The red leather banquette gives comfort to the jazz loving private detective Peter Bend as the quartet grooves in the half-filled, restaurant-bar that borders on noir
Nursing his gimlet with a lime twist, he considers the events of the day
He’s been hired by a billionaire, Archie Kuehne, whose wife, Edith,
disappeared a week ago with a complex ransom note seeking mucho bitcoins left in the house
Archie has now become a suspect ergo Peter has a proper retainer
and a client who swears he’s innocent
In cases like this, the husband usually did it
Doesn't seem to be any evidence of suicide
Edith had signed a prenup agreement so money doesn’t figure
Nor are there signs of marital discord
Police are baffled, in a tunnel
Investigative journalists hover everywhere including in this semi-dive
Where to start?
Archie already paid $1 million to the kidnappers to confirm she was alive but that didn’t get him anywhere
Cryptocurrency is not easily traced
“Guess I’ll have to learn about it,” Peter thinks
The retainer feels pretty good in his wallet
Because there’s a job to do, Peter pays his tab and marches
into the twilight
He’s paid to produce miracles, but miracles are hard come-by
He whistles a happy tune, then looks at his rearview mirror
Uh oh, somebody is following him
His gun feels comfortable in the holster under his arm
He wonders what this is about?