It’s the day after my fortieth birthday and I’m struggling to put one foot in front of the other; after downing two bottles of JD last night, I don’t know why I’m surprised.

Not that I’d been out celebrating you understand, it was more a self-piteous bacchanal; which is the worst kind of solo drinking.

I’d managed to screw up my third date with the gorgeous Christi Powell: a well-known actress and night-club singer. I won’t bore you with all the details, but taking the best-looking woman in Frisco, to the best restaurant in the city and having my credit card declined by the maître d', wasn’t quite the impression I was looking for.

After she’d angrily paid our $100 tab, she made it quite plain that her perfectly trimmed and silk-covered vagina would remain an unopened birthday present. She turned left and got in a cab, and I turned right and went to Paulo’s bar.

After that, I don’t remember much else, until I woke up on my sofa with the hangover from hell.

+++

I opened my office door, walked past my assistant and slumped into the chair.

“Before you start giving me shit, I need two aspirin and a large coffee.”

She ignored my request, I knew she would. “I’m not going to ask why it’s nearly midday and you’ve missed two appointments and an important phone call.”

I could tell this was just her opening salvo, of a full-on vitriolic attack. “Funny thing boss; I don’t need to know what happened to you last night, because I have just been reading the gossip column in this morning’s Chronicle,” She shook her head in despair, ignoring my sorrowful face. “The paparazzi really enjoyed your performance in the street. There’s a great photo of the angry, yet still gorgeous Miss Powell getting into a taxi – alone! I particularly enjoyed the reference to Mike Mace, a third-rate private investigator. That’ll be good for business.”

She slammed two pills on my desk. “Get your own fucking coffee!”

Half an hour of silence with just the awful clack of her typewriter was enough purgatory for any man to take. So, I gave up and slowly walked over to her desk. “Look, it was my birthday, okay? I promise it won’t happen again.”

An uncompromising smile spread across her face. “You promise not to celebrate another birthday? That would be convenient for a man who’s just turned forty and is still single,” Her sarcasm wasn’t wasted. “Or is that a promise not to get drunk again? I seem to remember you promised me that last week, and the week before. You’re a fate worse than our debt.”

She couldn’t help the humour slipping from her downturned mouth. Even when she was angry, she was funny. “Look, I don’t give a shit if you drink yourself into oblivion boss, but right now you need the money, and I need this fucking job.”

Delores ‘Dizzy’ Gillespie started off as my filing clerk three years ago; the daughter of an old army pal. She quickly became my assistant. I liked her from day one. Twenty-five years old, five foot-six in heels, an ass the size of a small country and one-hundred and seventy pounds of black attitude. She’d served a spell inside, took no prisoners, and I adored her beyond reason.

In truth, she was the younger sister I never had, which made employee relations somewhat difficult at times. She called me boss, but we both knew who was in charge.

I moved to the chair opposite her desk, “I know you’re right. You’re always right. Come on then, tell me what I missed?”

“Is that your half-assed apology I hear?” She raised her pencilled eyebrows, cupped her ear and laughed. “Okay well, Benni Diamond came by wearing a Gucci dress; that guy’s got a better wardrobe than me. He needs you to check on his boyfriend… again?”

“For fucks sake…I’ve told him at least three times, the guys not cheating.”

“I know boss but it's two hundred a day. I’ve rescheduled for tomorrow. Police officer Steve Reynolds arrived for your witness statement, but when I couldn’t find it on that mess you call a desk, he left with the hump; says he’ll be back with a subpoena. And there was a strange phone call from a Chinese-sounding chic from Jamaica who wants you to call her back regarding a miss-per.”

“Okay, well the witness statement is in the filing cabinet under ‘S’ for Steve, because I couldn’t remember his surname, and I’ll phone the Jamaican woman after I’ve got us both a coffee and two Boston cremes from Frankie’s.”

Her thunderous laugh filled the office, “You, old charmer you…Old being the operative word, and don’t forget, I’m still pissed with you, and I haven’t finished making your life shit.”

I phoned the Jamaican woman an hour later. I saw Dizzy out of the corner of my eye, watching me from her desk and listening on the extension.

“Hi, is that Miss Chung? This is Mike Mace. Sorry I missed your call.

