The Dirty City Read Free Page A

was and let him earn some money. I was hoping he’d come around to trying college again the following year, write this year off as a false start.”
    I could appreciate the sentiment, what parent wouldn’t want the best for their kid? But most people I knew didn’t earn in five years what it cost to put someone through a top college for a single year, and that just made me dislike Jameson all the more.
    “But things didn’t go to plan?”
    I offered Jameson a cigarette from a box on my table – I never touch the filthy things, I guess I was ahead of my time in that respect, but pretty much all my clients smoked, it was kind of expected. Jameson took one and lit up right away. He exhaled deeply, as if composing himself for the finale of the story. This was the bit where it all went bad.
    “At first it was fine, I thought he was back on track. But he’s a young lad, impressionable, and he suddenly had his own money in his back pocket. And in this city, well, you know how it is?”
    “I’ve an idea, but why don’t you tell me how it is, exactly?”
    “He fell in with some – unsavoury sorts. I didn’t want to discourage the boy from having friends, a social life. I’m not an ogre. Perhaps I should have been, I let him go astray. Before I knew it he was into something over his head.”
    “And what would that be?”
    I could tell Jameson had trouble admitting it to himself, let alone saying it out loud. He swallowed hard, took another long puff of his cigarette then came out with it.
    “Drugs, Mr Jerome. First it was just liqueur, I wasn’t happy, I disciplined him severely, but I put it down to youthful hijinks. But then it got more serious. I began to suspect he was dabbling with marijuana – he’d become lethargic, vague. He started turning up late to work, then skipping shifts feigning illness. Then he stopped bothering to turn up at all. I took him to task, threatened him with packing him off to a military boarding school. He promised me things would improve, that he’d sort himself out. Next day he didn’t show up for work again. I got home and found him gone, along with $250 in cash from the safe in my study. That was four weeks ago, there’s been no trace of him since.”
    “And you’ve been to the police?”
    “Yes, for all the good it’s done.”
    I had to agree with him there, Santa Justina’s finest couldn’t find their own butt cheeks with both hands and map. They wouldn’t have had a clue where to find this kid.
    “And that’s where you come in, Mr Jerome. I need him found. Fast. I lost his poor, departed mother, I can’t lose him as well.”
    I almost felt a little bit for the guy. Imagine that, me feeling sympathy for a lawyer. Almost. But not that much, let’s be honest.
    “Now then, Mr Jameson, lets remain positive here. I’ve just closed a case this morning so my schedule is open, I can start work on this right away. But, this kind of investigation often requires going to some fairly shady places – dangerous places. And dangerous means expensive.”
    “Name your price, Mr Jerome, find Anton and you shall have it.”
    “I’m going to quote you a flat rate here, $25 a day, plus an additional $2,000 when I find him.”
    “Not a problem,” he handed me a hefty envelope, “in here you’ll find $500, let’s call it an incentive, shall we?”
    Hot damn! Had a lawyer ever handed over their cash as easily as this in the history of the universe?
    “I’m going to need a recent photograph of Anton.”
    “Here you are, Mr Jerome. I trust this will be okay, it was taken about three months back?”
    And just when I thought the day couldn’t get any better, here was the coup de grace!
    “That’s Anton?”
    Sweet Jesus, I couldn’t believe it – the youth starring back at me in the photo was none other than the poor, unfortunate lad I’d seen at the drugs den the previous night. This had the potential to be the fastest money I’d ever made, although I was almost sad that it