Chapter Two

Declan Hunt glanced down at his coat, frayed at the edges and covered with grime. His toes poked through the ends of his shoes, and as he stumbled along the street, he swerved around the people who walked past him. Occasionally he mumbled an apology. It was around two in the morning and the part of the block he walked down was poorly lit thanks to three burnt-out street lamps.

He leaned up against a lamppost and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, holding it in his shaking left hand. He tried to light it but the match went out before the cigarette was lit. A large man was moving along the street towards him. He was tall—about six-foot-two—and built like a brick wall.

"Hey, buddy—got a light?" Declan asked.

Brick Wall stopped and looked at him, then pulled out a fancy gold lighter, lit it and held it up to the partially smoked cigarette.

"Thanks."

Brick Wall grunted an acknowledgement then walked farther along the street, entering a building a few doors down.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Declan stubbed out the cigarette and put the butt back into his coat pocket. He didn't normally smoke, and at fifteen bucks a pack, he wasn't going to just throw one away. It might come in handy later.

After a few moments, he headed towards the building where the guy had gone in. It was a two-storey wood-framed structure that looked like an old store that had gone out of business. How this building had escaped the wrecking crew was anybody's guess. On one side of it was a smart little bistro. On the other, a condo was going up. An alleyway separated the old store from the construction site.

How convenient.

Declan hurried around the corner and down the alleyway. The wall of the building was punctuated by a single window, too high to reach. A small dumpster had been pushed up against the wall under the window, right next to a door.

He hoisted himself up, making as little noise as possible, and levered himself high enough to look in.

Inside, Brick Wall was talking to another guy seated at a desk. Declan couldn't see the face of the second man as his back was towards the window. The two of them seemed deep in conversation and the man who was sitting gesticulated wildly with his hands. Brick Wall took him by the shoulder and led him out of view. Declan surveyed the room. It appeared to take up the entire first floor. On a table along the back was a large model of a grand old building. Other than the desk and the table with the model, the space was empty.

Declan leaned a little farther to the left to get a better view. Suddenly the building was moving upward and he was heading down. His body hit the dumpster lid with a sound like a mallet pounding on a giant kettle drum. As the dumpster continued to roll, he blinked to clear his vision, only to see the high-mounted alleyway lights and the face of Brick Wall staring down at him.

"Whadda we got here?" he asked. "A little late to be sightseeing."

Declan rolled himself off the dumpster and hit the pavement. He had intended to run, but before he could get to his feet, Brick Wall had grabbed him by the jacket and hoisted up his one-hundred-and-eighty-five pounds without effort, then slammed him back down on the edge of the steel dumpster. Declan crumpled to the pavement.

"A guy's gotta learn not to poke his nose in another fella's business," Brick Wall said, before sending the toe of his sizeable right shoe crashing into Declan's ribs. Several kicks followed before Declan felt himself being picked up again. He heard the sound of the dumpster lid being opened, then fell into a pile of rotting waste as the lid slammed shut and he was surrounded by darkness.

* * * *

Joan Beckerman unlocked the street-level door of the office, picked up the mail that had come through the slot and began the slow walk up the flight of stairs to the second floor. She wasn't sure which creaked louder—the wooden steps or her sixty-eight-year-old knees. She turned the key in the lock and entered the outer office.

Mrs B, as Joan was known in the office, occupied the only desk in the main reception room, along with a couple of comfortable chairs, a couch and a coffee table with up-to-date magazines to ensure that no one would confuse this with a doctor's office. She loved this space. It was warm and comfortable. Large, mullioned windows let light pour in from the street. The walls were a deep red-brown brick—rare for Calgary where most old structures were wood-framed. And the floors—wide planked wood, worn by the feet of a thousand people over the seventy-year history of this building. It wasn't old by international standards, but here in Calgary, it was a grand old dame.

She dropped the mail on her desk. There were a couple of bills and an envelope, probably containing a payment—she recognised the return address of the elderly man who had hired them to look for his missing brother. They'd found him buried legally in Queen's Park Cemetery.

Before she could deal with any of these matters, coffee had to be made. Without caffeine, her brain didn't function properly.

As she waited for the coffee to finish brewing, Mrs B tidied her desk for the day. She was, undeniably, an organised woman. As the sole employee of Declan Hunt Investigations, aside from Declan, she was responsible for dealing with the clients, maintaining Declan's schedule, billing and whatever else was required to keep the company going. And for that, organisation was the key to success.

