The Dirty City Read Free

night opened up to all manner of vices; late night bars, gambling dens, strip joints, prostitution. Santa Justina had become a city of sin, a dirty city.
    I moved there to become a cop, and who knows, had things been different I might have been a cop for a lot longer. One day I was a fine, upstanding officer of the law, I made one mistake and trusted someone I shouldn’t have - the next day I was an ex cop with a dirty reputation. There weren’t too many career paths open to someone under those circumstances, disgraced cops had a habit of either turning their back on the law altogether and adopting a life of crime, or they became private detectives. I chose the latter.
    So, Santa Justina was a dirty city, but this worked to my advantage. There’s a lot of good business in a dirty city for a private detective.
    *
    My office was right in the centre of town, I’d been lucky to get the place – it was a first floor premises above a busy convenience store, accessed through a discreet side door and up a narrow stairwell.
    ‘J.Jerome Private Investigations Ltd’ emblazoned the outer office door in as impressive and dynamic a font as I could afford the sign writer to produce. The door gave way to a modest reception and waiting area – this was Lydia’s domain. She was seated at her sizable desk, the usual array of paperwork strategically placed in front of her. Hell, I didn’t even know what most of it was these days, but Lydia did, thank God. Those bits of paper, receipts, bills, licences - to me they were like the by-product of my profession, the annoying detritus that ended up clinging to me at the end of a working day. When a case was over I would dust them off me and they’d fall chaotically onto Lydia’s desk, and she would gather it all up and make sense of it all.
    Lydia was a well built woman, gracefully negotiating her forties, about five-five, pretty - with feminine charm, but a good head for figures and a very sharp mind. She’d never married, she always told me she’d never found a guy who measured up to her expectations. I could understand that, she didn’t suffer fools and she was never going to be some guys obedient housewife. Considering this was a largely pre-feminist era I guess Lydia was well ahead of her time.
    “Well it’s about time, he’s in your office, on his fourth cup of coffee.”
    Lydia didn’t even look up, she was ensconced in a complicated assortment of papers and files.
    “Thanks, Sweetheart. And the car-.”
    “He’ll be over at 11.30, and he says if its blood he’ll charge you double.”
    “He’s got me by the balls on this one, it ain’t blood but I sure as hell ain’t touching the stuff – but if he asks for more than fifty dollars, tell him he can go take a hike.”
    I hastily hung up my hat and coat on the stand in the waiting room and headed into my office.
    “Mr Jameson, Johnny Jerome, apologies for keeping you waiting, it’s been a crazy morning.”
    Richard Jameson rose to meet me as I entered and offered an outstretched hand. I took it, firmly – but cautiously, that’s the extent to which I don’t trust lawyers - they’ve always got something nasty up their sleeve.
    “Mr Jerome, glad to make your acquaintance. Apologies for appearing on your doorstep unannounced, but I require your assistance in an urgent and delicate personal matter.”
    I politely ushered him back into his seat, then strode around to the other side of my oak desk.
    “Well, you better tell me all about it?”
    “Word is that you know a bit about the, how shall I put it? The ‘darker’ aspects of this city.”
    “You could say that.”
    “My son, Anton. I sent him to a top college last summer, away from here. It wasn’t cheap but I thought it was best. He flunked out after the first semester – so I dragged his sorry backside back here. I fixed him up with some part time work, a junior clerk role at my legal practice, just something to get him re-focused, show him what work really