Part II

I'm trying to be polite, or at least I was, but warmhearted kindness is not what I do best. I know not to roll my sleeves up at a table, and the lady always sits in the middle. This has nothing to do with class. I am a gentleman of sorts, but I am not a nice person. I am going to be informal. I am going to use foul language not because fuck and shit are great adjectives, but because it'll remind you that I am not a nice person.

The Seleck case wound up being a joke. Their kid, that Elizabeth girl, turned up about two days after I started asking around. It wasn't very hard. The Help...hang on. I'm going to start capitalizing the H. As far as most of Park Avenue is concerned these people don't have names. They are vacuum cleaners and dust pads. They are the Help. The Seleck home was a little weird to me. It was like a mock democracy. Mr. Seleck was Roosevelt, Hitler, Stalin, and Churchill all rolled up in barbed wire and cotton. Mrs. Seleck was the queen. Neither of them were of any use to me being their princess might as well have been Jesus as far as they were concerned. No, I was after the Pope; the oh so holy bridge between God and the slaves. I was after Josephina Merenga. She had to know something, she played both sides and played them well. She would tell me where to find the bitch of an heiress. 

Part I

She asked me to write her something, so she gets chapter II. 

I have no idea why people live here. I don't understand all the noise, and the friction! It's like this place sucks out peoples souls, all the perfectly dignified people, and vomits back this distasteful shade of scum-of-the-earth. I understand the attraction, the big city, the flow of free-thinking, and the pro-democracy liberals, and it's a nice thought. These people believe in things like change and Porsche, and they think that if they acquire both then some divine or cosmic force has intervened, blessing them with guidance and perseverance. They act like they are the fruit of the earth; St. Patrick's reason for having a cathedral, and that anything shy of weekly homage will result in the heavens raining down fury over every truth they hold to be self evident. Democracy runs deep in the rivers of this city, and the God-fearing liberals run deep in the pockets of the church. What a fucked up system. And the girl I'm supposed to find, Elizabeth...she's just a product of this system, and I could care less for her. 

At some point it was Sunday. I take that back. Forget that. I mentioned a girl a while back; said I didn't want to get into it right then. Well her name is Lilly, and she's the reason the light on my answering machine flashes. Start over:

At some point it was a Sunday. The sun was already up and the light on my answering machine was flashing. I made my way over to it, stumbling over various crap sitting around in my apartment. I reached for the play button and stopped. I wasn't sure if I was ready to hear that silence-ruining beep, let alone the fact that I would have to deal with someone yelling at me immediately after it. I pressed the button anyway.

"Hey! it's me! I just wanted to let you know I'm back in town and that I miss you and that I think we should get together soon! You know, catch up, shoot the spit..." she giggled after she said that "...do whatever. Anyway I have to get going, I have a lot of food shopping to do. My 'fridge is so naked it's crazy! So yea give me a call back. I miss you Jason. Bye!" 

This is the kind of person I'm dealing with. She's a wonderful girl, and the fact that she's so much to deal with makes for a nice distraction from the world. The problem is distractions are what got me this far.I figured I'd call her back later in the day, but she beat me to it.

"Hello?"

"Jason?"

"Lilly, hey I was going to call you back lat...Lilly? Hello?" The line went dead. Or the phone company cut my service off. I don't have very good credit. The phone rang again.

"Mr. Hunter."

"Uh, Hi? Who is this?"

"You know you have quite a reputation." 

"Right, who is this again?" He wheezed out this phlegmy laugh. A smoker. I've been smoking long enough to pick one out of a crowd. 

"Hm, I think we should meet, say around..." I laughed to myself. I put together where this conversation was going. Someone wanted something from me, which is no surprise. I'm a pretty easy target, after all. First off, the city does not have me covered and would overlook the fact that my profession might be giving them a hand and a month to month basis. Second, I hardly have any money to my name, but I do have money. I'm what some would call a degenerate; a real protector of all things unholy. Most of the people in power, in this city, hate me. They blame me when things go south, and pin missing bits of important information on me. The irony is I never have a hand in anything. I'm too fucking poor to be that important. But I'm good. I'm damn fucking good at what I do, and Sergeant Asshole and Lieutenant Fuck-face know that. So I've been promoted to New York City's number one oh-we-fucked-up-so-blame-him guy. And people know this, so no one worries about gunning for me and getting caught doing it. In either case I didn't care enough to worry about it.

"Whoa, meet? How 'bout I hang up, go shower, and you try someone else" I hung the phone up and walked about two feet before it rang again.

"What!"

"Jason!"

"Hey! Lilly! Sorry about that, the line went dead. So I've got a story for you..."

"Jason! Jason, listen to me!" She sounded flustered. I started putting it all together. "Mr Hunter, would you care to meet now?"

"Fuck! Time and a place. I'll come alone, unarmed. Just tell me when and where."

"Slow down, Mr. Hunter. Now you understand the situation. We will be in touch." And he hung up. The Seleck Family was going to pay me far more than it would cost for me to find their "little angel," and I needed cash, fast, if I was going to find Lilly. And I still hadn't had my coffee. 

CHAPTER II

Part VI

"Is there anything else you need to know?" He sat there with his arm around her, and his chest all puffed up like a real tough guy.

"No." She sat there crying like the actors do in bad romance movies. She kept sniffling but she wasn't really crying. It was a cute try, but she wasn't cut out for acting. 

