Blowing Smoke

People have strange ideas what it’s like being a private detective. Ideas they’ve formed from television, movies, and books. Which, of course, means ideas they've formed from fiction. I can’t think of a single fictional private detective’s caseload which even mildly imitates mine. Murder, international jewel thieves, drug smugglers, foreign spies, super scheming madmen, and drop dead gorgeous provocateurs just aren’t a part of my daily routine. If they were, I would’ve found a new line of work a long time ago. I’m not a superhero. Bullets don’t bounce off of my chest. And yes, I am someone who’s afraid to die.

An average normal day for me is exactly the same as an average normal day for most people. Boredom, tediousness, and repetition. I’m not complaining, mind you, I’m just telling you the way it is. Incidents of daring, physical excitement, just don’t jump into our life very often. If they did, private detectives wouldn’t be private detectives for very long. They wouldn’t be private detectives for very long because they wouldn’t be alive very long.

But once in a great while, a case comes up that stands out and demands to be noticed. A case that’s rarer than any precious, highly lusted after jewel. A case which is, without the slightest exaggeration, a once in a lifetime thing. That’s exactly the kind of case I’ve chosen for you to read here. It’s a case marked by wounds, feuds, and shadows. The wounds are deep, the feuds are complex, and the shadows are as relentless as the rock that dogs the cursed. Sisyphus of ancient Greek mythos. And, oh yes, there is one other thing I must tell you about this case. It is my last.