“Oh. Hi – I was wondering if you were available for hire, starting tomorrow?”

"I can’t do anything for a few days - maybe a week. I’m up to my eyes in work.” The lie was obvious to anyone that knew me: Dizzy pulled her angry face.

“What about if I pay for an open-ended return ticket to Jamaica – could you make it here within three days? We could discuss the details when you arrive.”

“Oh – So, you want me to come to Jamaica?”

“Is that an issue Mr Mace?”

“Err – no I guess not.”

Dizzy jumped into my eye line and gave me the thumbs up. 

+++

I walked into the Chetah; a back-of-town bar in Montego Bay. It had seen better days, or maybe that was just a front for keeping out unwanted guests.

I’d watched the place for about an hour before stepping inside; the clientele was local and anti-social. Nasty boys and painted whores: Just my kind of place.

I had the feeling you could get anything you wanted here, as long as it wasn’t legal.

I shook the tropical rain from my hat and looked around the smoky lounge. An overwhelming scent pricked my nose. A sickly mixture of weed, sweat and sex. I’d smelt worse of course, but not since the gook brothels of Seoul.

The hard eyes stabbed into my back as I sauntered to the bar. A hostile silence hung in the stale humid air. Not, that it bothered me; I’d built my reputation on being unpopular.

A beefy guy behind the jump was pretending to clean the glasses. You know the type: Nightclub bouncer with no neck and even less brain. His hard words snapped like a whip. “Whatcha doing in here honky boy. You a Fed?” He turned his face towards a group of hookers in a corner booth and winked. He fancied himself as a hardman and I let him do his thing—for now.

I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Take it, easy boss, I ain’t no lawman. Just here to meet some chic by the name of Jade Chung.”

The clatter from the dominoes table stopped when I dropped her name. It was ninety degrees outside, but the vibe from the locals was colder than a penguin’s penis.

“No chic by that name around here man,” said the goon, “You’re not from these parts, are you? … Best you move on before things turn ugly.”

I discretely moved the front of my jacket to one side so he could see I was carrying. His eyes took on that familiar look. The one I’d seen many times before when tough guys realise, they’re not so tough. He didn't seem happy about backing up the bus.

I could feel the curious eyes of the tarts checking me out. I straightened my jacket and smiled in their direction.

“I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot here bro,” I said, keeping my eyes on the girls and ignoring the barman. Then I slapped down a Jackson. “Why not get everyone a drink.”  

He sucked his teeth in disdain, and I could feel the hate stabbing in my back. I took that as a victory salute. A couple of the hookers licked their painted lips.

Just then a bead curtain at the side of the bar opened and there stood a delicious looking broad wearing a kimono dress that clung to her skin and left little to the imagination. Her cheerful nipples greeted me through the thin blue silk.  

She gave the barman a look of steel and curled her upper lip. It was obvious she was in charge and didn’t take too kindly to knuckle-head giving me jive.  

“Mister Mace. Nice to meet-choo, thank you for coming.” Her soft Chinese accent wrapped easily around the words, like honey on warm rye.

I returned her cute smile. “Are you Jade?”

“Yes, I am. Come through to the back.” Her eyes beamed as she held the curtain to one side, giving me just enough room to squeeze past. 

+++

It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the half-lit gloom beyond the curtain.

At the end of the corridor, an electric sign above the fire exit flickered and buzzed; a wedge of evening sunlight shone through a gap between the doors – probably warped by the incessant heat.

She showed me into a dingy office; it reminded me of my own place in Frisco. I should have felt right at home, but I didn’t. There was something about this place that had me feeling edgy.

Jade pointed a perfectly manicured finger towards a high-backed leather sofa that looked out of place amongst the drab and worn-out furniture. It was placed at an odd angle and that bugged me. My OCD kicked in, and I had to consciously stop myself from pushing it against the wall.  

Sitting opposite me on an old shabby club chair, she let the slit of her dress open as she crossed her legs, giving me the full view of her olive-coloured thighs.

