1
“My daughter has been kidnapped by aliens, and I want you to find her,” he said.
I stared at him from across my desk, looking for any indication that he was kidding around. But his eyes were earnest, no hint of mirth or jovial fun. They were dead serious.
“Listen, Mister, uh,” I said.
“Rogers,” he said. “Paul Rogers.”
“Like the singer,” I said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
Again with his eyes. Dead serious, no joking.
“Okay,” I said. I sat back and took a good look at the guy.
He was short and portly, with one of those horseshoe-shaped haircuts. If my hair ever got like that, if I was a gleaming bald bowling ball on top and fuzzy peach on the sides and back, I’d do the honorable thing and shave it. This guy didn’t believe in that, apparently. He had small brown eyes, serious eyes, like I said, folded into a chubby face that had seen plenty of sun, given its red burnish. He had no facial hair, small ears, a pert nose, and thin lips. He wore a black suit that looked somewhere between a department store buy and something a little more expensive. I didn’t catch his shoes on the way in. I guess I’m no Sherlock Holmes.
“I was told you handled strange cases,” he said.
“I…well, who told you that?” I sat up, curious. Not that what he initially said hadn’t grabbed my attention, it was just that now I was personally involved.
“Mr. Cat Stevens,” he said.
I blinked twice. Another rock star name.
“You mean the singer?” I said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “This man is a real estate agent, out in Santa Monica. He said you solved a case for him once, said it was delicate and odd, and you were highly professional.”
The only Cat Stevens that I knew of was the singer. Who this Cat was, I had no idea. The whole thing was beginning to smell sour.
“Is this a joke?” I said. “Did Morty put you up to this?”
He stared at me blankly.
“I don’t know a Morty,” he said. “Who would go by the name Morty, in this day and age?”
Who would go by Cat Stevens, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue. This man was earnest, painfully so. Something about his demeanor, about those dead eyes, they said he wasn’t lying.
“I’m not sure I can solve a case involving alien abduction,” I said.
“You can, and you will,” he said. He lifted the briefcase he’d carried in and set it on my desk. I stared at it as he flicked two switches in the front and opened the top. He turned it around and showed me the contents.
“That’s one hundred thousand dollars,” he said. “Cash. That will be my retainer and payment and, if you bring my daughter back to me, I will add another one hundred thousand on top of that.”
My mouth fell open. I’d never seen so much money in one place at once in my entire life.
He shut the case. I shut my mouth.
“Now, what do you say?” he said. “Will you find my daughter?”
I nodded, still unable to speak.
“Excellent,” he said. A bright smile broke across his face like sudden sunlight busting through a black storm cloud. Even his eyes gained a twinkle.
“Now,” he said. “Shall we get started?”