The Intrevenour

They became acquainted with each other, due to a set of unusual circumstances. Woodman had assigned Paul to a job searching for a formal girlfriend of a client named Hubert Muggs, a young man in his mid-twenties. According to Muggs, he had lost contact with a young woman, which whom he had a brief, but loving relationship. They attended the same college for nearly a year. He claimed that they had lost touch with each other after his transferring to a college in another part of the country. After returning to Chicago, Muggs wanted to seek her out, and possibly rekindle their old relationship. Paul perceived his client’s motive to be innocuous, so he accepted the assignment. Simultaneously, Dave had accepted an assignment protecting his client, Lisa Morrison from her insanely vengeful ex-boyfriend, who had a distorted sense of reality. She left him subsequently due to a series of verbal threats, which prompted Lisa to go into hiding. Paul and Dave’s paths crossed, when Morrison informed Dave that Paul had been interviewing her friends, and inquiring of her current whereabouts. Following every interview, Paul would give her friends one of his business cards. After receiving one of Paul’s cards from a friend, Morrison passed it on to Dave. He used that card to make contact with Paul. Dave had the intention of discussing with Paul, the nature of his interviews with Morrison’s friends. Paul and Dave met, and had an interesting conversation. They exchanged information concerning their investigations, and came to the astute conclusion that they should alert the police of the facts they unearthed. Days later, it was uncovered by the police that Muggs’ real name was Stanley Jenkins, a cold-blooded serial killer, who the police had been pursuing for two years. He would stalk his ex-girlfriends, hire private investigators to search for the women, steal the investigator’s notes, find his victims, confront them, and strangle them with a yellow scarf. He received it as a gift from the only woman Jenkins truly loved. She rejected him, due to his impotency. Ironically, Jenkins never harmed that woman. Based on Paul and Dave’s information, the police arrested Jenkins. He was indicted for five counts of murder. Jenkins was sentenced to five life terms in prison to be served consecutively, giving him no chance of parole. Dave admired Paul’s conscientious style, and wanted Paul to assist him on many other assignments, too complicated for one man. Paul and Dave’s friendship solidified within days of their acquaintance. In a matter of a few years, they had teamed-up on several assignments, and discovered they worked in concert together, as if they were a well-oiled machine. Early that Monday morning, Paul was vaguely disturbed with Dave. Paul perceived him as being unusually jittery and nervous. Paul was sitting on his couch across from Dave. Still sitting on the recliner, Dave was wearing a worn-out pair of blue jeans, with a pack of cigarettes firmly placed in the pocket of his white shirt. Dave was wearing an unbuttoned dark blue overcoat, white socks, and a worn-out pair of black oxford shoes. He wore the same clothes nearly every day. “I think it’s time you tell me what’s so fuckin’ urgent.” Paul glared at Dave, while sipping from his cup of coffee. “Well, let’s have it!” “OK!” Dave crushed a cigarette in an ashtray, and lit another. “Yesterday a bookkeeper visited my apartment, and told me the head of the company where he works is forming an alliance with some overseas underworld types. He says he overheard a conversation that gives him reason to think, the US is on the verge of an international incident.” “Sounds like your friend should be talking to the FBI, don’t yuh think?” Paul considerately suggested. “The Feds are experts at handling that kinda shit.” “He already talked to them assholes.” Dave explained. “The agent he spoke to said, the bookkeeper will have to present some solid proof, before the federal government will get involved.” Paul grinned sarcastically. “And where do we fit in all of this international intrigue?” “That’s easy!” Dave persuasively said, again crushing a cigarette in an ashtray, and lighting another. “All we have to do is get the proof for the bookkeeper. Once we provide him with the necessary info, he’ll hand it over to the Feds. You and I will walk away quietly into the sunset, and ten thousand fuckin’ dollars richer!” “Speaking of that ten grand!” Paul leaned forward in his seat, looking at Dave apprehensively. “Did you bother to check the credentials on this guy?” “Of course!” Dave removed a notepad from his coat pocket, and proceeded to read from it. “His name is Martin Bloom.” Dave leaned back farther in the recliner. “He works at Mort Stern, a large accounting outfit here in town. He’s been there for years, with no criminal record.” He immediately returned the notepad to his coat pocket. “Sounds good!” Paul responded gleefully. “Just one thing.” Dave warned cautiously. “What!!!” Paul snapped. “He wants to meet with us in a bowling alley in your old neighborhood.” “Sure! ---- When!” Paul was holding his cup of coffee very still, and close to his face. “He paid me a second visit at my apartment this morning. I told him we’d meet with’im in an hour.” “Damn!” Paul yelled excitedly, almost dropping the cup of coffee in his lap. He glanced at his watch. “That shit means we’ve got to get ready to go right now. Shit!!!” “I’m sorry it’s on such short notice, but ten fuckin’ grand is very temptin’.” “So is throwing your ass outta here, and going back to bed. Come to think of it, putting a bullet in your crazy ass is still on the agenda!”