A tiny smile crept along her plump red lips when she saw my eyes widen in appreciation. It was all going on with this babe. Curves and seduction in equal measure. She smelt good too, a sharp contrast to the stink of raw hash coming from down the hall. Somewhere in this rundown shack cultivation was in full swing. Yet for all her expensive threads and smooth talk, I could tell she was more Bayview than Pacific Heights.

"I have to say, Mister Mace, you're exactly as I imagined,”

"Oh, and what’s that sugar – Middle-aged and single?” Dizzy’s words had pricked my conscience. She was right, I needed to get my shit together.

Jade smiled at my attempt at humour. “Single? That’s surprising… I was actually thinking, tall, good-looking, blue-eyed and sexy. Kind of intimidating too."

I gave her a wink and returned her smile, “Flattery? That's cute. So tell me, what’s the score here babe? And deal from the top of the deck okay; your receptionist behind the bar has made me a little jumpy.”

She held my eyes and casually opened her legs. “Straight to the point; I like that in a man,” I didn’t give her the satisfaction of looking between her thighs and kept my eyes straight on her face. “Truth is Mister Mace, someone stole some peas from me, and the dough is somewhere in your manor, and I want it back.”

“How many peas?” I replied.

“Six bags.”

I whistled, “Six grand. Wow! That’s a lot of peas.” I lied and pretended to be sympathetic. Truth is, that’s small change in Frisco, unless of course like me, you don’t have a pot to piss in.

Curiosity got the better of me and I took a sneaky peek between her legs. No panties – no surprise! “Look, I gotta tell you from the outset babe, I mainly do missing persons – not missing money.”

She slowly nodded, weighing up her reply. “Actually, it’s both in this case; find the person that stole from me, and you’ll find the money too. I’m sure of that.”

I could tell her answers were fully rehearsed. She was playing me, but I was curious to see where I this was heading.

“Well, I ain’t so sure sugar. In my experience, money moves quickly when it’s been ripped off. And please don’t take this personally, but I’m not so cool about working for a woman. They get a little too emotional for my liking.”

I needed this job, but I wasn’t about to sound desperate. “If I decide to take this gig, what’s in it for me babe?”

“Twenty per cent of whatever you recover and a fee for bringing me the thief.” Her smile was beguilingly cute. “Look, you’ll get no emo from me, honey, I don’t do drama. I’m what you guys call low maintenance… I’m all fun and no misery.”

I tried to ignore the inviting inclination in her voice, but it wasn’t easy. We were playing cat and mouse. Trouble was, I couldn’t help thinking I was the rodent.

I gave her my hard stare. “Thirty per cent and I’ll deliver the guy. But not here – somewhere on my side of the water.”

“Look. You’re a tough guy, everyone knows that. You have your reputation to consider - I get it.” There was now a slice of real menace in her eyes, something I hadn’t seen before, a contrast to her soft inviting body. This chic was used to getting her own way, and that’s a recipe for danger.

“Mister Mace you can deliver the perp anywhere you want, and I’ll sort out the, erm… transport.”

The way she said transport was ugly. An image crept into my head of the big guy behind the bar, loading someone into a body bag.

She looked me straight in the eyes, “By the way Mister Mace, this isn’t a guy I’m after. It’s actually a chick.”

I tried to keep the confusion from my face, but it wasn’t easy. “No way… a chic?… I’m not into chasing dodgy dames around town, they can be slippery little fuckers.”

“Well, that’s not what I hear Mr Mace.” She bit her bottom lip in that sexy way that some broads do. “According to what I hear, chasing women around town is your field of expertise.”

She widened her amber eyes and smiled deliciously. Bubbles of sweat formed along my spine as she rose from her seat and walked towards me, kicking off her heels on the way. Suddenly the temperature rose. The intention was obvious and so was the heat in my pants.

She clocked the bulge and smiled. “You wouldn’t have to chase me around town Mike, you could put me in chains anytime you liked.”

I took advantage of her seductive invitation and ramped up the fee. “Forty per cent, two hundred a day for expenses and half a bag up front?”

Keeping eye contact, but ignoring my words she slowly moved closer. This was going a little too fast, and I pushed my ass to the back of the seat and showed her the palm of my hand. “Stop right there, missy! I know about you Asian chicks. In my experience, they’ve always got a blade stashed somewhere.”  

