Late morning and sunlight creeping through the blinds filled the loft with a dull glow. Sleeping in had not been the plan, but my body clearly had a different idea. After coffee and a hot shower, I got dressed and left for a late breakfast with Paul.
Being wheelchair-bound he didn’t get out much, but when he did, he liked to go to Hank’s Place, an old diner down near the courthouse. I’d been there plenty of times myself. It was always full of lawyers and cops and courthouse employees. It was the kind of place where cases were hotly discussed, and people who knew the city came to swap stories over strong coffee and greasy food.
Hank’s Place was a diner, as well as a downtown institution. Parking could be a pain in the ass but I managed to spot someone leaving and slid into their spot like a divorce attorney slipping into bed with his female client after their shared victory.
Hank’s Place looked the same as always. The sign over the door was faded, but still legible. Inside, the familiar smell of fried hamburgers, onions, and coffee hit me as soon as I pushed through the door. The floor was checkerboard, and the booths were covered in red vinyl, worn smooth in spots from years of use. I bypassed the booths and headed for the counter at the back, my usual spot. A guy my size had trouble sitting in booths, or at the counter between two other normal-sized customers.
Paul was already there waiting for me. He was in his wheelchair, angled slightly to the side so he could see the door and he said he had already ordered.
Carla, a server who’d worked at Hank’s so long the place should have been called Carla’s, came over. She was thin and wiry and if anyone asked me who should run the country, I’d tell them where to find Carla.
“Hey Big Man,” she said, pouring me a fresh cup of coffee. “Which side of the menu are you going to eat today?”
She always joked about my eating ability, as a time or two I had put on some impressive displays of food consumption.
“Give me the farmer’s special… for now.”
She laughed, jotted down the order and headed to the window where she clipped it to the end of the row.
“Good to see you out and about,” I said.
“Love this place,” Paul said. “Wasted a lot of time in here over the years.”
“Any time spent in Hank’s is not time wasted,” I replied with a smile.
“Speaking of,” he said and slid the papers across the counter. “Some interesting things. Arcadia Investments might be connected to the documents I found, but there’s nothing about them officially. No records, no public listings, nothing that would show up on a normal search. But I did pick up some chatter through the grapevine.”
“The rumor mill?”
Paul nodded. “Yeah. The name Arcadia has come up in a murder investigation. Apparently, some guy was tortured and dismembered. Eastern European. No idea what the connection is, but it’s there. There’s some information on the story in there.”
“Richard Webb is just full of surprises, isn’t he?”
Briefly, I explained what I think I’d found.
Paul shrugged. “No big surprise, I guess. By the way, I stumbled across another name, too—Rule. I don’t know if it’s a name, a company, or something else. Just came up in some of the items associated with transactions.”
“Rule,” I repeated. “Why does that sound familiar?”
We sat in silence for a moment, the din of the diner filling the space between us—the clatter of dishes, the murmur of conversations, the hiss of the grill from the open kitchen. I could smell the bacon and eggs, the thick aroma of fried food mixing with the scent of coffee. Carla came over and set our food on the table, while also refilling our coffee.
The food was delicious, as always, and midway through the meal the door opened and someone walked in.
“Sweet Christ, not him,” I said.
“Who?” Paul looked toward the door. “Oh.”
Cade Vance was dressed, as always, in a perfectly pressed suit that looked like he was ready for a magazine cover shoot, even in a place like this.
He spotted me and slowly made his way to our corner, stopping to shake hands and slap backs like the excellent politician he was. His real job was running the biggest private investigation firm in Detroit, but the business he was conducting right now? That was his real specialty.
“Well, if it isn’t Abbot & Costello,” he said as he approached.
Every time I come to Hank’s, he’s here, I thought to myself. The food was too good to stop coming, though.
Cade chuckled, pulling up a chair without asking. “What are you knuckleheads working on?”
“Breakfast,” I said.
Cade laughed, leaned back and glanced at Paul. “Good to see you out, my man,” he said. “Haven’t seen you around much lately.”
Paul nodded. “Been busy. You know how it is.”
“Sure, sure,” Cade said.
“What about you, Cade?” I asked finally. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, you know me,” he replied with a smile. “Always something new. Just trying to stay one step ahead of you.”
I appreciated the subtle dig of implying he was already ahead of me.
He stood up and said, “Good to see you boys.”
He wandered off and sat down at a table with what appeared to be four lawyers. A lot of Cade’s business was investigating cases for attorneys. It paid well, I heard.
“What an asshole,” Paul said.
“Yeah, the worst kind.”
“What kind of asshole is that?”
“A successful one.”