiduciary trust’ when you were a wise guy?”
“No.”
“So now something’s backfired.”
“It has. I’m being blackmailed.”
“Well, I’m shocked.” I leaned back in my chair and raised my eyebrows. “Given all the mobsters and shady investors you’ve done business with, it saddens me that someone would sink that low. What’s this world coming to?”
He didn’t crack a smile.
“Who do you think is putting the clamp on your nuts?” I asked.
He shrugged and raised his hands palms up. “That’s the problem, Stan. I don’t have a clue. He’s anonymous.”
This wasn’t going to be easy. I looked at my watch, the Timex with Mickey Mouse on the dial.
“It’s almost six. You want a drink?”
Overbee looked at his watch, a Rolex with diamonds on the dial. “It isn’t almost six, and yeah, I want a drink.”
I opened a desk drawer and took out the bottle and two glasses. I poured myself a drink, started to pour one for Overbee, and stopped.
“If you’re worried about the glass being dirty, and it probably is, there’s running water down the hall.”
“Pour.”
Nothing could live in that kerosene anyway. I poured and we each took a healthy swig. The bourbon burned going down. I took another gulp to put out the fire. It didn’t work.
After his first swig, he scrunched up his nose and mouth.
“You don’t like bourbon?” I asked.
“I do. And next time I’ll bring some.” He sniffed his glass, closed his eyes, and shook his head.
“Let’s don’t drink this horse piss,” I said. “We can go across the street. They pour a good drink at Oliver’s.”
He stood up and got his alpaca overcoat from the rack. I stood up, and my skivvies popped out of the crack of my ass. At last.
Chapter 2
Delbert Falls is a typical medium-sized town in Maryland, between Baltimore and Philadelphia. My office is in the northwest section, which has low-rent industrial and commercial buildings and a few low-rent apartment buildings.