The coffee maker gurgled, letting her know that caffeine was mere moments away. She returned to her desk, coffee in hand—black, two sugars—and sorted the contents of the envelopes. The bills went into one pile, the payment from the man in search of his brother in a second stack. The payment also included a note.

Seeing as how you found my brother deceased, and now of no use to me, I see little reason to pay you the full amount demanded. Enclosed you will find a cheque for half your bill.

Mrs B let out a sigh. She had wanted today to go smoothly.

The street door opened, followed by heavy footsteps on the stairs. A man dressed in a long dirty coat entered through the office door. His face was unshaven and grimy. He walked with a limp.

"Good Lord, what the hell happened to you?" Mrs B asked.

Declan paused. "Some people in this city have no respect for the homeless." As Declan straightened his body, he winced and grabbed his side. "Can't take a kick like I used to."

"Did you find Mr Attwal?" she asked.

"Not yet, and I've pretty well run out of leads," he said as he winced again.

She moved towards him. "Here. Let me help you."

Mrs B got him up to his apartment, which occupied the third floor of the building. She helped him take off his coat and shirt. "If it's all right with you, I'll chuck these into the wash," she offered.

"Thanks."

She looked at his strong chest and rippled stomach muscles. While attractive to many, they had no effect on her. The bruising, however… She pursed her lips and inhaled. "Oooo, that's going to hurt tomorrow."

She touched the area. Declan inhaled sharply.

"Oh, come on. I've seen you in worse shape."

"What—no sympathy for the guy who gets beaten up just so you can get a paycheque?"

"Stop your whining. Nothing appears to be broken."

"You're a harsh woman, Mrs B."

She walked over to the fridge and took out an ice-pack, which she wrapped in a tea towel and handed to him. "Here. You know what to do."

She went into his bathroom and returned with the first-aid kit.

"Take these," she said, passing him a couple of pills. "Vitamin C might help lessen the bruising which, if I know my beatings, will be spectacular over the next few days. I'll wrap you up to give you some support. But first… You've gotta go shower. You smell like you've spent the night in a dumpster."

"Where do you think they threw me after they did this? It took me an hour to crawl out after I came to."

Declan went into the bathroom and had a shower. By the time he had finished, Mrs B had laid clothes out for him on the bed. She returned with a coffee.

"It has sugar in it. I figured you could use the energy."

He took it from her and had a sip. She stood there, trying to figure out how to break the news to him.

"You're a lifesaver. I don't know what I'd do without you," Declan said, as he eased himself down onto the edge of the bed.

Mrs B paused, then said, "Well, now that you mention it… I guess there's no point in beating around the bush."

"I wouldn't expect you would."

"You remember how I told you my daughter and her friend were going on a three-week trip to South America?"

"Yeah, I think so," Declan replied, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Well, it seems her friend tripped over her cat, and somehow fell out of her window."

Declan choked and hot coffee shot up and out through his nose. "Ow, ow, ow," he cried.

"Luckily she lived on the second floor, so she only broke her leg." Mrs B shook her head.

Declan mopped his face with his towel. Mrs B took it from him and proceeded to use it to clean the floor. As she got up, her legs began to buckle and she steadied herself against a chair.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Anyway, I got a call from my daughter last night, all in tears because of her vacation. Well, it was—look, she asked me to go with her in her friend's place and I said yes."

She stared at him, waiting for a reaction. "Well, I couldn't let her go on her own, could I?"

"And when does this happen?" Declan asked.

"I leave Sunday."

"Sunday? Like this Sunday? Two days from now Sunday?"

"That would be Sunday. So, you'll need to hire a replacement for me for the time I'll be away."

"Well then"—he seemed to be piecing things together—"would you call a temp agency and see what they can do?"

"You're not going to be using one of those companies. They charge an arm and a leg, and the poor temp only sees a fraction of it. Anyway, I've already placed an ad on one of those job-search websites. They'll send you a list of the top ten candidates with interview times starting on Monday."

"Monday?"

"No need to thank me. I'm only doing my job. Now I'd better leave you to rest."

She left Declan, who was staring out of the window with a hurt expression on his face.

He'll get over it,she thought. After all, it's only three weeks.