"...and if there is anything we can do just call us and we'll give you whatever you..."

"Ma'am, I got it." The husband stared me down the second I said it. He had blue eyes. I knew a girl who hated blue eyes; she rubbed off on me a bit.

"Okay so you have all our information, our contact numbers and all the account numbers and you have..."

"Mr. Seleck..." I gave him a minute, "...I have everything I need. I'll talk to the help..."

"Our staff! We take very good care of them."

"I'm sorry." I wasn't sorry at all. "I will talk to the staff and see what information I can gather about your daughter, and go from there. I have to tell you that it has been a few days now and the chances of her turning up are pretty slim..." she tried to cry harder, as if what I had said upset her. She must have done this in front of a mirror all morning. "...but, nonetheless, I will find out what happened to your daughter and the people responsible will be prosecuted." I stood up from the sofa. My stomach had flipped itself inside out and I really needed a smoke. 

"Thank you for taking our case Mr. Hu..."

"Jason is fine ,Mr. Seleck."

"Very well then, Jason." He had a firm handshake. You can tell a lot about a man by the way he shakes hands. His big blue eyes were fixed on mine the entire time, and the only time I broke eye contact was to watch his toupee bounce around when he moved. Everything felt fake. He let go of my hand. I didn't dare reach for his wife's hand. I just wanted to get the fuck out. 

"And if there is anything at all..."

"Cheryl! He knows. Just calm down sweetheart, Jason is going to take care of it." She was still all sniffles. She had mustered up a few tears but she wasn't selling it to anyone. I made my way to the front door. The husband walked me over and opened it for me. He didn't say anything. I stepped outside.

There is no reason to go into detail. Their house looked just like all the others along Park Avenue, and they had the same pleasure-to-meet-you plastic smiles as everyone else. But that isn't the point. Their daughter, Elizabeth, went missing about three days ago. No one has seen or heard from her and all her credit cards and accounts had been frozen. Her boyfriend of four years was the last person to see her; he was with the family and had an airtight alibi. I wouldn't have pegged him anyway, besides it was too early to line up the suspects. I needed more information about the girl. I figured I'd start with the help, see if I couldn't find something out that mommy and daddy didn't know. The fact that they all spoke different languages made it a bit trickier than I had hoped for but I figured I'd worry about it later. I looked around at the foot-traffic outside and took a long hard drag off my cigarette. I was a loaded gun, and this city was reason enough to pull the trigger. I had a fresh case; I had a job again.

Regardless of how I went about it I knew it would be a tough case.

Part V

You know the city sings at night, it really fucking does. Sometimes you catch a bus and a garbage truck breaking  for dear life, and the walls suck in the sound and spit out a terribly mournful noise. Shit on a good night, when everyones tanked, you could get a whole god damn orchestra going. You can't hear it knees deep in shit and concrete, but up here you can. It could just be me. In either case I think you need to know that.

Part IV

The asshole that said nothing could suck out your soul like New York City has never been to 14th and 10th at two in the morning. Ignorant fucks. I made my way to the train and decided I was in no mood to deal with people. I caught a cab right outside the station.

"Where you go?" His uncanny ability to not form a full sentence really amused me. Here I am, taking freelance jobs and pissing in a tin cup while this rag-head of an "American" probably makes more in a week than I do in a month. And I don't mean to sound cruel, I just find an odd irony in the fact that the rest of the world's problems are charging me to get around my city. Fuck capitalism. 

"Yea take me to 73rd and Park."

"Nice there! You have friends?" I laughed and made the best of it.

"I have one friend and he stopped talking to me a long time ago. I'm going for business."

"Oh! Business! You make money! Very good!"

"You make more than I do. Cross at 86th. And I'm changing the stop, drop me off in front of the church on 79th and Park."

"Ah, church! Going to sermon?"

"... there is no God. I just saved you years of bad decisions." He didn't say anything after that; stopped sizing me up in the rear-view. I gazed mindlessly out the window and watched as the city's landscape changed from rent controlled to multimillion dollar plants and shrubs, let alone the buildings confined by them. Central Park is kind of like Detroit with it's railroad tracks... unless you live above the park. Everyone up there is fucked.

"Corner?"

"What?"

"Which corner?"

"Oh. Near is fine." He pulled over, rang up my fare, and took a long hard stare at me. I got out, no tip. 

I looked around. The streets wreaked of Burberry and Chanel. Everyone had a.. you know what, fuck it. Go see it for yourself. This shit makes me sick. I walked about half a block, fighting off the urge to have a smoke. I caved. The thought of walking around this seemingly wonderful paradise that I would never be a part of made me sick, So I had a smoke. 

I found the address stamped across an arch that made for the entrance to my employers palace. It was the closest thing to a house that Park Avenue had to offer. In fact, the only thing that separated it from a brownstone was the roof. That and the relatively small windows which, mind you, were spotless. I guess I couldn't really complain about it. These people probably employed New York's finest illegals. I walked up the cobblestone stoop which might as well have had a moat running under it, and rang the bell. I checked the time. I was early, and she still hadn't called me back, but I'll figure her into this much later. I'll spare you her company for now. The doorknob turned and shot the sun right into my eyes. I had my glasses, but $8 won't get you very far in fighting off the sun. The door opened.

The paranoia, the anger, the hopelessness that seems to live in my room with me, it's all closing in.