Of all the Web sites in the world, she had to access mine.
I was working late, sorting the e-mail that threatened to overwhelm the computer I'd gotten from Scuzzy Cable. Scuzzy was an Internet Service Provider who shared my building. I'd done some collections for him before realizing he was even broker than I was. I'd taken the obsolete computer, a dial-up account and a Web site in lieu of payment. Right now I was wishing I'd rearranged his kneecaps instead.
I selected the last of the files, hit the delete key and pushed my chair away from the screen. I took a sip of coffee and, as it ate its way towards my stomach, the sound of the ancient hard drive reminded me of distant machine gun fire.
It took me back to a time when being a private investigator was a real man's job. A time before computers, when all a P.I. needed was his wits, his gun and a dame.
A dame like Lola. Lola had been the best secretary I ever had. She could almost type, kept the riffraff out of the office and made a great cup of coffee. Not like the rancid liquid I made or the sissy stuff you read about at sites like The Coffee Plantation.
It was the idea of waking up to that coffee - and Lola - that had finally led me to pop the question. Big mistake. Six months later she walked out of my life, taking my money and client list along with her. I got the coffee maker which, given my inadequacies in such matters, was proving to be a mixed blessing.
"Mr. Link?"
The feminine voice called me back to reality. She was standing in the doorway, the light from the outer office framing a figure straight from the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. She allowed my stare to linger a moment, then entered the room. I motioned towards a chair and began to offer coffee before the burning in my gut led me to reconsider.
"What can I do for you?"
"I saw your ad on The Private Investigators Mall Web site," she began, then paused for a moment to extract a cigarette from her purse and place it dramatically between her lips.
The dame's obvoiously never seen the Tobacco BBS page I thought as I snatched the cigarette from her lips and deposited it in the trash. "Look Dollface," I said, "this ain't the Humphrey Bogart Tribute site. If you're looking for a place to wreck your lungs, the diner down the street has a smoking section."
"I'm in the right place" she said and, from the look on her face, considered e-mailing my description to the National Organization for Women. Instead she continued, "I'm looking for someone."
"Aren't we all? Take it from me, if you're after child support, check out the Division of Child Support Enforcement site. And, if it's some old boyfriend, why waste the time?" Heck, I couldn't even find Lola.
"It's a ...," she paused for a moment, choosing the word carefully, "friend. He's disappeared with something that belongs to me."
I was glad she wasn't easily dissuaded. I needed the money. "It's a grand in advance, four hundred a day and another two grand when I find him. If you can make a decent cup of coffee, this consultation's free."
"I don't need your charity." she replied, but still picked up the pot and headed for the sink. "I'm Katherine Spamm. Perhaps the name's familiar?"
It was. Except for a few small fry like Cable, Spamm Internet Corporation controlled every Net connection in town. If an ISP got big enough - or foolish enough - to challenge SIC, Spamm bought them out - usually after an unfortunate accident had dramatically lowered the acquisition costs. Unless I missed my guess, the beauty making my coffee was Hank Spamm's wife.
If I took this case, the liquid dripping from the coffee maker would be nothing compared to the hot water I'd soon be in. Still, hadn't I'd just been complaining that being a P.I. wasn't exciting anymore? Maybe this case was what I needed to revive my business - and forget Lola.
Katherine set two mugs on the desk and asked if I was still interested. I took a sip and nodded for her to begin her story. The coffee was almost as good as Lola's. "Heck," I thought, "if we survive, this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship."