She smiled easily, which turned into a soft sexy giggle – “You don’t want me to stop Mike.”

Loosening her hair, she let it cascade down her back. Then unhooked her dress and held her arms out to the sides, letting the gossamer fabric catch on her rigid nipples. “I've got to tell you Mike, you’re my kind of guy. Why don’t you relax and let me show you how this Asian chick likes to do business.”

Her confident smile lit up her face, as her dress slipped from her breasts and pooled around her feet. Her naked body was perfectly glazed with a soft dewy sweat that shone beautifully in the fluorescent light.

I’d promised myself I'd stick to the rule of not mixing business with pleasure, but when she climbed onto my lap that rule diluted as quickly as my fee. It’s hard to be a tough negotiator when a beautiful woman has her hand working your cock.

She rolled a Frenchie onto my hard dick and jumped on board. She was enthusiastic too, like a playful kitten.

As the heat built her soft sexy sighs become breathless moans and her eyes rolled back into her head as I raised my hips and pushed deeper. Her hands cupped her breasts and pointed them to my mouth, inviting me to give them some attention. Saliva flooded and I didn’t disappoint. I was more than happy to graze hungrily on her hard cherries.

"Oh yeah!" she moaned, “I knew you’d be good.”

She bounced like a jockey and her boobs wobbled in my face. I could barely breathe – my deep sighs opened against her lively flesh – The sweet taste of her sweat covered my tongue – Then her pussy squeezed me tighter than a New England clam as she finger-sandwiched her clit.

It was her way of saying she was ready, and I gripped her ass in both hands. In less than no time, we are both hitching a ride to climax town.

+++

After some breathless kissing, she climbed off and silently dressed. I wanted to tell her she was amazing and beautiful, but she made it clear that romance wasn’t her thing. Some folks aren’t big on post-coital affection, and she was obviously one of them.

She expertly wraps the used rubber in a tissue, as tidy as you like, then pulls out a cash-shaped envelope from a desk drawer and threw onto the sofa, “Here’s a down payment honey, along with some information – I’m out of town on business for a few days; back later in the week. Let’s get together on Thursday. Same place - same time?”

“What makes you think I won’t run off with your cash?” I said, pulling up my pants.

Her sarcastic laughter filled the space between us, “We both know that isn’t going to happen Mike. I know you are already thinking about getting me naked again.” And she was right.

On my way back to my hotel, I stopped for a welcome drink in a beachside bar and thought about what had just gone down. It was certainly the strangest business meeting I'd ever had.

My ego wanted me to believe she couldn't help herself, but the truth was I felt like I'd been played like a damn fiddle.

+++

“Hey!” I say down the hotel phone the following day. “How’re things with you Dizzy?”

I’d faxed her straight after my interesting liaison with Miss Chung. I needed to know more, and Dizzy was good at digging up the dirt. Jade wasn't telling the truth… and it didn’t need Einstein to work that out.

“Average boss – How’s Jamaica?”

“Well, the sky is blue, the sun is hot, the beer is cold and there are topless girls on the beach. It’s a tough ask babe.”

“Oh, poor old you – my heart bleeds.”

It felt good to talk to a friend again. “What you got for me Dizzy?”

“Firstly boss, thanks for the money transfer. I paid the utilities and the rent, and I’ve spread a little cash around to get the right info.”

I suspected Dizzy hadn’t paid herself. Like me, she was happy to wait.

“Now for the juicy stuff boss. Word around is Jade Chung is big-time in Jamaica. Her business grossed about half a mill last year, mainly weed, some white and some prostitution,”

“Really! And she’s snivelling about six bags?” I wondered what her angle was. I had a feeling I'd find out soon. “I got to tell ya Dizzy, I went to her sleazy bar yesterday. It’s a front for a weed factory, but I don’t see big money coming out of there. Things aren’t adding up.”

“Yeh, I agree boss – it doesn’t make sense. She’s just bought a big house on the beach road, worth a fortune, and she owns a penthouse in town overlooking the sea? Definitely not short of a few bucks. I hear she’s selling off parts of her business too and there are plenty of bids on the table. But I can’t see how the missing girl fits into all this. By the way, the miss-per has an unusual name boss, it’s Ba-er-Liu, but people call her Lu for short. American Chinese, from what I hear.”

