Harlow Xavier wasn’t what I expected.
His office wasn’t what I expected. Under his name on the frosted glass of his office door were the words PRIVATE DETECTIVE. There was a filing cabinet beside the door with a lamp that looked like a Hawaiian hula girl on top. The light came from under her grass skirt, naked body was above that with arms reaching up. It leaned precariously due to a stack of papers underneath it. A bookshelf to the side had a variety of law books, novels, papers, and sports paraphernalia on the shelves. On the opposite wall was a large flat screen TV showing a football game. For a moment I thought I was in a man cave instead of an office. Right in front of the door was a desk. Papers cascaded over the edges. A Canadian Club bottle acted as a paper weight on one pile, a pistol in pieces held down another.
The oddest thing in the room was the man standing behind the desk. His shirt had sweat stains underneath the arms. The front was unbuttoned enough to show his hairy chest. His face was round, covered in whiskers and a pair of sunglasses held back his come-over. The kindest way to describe him was that he was as round as he was tall.
“Are you Harlow Xavier?” I ask and pointed at the name on the still open door. I was surprised at how much my voice shook.
He looked at me with glazed over eyes. There was the smell of cigarette smoke and a stainless in the air. He smacked his lips twice. “Ah, yeah, that’s me. What do you want?”
I took in a deep breath and let it out. I actually felt part of my body relax a little. “Mr. Xavier, I need your help…
...What do “I” want?
1. Help finding my sister’s killer
2. I am being followed and want him to find out who it is
3. Someone stole my signed Michael Jackson cassette tape
4. My monkey is missing.