Baker sits alone in a filthy bedsit, in the gritty, down and out area by the docks.
His clothes look and smell like they haven’t been changed in a month of Sundays. The floor is littered with more empty whiskey bottles than he cared to count. Cheap whiskey. The only sort he can afford on his meagre wage.
Sighing heavily, he sinks deeper into his ratty old chair and takes another gulp of the rocket fuel. Ah, it’s like mothers’ milk to him. How he wishes he’d never left his beautiful wife and loving family all those years ago. A wandering eye and a chance meeting with a girl half his age led to the worst decision of his life.
Baker picks up the mysterious note that had been shoved under his door and reads it again.
Who would be wanting to contact him now? Why didn’t they sign the note?
He’d been kicked out of the force ten years ago. Too much drunk and disorderly on the job. And there was the little matter of the chief’s daughter.
His investigation days were over. Or so he thought.
Even though he was half expecting it, the banging on the door makes Baker jump like a kitten seeing its reflection for the first time.
“Who is it?” he growls drunkenly.
“Your worst nightmare!” comes the answer.
“Well why the heck would I want to let you in?” Baker snarls.
“Of all your nightmares, I might just be the safer option,” is the reply.
Baker struggles to his feet and staggers to the door. Curiosity had got the better of him. And sitting alone in the gloomy bedsit drinking himself to death wasn’t looking like a great alternative either.
Baker squints through the peephole in his door. The lights in the hallway had gone months ago, so all he can see is a large silhouette.
He slowly opens the door and lets in a blast of cold air along with his visitor. The man is carrying a loaded revolver in one hand and a slice of greasy pizza in the other.
“Don’t mind me,” he slurs, brandishing the pizza slice, “Haven’t had time for dinner.” No mention is made of the gun. Seems it goes with the territory in these parts.
“You’d better start talkin’ fast,” growls Baker. “I haven’t got all night.”
“Well that, my friend, may turn out to be true if you don’t shut up and listen.”
The stranger shakes off his long black coat, and drops heavily into Bakers chair.
“There’s trouble down the docks. Real bad trouble. And folks around here tell me Trouble is your middle name. So congratulations, looks like you got the job.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about stranger?”
“The name’s Jonah, most folk call me Joe. Now quit ya gabbing and come with me. There’s no time to lose. “
To read more of Amanda’s writing click here.