My mind slips back to my army days. I picked up a little Cantonese in Korea. Ba er Liu means Eight-two-six. Chinese hookers often called their kids by the army pay-roll number of the American dad.

“You okay boss, you seem a little distracted?”

Dizzy was good at sensing my unease, even down the phone.  

“Yeh, I’m cool; just trying to piece it all together that’s all.”

“There’s something up I can tell – you’re not your usual self,” She always sounded like my mother in these moments. “I’ve seen a photo of the client, she’s hot if you like that broody Asian look, and you do, and let’s be honest boss, you've not been getting much action lately…Did you get cosy with a client again boss?”

The thought of the delicious Miss Chung pricks at my brain; it's an itch that can’t be reached.

“I’m pleading the fifth.” 

She laughed out loud. “Yes, I knew it. I should be on Jeopardy, I’d clean up…Look boss, to be honest, I don’t care if you have or you haven’t, and when I tell you the next bit of juice I got, you might wish you’d have kept that little white dick of yours, in your pants.” She loved nothing more than riding me about my sex life.

She didn’t wait for me to further claim my innocence. “That Chinese bitch, has a famous - or should I say infamous, father? None other than Noodle George.”

“Oh fuck!” I whisper,

“Yes, Boss. Oh, fuck, indeed!” Her laughter was so loud, I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

I’d only met Noodle George once. He was the thinnest guy I’d ever seen - hence the name. But he had a real nasty face, like a dog chewing a wasp. I heard he has people killed for fun. Nothing goes in or out of Chinatown without him taking a piece of the action.

“I wonder how many people know George is Jade's father?” I ask.

“I don’t know boss but according to my source, both parties are happy to keep their distance. Rumour has it there’s bad blood in that family.”

I wanted to ask Dizzy where and how she gets her information, but I gave up doing that months ago. She knows all the right people in all the wrong places.

I poured another shot, and say, “Hey, Dizzy!”

“Yes, boss.”

“Nice work babe!”

“Thanks, boss…look, I know you won't take my advice but I hear there are some bad bro's in Jamaica, so be careful okay?"

“Yessss, Mummy.”

Her throaty laughter burns my ear, and I hung up the phone. I wasn’t so worried about the brothers, it was the sisters that bothered me more. I headed for the shower to try and wash away one sister in particular.

Confucius, he say: A man's life is simple, but women have a habit of making it complicated.

+++

I spent that evening and most of the next forty-eight hours working the streets and of course, the local dives.   

I’d hired a small car, one of those English jobs with no air-con, no power, and no legroom and checked out Jade’s place on the beach road, north of the city. A big old stack in a quiet area. It had locked gates and a well-trodden path down to a small, secluded marina. I could see why it was called, the smuggler's rest. I reckon you could ship anything you wanted through there and nobody would be any the wiser.

Just after sun-down, I parked a few hundred yards from the Chetah, but within view of the bar’s front door and settled down for some serious surveillance.

For an hour or so nothing much happened; a group of punters arrived alone and left with a bunch of hookers. They were passing around a joint the size of Steve Holmes’ dick. It was obvious this wasn’t the most popular bar in town, but I guess they weren’t coming for the beer.

Just after midnight, everyone started to leave which surprised me. I thought this kind of place would be an all-nighter. The big guy, behind the bar, turned out the lights and locked the door. I was expecting to see Jade too - or was I just being hopeful? She didn’t strike me as a woman who took a night off.

I felt uneasy as I squeezed out of the car, like I wasn’t the only person watching. I took out my forty-five and screwed on the silencer and decided to take a closer look.

I easily climbed the back wall; slunk low in the shadows and approached the fire exit. I’d brought a wire coat hanger from my hotel and slid it between the gap in the fire doors; dropped the push-bars and waited.

No alarm. That surprised me. It was going to be easier than I'd thought.

Turning on my torch I worked my way along the dark corridor and found Jade's office. I carefully twisted the handle. It gave way and I stepped inside. Obviously, security wasn’t high on Jade's agenda or maybe someone wanted it that way.

There had to be something in here, something that connected Jade to the missing girl.

