Chapter 5, Part 4

jacobson

My vision had cleared, and my heart had recovered a steadier rhythm. Thomas remained seated, although his brow remained sharply furrowed and his extremities seemed to positively vibrate with concentration.

The cafe’s other denizens had evacuated long minutes before- it seemed that despite their propensity for violence the Neithermen had not found it necessary to harm uninvolved persons: a whiff of civilization in the midst of the overpowering scent of excrement.

I stood to rummage behind the plaster-covered counter for an unbroken bottle of wine. I returned with two glasses and offered one to Thomas. He shook his head, then looked up and caught my disbelieving expression.

“Gotta headful ‘a landmines right now, Greg. I either gotta be sober or drunk ’nuff not to feel the shrapnel…” He made eye contact briefly then his eyes returned to City’s missive as his voice trailed off.

I set the glass in front of him anyway. “My God, Thomas.”

“Not yours nor anyone else’s thank you much.”

“Be serious, man! For the love of- What now?”

Looking me in the eyes, he set down the letter and all at once became quite still. “We’ve got a number of options, Greg.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “And the number of options is two.”

My stomach started sinking. “And those are?”

“Life or death, Greg.”

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bleakly

I couldn’t stand to see that look in his eyes but hey, whaddayawant.

Even as Jacobson’s face went crimson, his knuckles on the table and wineglass went white. “You’re really going to play it that way? You’re going to abandon a case?”

I took off my hat and put it on the table. “We’ve gone far, Greg. We’ve had good times. Our client Ms. Smith was willing to pay for all expenses of this investigation. We got to play with bad guys, we got to shoot guns. But she’s gone, Greg. And good ol’ Cornelius just gave us a pretty perfumed invitation to join her and step right- into- his- mouth.”

Jacobson cast aside the wineglass; a lesser man would have bellowed. His rage presented itself in the form of his absolutely stony features draining themselves of all expression, all his anger drawing itself into his twinkling eyes as if he could make his hate tangible and make it stick to me. “A decent man would never- never- abandon a lady in distress.”

Gregory Jacobson was literally my oldest friend. But I said the words anyway. “I never made any sort of claim I was a decent human being.”

Why? Because I’m Thomas Bleakly. Private Eye.

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jacobson

And with that he stood and left the cafe, only tossing back- “Who knows, Greg? You have fun with old man City. Don’t call me.”

What the hell now, Jacobson?

Well, there was really no other solution. I had to continue on my own. As a testament to my honor, my generation’s honor- and, dammit, the human race itself.

I would find her if it killed me.