Ok, so I'm not at home at the moment, and won't be until
about the end
of the month, so I'm typing this whenever I get the chance, I
do have
about four more chapters written, but it's a question of getting
the
computer to type and post them, because, well, I could just send
the
roughs out, but I highly doubt anyone could read my handwriting.
;)
Anyway, here's part 3.
****
Dim Sung's Chinese restaurant stood out like a sore thumb.
The
overly large red and gold awning was in sharp contrast to the
rest of
the dull brick buildings on the street. Steele slide inside and
found
Harry at a small table near the back. He sat down across from
his
friend and glanced around. "So Harry, care to tell me why,
if you're
not in trouble with the law you want to be seen as far away from
a
dead body as possible?"
"I swear to you Mick," Harry said, taking a sip of
the green tea, "I'm
not a wanted man."
"So what are you avoiding?" the food came before
the old man could
respond. A plate of fried rice was paced before Harry and a nice
plate
of General Tso's Chicken for Steele.
"Hope you don't mind me ordering for you-I do vaguely
remember you
saying you liked that spicy crap."
"It's fine." Steele said taking a large bite.
"So how's life as a PI?" Harry asked him, as they ate.
"Not too bad. Good, really. How have you been?"
"So so. Been better. I'm getting old. Far far too old."
Steele shook his head at the old man. "Nonsense." He told his friend.
"Mick, I'm eighty years old! I'm old enough to be your
father. Hell,
I'm old enough to be your grandfather. Daniel's barely older than
my
boy! And living as a grifter, well, that's not something beneficial
to
a man my age. I was going to retire with this money. Take the
quarter
mil, move out west-there's a great place I saw in the middle of
nowhere, where it would just be me and whoever I wanted around
me, no
hustle and bustle of city life. I could kick back and relax. Put
my
past behind me."
Steele nodded, he knew the feeling all too well. It was part
of the
reason he liked being in LA so much. He decided to change the
subject.
"Do you know anyone who might want to kill Bart?" Four
years as a
detective had ingrained into him what questions should be asked
and
how to ask them. He had learned a lot in those four years.
"Well, I know he didn't have the money. I was going to
let him pay me
slowly, but I just wanted to have enough to get out of Boston,
get
somewhere else." Steele nodded and the old man paused for
a minute,
taking another drink and having a few bites of rice. "I can't
believe
he's dead, he was such a nice boy too, he was going to get married
in
a month."
"Do you know her name?" Steele asked him, and he
shook his head. "The
police might want to know who she is."
"Jesus Mick, you're acting like one of them yourself.
Next thing I
know you'll be showing up in a nice blue shirt with a badge on
it."
"Relax Harry." Steele said, calming the old man.
"You had nothing to
do with the murder, you know that, I know that, and this is what
I do,
I figure out who killed people, I figure out why they killed them,
I'm
a PI. The sooner I figure out who killed Bart, the sooner the
police
find out, and the sooner you get your money."
That seemed to tame Harry a bit. He seemed more relaxed since
Steele
told him that he'd get his money. It's not like the man had a
reason
to like the police though, anyone who served time, much less a
substantial number of years in prison hated the police.
"Her name was Michelle. Young girl, she had short brown
hair and deep
brown eyes, she's a pretty little thing." Steele nodded and
reached
for his wallet as the waiter deposited the check on their table.
"No Harry, this one's on me." His friend told him
pulling out a twenty
dollar bill and laying it on the table, snatching a fortune cookie
with the same movement. He snapped it open and read what was inside.
"I don't know what to make of this one." He said, looking
at it,
reading and rereading it.
"Well, what is it?"
"Facing problems from your past lead to resolutions in
the future."
Steele shrugged, just as puzzled as the old man about what the
fortune
meant, and they both walked back out into the crisp Boston air.