part 5

“You’re kidding, right?” The look on his face told me he wasn’t. Jimmy was a lot of things. Most of them would get him beaten up by less tolerant folks. But you could always tell when he was dead serious. Ah hell, I hate puns. His eyes and lips set in a grim stare.

“Theo, where’d you come across something like this? Normally this kinda thing is way over your head.”

”It’s part o’ the job. And hey, thanks for the vote of confidence. Really. I needed that. Now you gonna tell me about this thing or what?”

“Oh, oh, right. The Esprit de Renard used to be the property of Hunter Renard, the guy was some kinda high-profile thief or somesuch. Some kinda lucky charm I think. Then I don’t know how it goes but ‘parrently the amulet’s cursed, bad things been happenin’ to those who got hold of it. You ask me this Hunter fella don’t want nobody touchin’ his old lucky charm.”

Now, I wasn’t really one for this Mother Goose crap. Fairy tales were for kids and people who didn’t know they were kids. You ask me, most of this ghost, or curse hoodoo was made up by people who wanted their fifteen minutes of semi-obscurity. Say what you want, but to me real mysteries are why people can’t stay married, why no one cares about the everyman’s suffering. Tell me why that happens and I’ll probably die happy. Then again, probably not. But at least it answers questions.

I thanked Jimmy for his help. He responded by slamming the door in my face. Can’t fault the man for hospitality. Above, it started to rain. Raindrops splattered to the surface like dreams shattering when you wake up. It was bitingly cold. Elsewhere, a young couple ran for shelter as the rain came pelting down. A hobo cowered under his flimsy cardboard shelter as what was left of his protection crumbled around him. I turned up the collar of my coat and walked back in the rain.

Somehow the rain managed to mirror what I thought inside. I was being paid millions to recover somebody’s trinket. Not that it was very hard to find – you gotta know the right people first. But it was the reputation that bothered me. Jimmy’d told me about all the guys who’d gotten their hands on the Esprit de Renard. One died, his car swerved into a tree. Another fell out of an open window. Yet another drowned. The last one went insane. Some track record. Who was Bouchard to the Esprit and why did she want it?

It was still raining as I got back to the office. I shook the rainwater off my coat and tossed it on the chair.

I made a phone call.