This is it, the final sneak peek at The Last Ditch Effort! This book will go live tomorrow morning!
After the door closed behind them, he sighed wearily. Once upon a time, a mere two grand to save himself some unpleasant hassle would have been nothing.
An assortment of envelopes, however, rested on the nearby table to remind him that things had changed. Most of them were things like credit card advertisements, charities begging for money, personal letters from people he used to know who wanted money, bills, and various other inconsequential things.
There was one, however, that was far more interesting. The knock on his door yesterday had been for the envelope in question, sent via certified mail. If he had to sign for it, the implication was that it was actually important.
Not only that, it looked important—or, at least, unique. The envelope was a deep yellowish-brown color as though handmade to resemble old-fashioned parchment. The sender had listed neither their own personal name nor the name of an organization, and the return address was not one he recognized.
David slit the envelope with a knife and sat at the table to read the contents. Within, the letter was handwritten in a beautiful, fancy, almost archaic script—the kind of fancy, archaic script it was a real bitch to read.
Once he deciphered it, he had to read the letter twice to fully grasp its significance.
“The Moonlight Detective Agency. I wondered what the hell had happened to it.”
Of the various businesses he owned, the Moonlight Detective Agency was perhaps the one he knew the least about. He did not even know what they did—what kind of agency they were, exactly, or where they operated—or how many personnel they employed. He usually paid little attention to such matters.
But lately, anything in his possession that might bring him revenue had rekindled his interest. His proverbial stream had been drying up.
Now, he had this letter. Its author was rather cryptic but they had alluded to specific things he’d mentioned when, a week or so ago, he’d dispatched his attorney to inquire about the firm’s status. At the very least, he could be certain they’d received his message.
The letter’s author wanted to know why he was looking for the company and promised to deliver what information he required if he’d agree to meet for dinner and a discussion. That sounded quite reasonable to him. The letter even included an email address for easier communication.
“Well, then…” He breathed deeply. “I’ll have to take care of that directly. This might even be entertaining.”
He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. To be honest, he didn’t feel very well. His head spun and swam a bit, his skin itched, and he felt strange—as though he were hungry or thirsty, even though he’d eaten only an hour ago and washed it down with a full glass of water while the cleaners did their thing.
Obviously, his body was still under the impression that it needed a fix. He longed for a joint to soften the hard edges of the world. Or a drink, and not of water. But he knew he needed to stay clear-minded, at least for the moment.
David stood and went to the desk in his study, where he opened his laptop and turned it on. The password screen flashed before him, and his brain suddenly turned to wet cotton.
“Uhhh…” he stammered while he simply stared and blinked at the screen. “I, ah…what the hell is my password? Fucking withdrawal symptoms…the human body is ridiculous and stupid. It doesn’t even know what’s actually good for it.” He scratched his face, chest, and armpits.
He honestly wished he’d tried to quit drugs a few weeks earlier. If he had, he might already be past this crap.
After a moment—and once his brain stopped the active attempt to remember— the password flickered into clarity within his mind. He hunched over the keys at once, faintly afraid he’d forget it again unless he punched it in immediately. The task complete, he struck the Enter key.
The computer came to life and all was well. He sighed.
His first task was to draft a brief message to the email address mentioned in the letter. He wanted to have this taken care of soon. If he was lucky, they might even respond quickly enough to have this dinner meeting that night. He pressed Send and leaned back to rub his eyes.
“Now,” he said, “let’s see how my…things…are doing.”
Okay, my interest is piqued. What the heck is the Moonlight Detective Agency and why couldn’t David find it if he owned it? Just like you, I have to wait until tomorrow when this thing goes live! Ugh!