The thin strains of a jazz combo--piano, string bass, cornet, and drum kit, gradually insinuate themselves into the general hubbub of the Nexus, as one dark corner slowly brightens to reveal a coatrack bearing a trenchcoat and fedora, a desk cluttered with pictures, newspaper clippings, and empty bottles, and a man sitting behind that desk with his
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He was a tall drink of water. Looked like army surplus by way of a four-year-old's worst nightmare. But that's the city for you--takes all kinds. I decided to play it cool. Big boy might have the answers I needed.
"Whoever's here."
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"So where am I?"
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A redhead. If you look in my personal thesarus, there's another word for redheads: trouble. And there's a lot of words for trouble: blonde, brunette, redhead, women, dogs, cats, men, fish, and thesaruses. There's a reason I never got a book deal. An-hey, guys, could you keep it down?
The music quiets, but remains ominous.
That's better. Anyway, she was trouble, like it'd been stamped on her when she broke the mold that made her. She was so much trouble, I could hear my metaphors mixing. Then again, my job's to get into trouble. I'm Richard. Richard Mayhew. Private dick. Trouble like her, it could be worth getting into.
"On holiday where?"
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"What's the Nexus."
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My two good buddies were egging me on. This kid was just begging to meet 'em, and Colt's got a real solid handshake.
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"I'm a private eye."
The cornet does a subtle fanfare, just enough to highlight the Main Character.
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...Where the hell is that music coming from?
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How should I know?
The cornet plays a few strains of the theme from "Old Yeller."
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