Chapter 1
Introductions are in order I suppose, as this is my first in what I can only hope will be a series of volumes cataloging the heroic exploits of the handsome and debonair private investigator, Helmut Haase. That’s me, if I wasn’t clear. I’m one half of the Fog City Detective Agency – the half that does the actual detecting and such. My partner and childhood friend Shamus O’Sheagan can get away with day-drinking, questionable hygiene, and general belligerence because he is, as far as I know, the only honest-to-goodness Druid currently residing in the Confederated States of Hespera. I could have used the word ‘working’ rather than ‘residing,’ but it’s hard for me to call what he does work. Still his talents prove useful on occasion, and admittedly, his status has been the primary draw for our first few clients.
I’m starting these chronicles with our fourth case since it’s the first that’s worth recounting. I mean, our initial paying customer was looking for a missing dog. I put up some flyers and a neighborhood kid called it in. That was honestly the most interesting of the three. As far as an office goes, it’s the front room of the two-bedroom apartment that Sha and I share. It’s got a desk and a filing cabinet, and the front door has a glass partition with our name printed in black stencils. My bedroom is mostly for storing my belongings, as I rarely spend the night there.
The morning in question started out in a very large bed in a new high-rise in the chic Wudong District, with a balcony overlooking the bay and a lithe female companion named Bai who was clearly eager to resume the previous evening’s physical endeavors. Unfortunately, I had a potential client to woo and a retainer to collect, and I was running late. I called Shamus from the payphone outside of Bai’s building. He answered on the 26th ring.
“What?” he asked, in a voice that sounded both groggy and irritated.
“Sha, seriously, can’t you answer the business line like a professional?”
“That was my professional ‘what’,” he replied. He yawned loudly before asking, “Why are you calling so early?”
“Ten isn’t early,” I said, “and besides, we have a client coming over, remember?” His grunt was non-committal. “Anyway, is the place presentable?”
“Define presentable?”
There’s a reason I don’t bring girls home.
“No clothes, snacks, or used dishes within site of the office,” I said. I could already feel the tension building in my neck and shoulders. “And while we’re at it, dress in clothes you haven’t been sleeping in. And I don’t mean put on the clothes you just picked up off the floor.”
His sigh confirmed that was exactly what he’d been planning.
“And how much time until he’s here?” he asked, which I took as a guarantee that the office was not presentable.
“Thirty minutes,” I replied, “and I’ll be there with five minutes to spare if traffic isn’t bad.”
“Cutting it close,” he answered. “Not very professional.
There was a click, and the line went dead before I could answer.