I walked over to the desk and searched the drawers. There was nothing much there, just the normal desktop stuff. Pens – a letter opener with a Chinese handle – paperclips and some old utility bills.

I scanned the room, everything was just as I’d seen it before, including the leather sofa. It was hard to ignore the obvious memory of us getting down and dirty. I still couldn’t get my head around that sofa; why would anyone leave it so out of place. I lifted one end and swung it against the wall. That looked better, nice and neat. Then I saw it; the reason it wasn’t parallel with the wall, was because it was hiding something. That something was a floor safe.

I bent down and checked the combination lock. It had three tumblers: Easy for a safecracker, but not for a dumb detective. Unless of course, that dumb detective has three numbers rattling around in his head. Eight – two – six.

I made the combination and heard that familiar click and lifted the door, bingo!

There was enough loose cash inside to keep a divorce lawyer happy. But I hadn’t come for that. I was looking for something far more valuable.

At the bottom, below the bundles of notes were a couple of photos in frames, the type you’d put on your desk to remind you of loved ones. I looked over to Jade's desk and imagined them sitting there, which meant someone like Jade, didn’t want someone like me finding them.

One photo was Jade with a young woman, by the description I’d say that was Lu. Lu certainly didn’t look happy about being photographed. The other was Jade and a good-looking blonde; they looked stunning in low-cut evening gowns, hanging with a small group of Latino men. They were all dolled up: Some black-tie charity event I guessed.  

I instantly recognised a couple of the male faces. One was a well-known car dealer from Frisco by the name of Hernandez Capa. The other was man-about-town and former Texan senator Ralph Lazario. Both are high-end scumbags with a penchant for running drugs, and both are competitors of Noodle George.

There was a nasty stink about this gig and it was getting stronger by the day.

I took out my camera and snapped the photos, then returned them to the safe.

After tidying up, replacing the sofa and wiping my prints, I slipped back along the corridor, closed the exit doors, and headed for the street.

+++

As I turned the corner towards my car, I came across two black guys coming towards me. I reckon they’d had a good night by the way they were swaying.

One of the drunks called out in a breezy slur, “Hey big man, what’s up? You lost?”

They smiled easily, but I wasn’t taking any chances and raised my hands in innocence. “I’m all good bruv, just on my way home.”

The biggest guy was wearing a ‘32’ Lakers top. He was giving it the Hardman limp. I’m not sure Magic Johnson would have enjoyed his company; his breath stunk of weed and booze.

“I think we got ourselves a poor lost soul here bro,” said the Lakers guy, “What’s in your pockets man? Tourists always carry plenty of goodies.”

I tried to move to one side and make a getaway, but they split up and covered my escape. They fancied their chances… and I didn’t like mine.

“Back off guys,” I said, firmly planting my feet and sliding my hand inside my jacket.

The smaller guy stopped in his tracks, “He’s got a weapon man.”

But the Lakers guy kept closing the gap between us. He reached into his belt and pulled out a knife. “Nah, no weapon bro, he’s bluffing.”

He turned towards me. “Empty your pockets man or I’ll cut ’cha!” He slowly circled the blade in his hand like he was stirring coffee.

I hate these moments when you know it’s going to end badly. Normally I can back down without any trouble, but I couldn’t afford to be mugged tonight; I needed my camera, and I had a big wedge in my wallet. I made it plain I wasn’t giving out to the bad boys and stood taller ready for the fight.

Laker-guy charged, the blade shining in the streetlight. I stepped forward and cracked his wrist with the barrel of my gun and popped one in his thigh for good measure. He screamed and fell to the ground. His buddy panicked and skipped the scene. It wasn’t what I wanted, but sometimes things are out of my control.

I did the felons jog back to my car, half walk – half run.  My hands were shaking as I started the engine. You never really get used to burning someone.

I parked up in a quiet spot for a while to compose myself and listened out for the twos and blues. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later I heard the familiar squeal of a speeding cop car followed by an ambulance.

I had never quit a gig before, but I was beginning to think this might be the first. The problem was Miss Jade Chung had screwed my mind and played with my better judgement. I hadn’t worked out her real motive yet, but I certainly intended to.

Confucius, he say: She who plays with a private dick often comes to a sticky end.