The Iraqi Wall Clock.

[Surya]

Prologue, Preface whatever.

Meet Chicago Tyner. S.F Private Eye.
A literate, Gulf War Vet from the United States Marine Corps who has determined never to grow up. He carries a Cougar Magnum, cracks jokes at the worst times, and solves cases given to him by the Californian people.


1.
Being a Private Investigator is a lot of work. Especially if one is among the best in the field. This morning a couple showed up at my doorstep to disturb my Saturday morning slumber and to let me know that their eighteen-year old adopted daughter was missing. After dealing with issues concerning my fee, they gave me her picture, her school info, and finally her name. That was no problem. I’ve done plenty of kidnapping cases, but the deal here was, these two were no ordinary couple. The tall, muscular, Rambo look-alike was the Mayor of San Francisco, Mr. Powell, and the short blonde broad was his wife. I could see why they would come to the best PI in Frisco rather than the cops considering elections were coming up right around the block, and Rambo didn’t want any bumps on his smooth election champagne. My job was to find teen and return her to First Blood.

2.
I looked into the yellow folder titled “School Info.” In it was everything from her grades, to the phone numbers of her friends. I opened the drawer of my work desk and pulled out a yellow note pad, and a pen with Mickey Mouse’s face wrapped around it. The first name on the friend’s list, “Erica Javendale.” I jotted the name and put a hyphen next to it. The seven-digit number was highlighted in pink. I spun it on my old school rotary phone. It rang once. I looked at the clock. It read 7:48am. Maybe it was time for breakfast. How about McDonalds? ‘Super size, super size the American way.’ My lips started to mummer.
“Hello.” A woman answered on the forth ring.
“Hello. May I talk to Ms. Erica Javendale?”
“This is she.” The voice sounded tired and sleepy.
“Hi Erica, my name is Chicago Tyner. I’m a Private Investigator. I just want to ask a few questions about Allison Powell.” There was a long pause. “…hello?”
“uh…sure go ahead.” She seemed a bit unhappy with the whole situation. I started with my list of questions.


3.
After 9 phone calls and a shower I was less than excited with what I heard. The kids seemed stubborn and unwilling to speak. Hell, if some guy I’d never heard of before called me and asked me about my friends, I wouldn’t be willing to give them good answers either. I looked at the wall clock, which I had gotten in Iraq during the war. It read 10:35 am. School would have started. Maybe I should pay them a visit. If some guy I’d never heard of before pulled me out of class and asked me about my friend, I wouldn’t tell him. But I had a gut feeling that they would.

To be Continued....