Tracy Hayes, Apprentice PI

Chapter Three

My delight made the dog perk up. He jumped down before I could prevent him and proceeded to sniff around the office, his tail wagging in excitement. I took that as a sign that he had recovered, and since Jackson didn't seem to mind, I let him be.

"So what does the job entail?"

"Now you ask?" Corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

I shrugged. "It has to be better than waitressing."

"It depends on the assignment. But at least the days are usually shorter and hours are more flexible."

I liked the job already. Six years of ten hour days, seven days a week, had utterly worn me out.

"I take it there's enough work to take an apprentice?"

"Apprentice, huh?" Jackson teased me. "Yes, there is. Apart from my own clients, I do investigative work for the DA's office and the Brooklyn Defender Service."

The latter caught my interest, because Travis worked as an attorney there. "Sounds intriguing."

He shrugged. "It's basic work: interviewing the witnesses, trying to come up with new evidence, going through people's trash." He added the last bit with a challenging smile, but I wouldn't be intimidated. It couldn't be worse than mopping dog vomit. Or human vomit for that matter; I'd done that too during my years as a waitress.

"Requires manpower and doesn't pay too well."

"And how much are you paying me?"

"I can't pay you more than 10.50 per hour, I'm afraid."

"It's better than the 7.65 plus tips I earned as a waitress," I said, impressed. Especially since the tips at the café hadn't been all that great. "What else do I need to know?"

"There's a lot of driving required. Do you have a car?"

"No."

"How do you get around?"

"I have a MetroCard."

He grinned. "That'll have to do." Then he clapped his hands together. "Now, let's see if Cheryl's come back from the courthouse already."

We returned to the reception area sans the dog. He had jumped on the couch and was busy making a nest for himself on it, twirling around as if leveling hay or grass. Cheryl hadn't returned, so Jackson seated me at her desk and moved the mouse to make the computer screen wake up. A mugshot of a very ugly man, or possibly a warthog - the face was so scarred it was difficult to tell - came into view, and we both pulled back.

"Shouldn't be too difficult to find that one," Jackson muttered to himself as he opened an empty Word document for me. I could've done it myself, but he probably didn't want me messing around on his secretary's computer.

"Do you do skip tracing too?"

"Only when I'm bored. Keeps things interesting. Especially if I step on the toes of the big bounty hunters. That guy's free game though. Bonded by a small agency that doesn't have their own bounty hunters. They send cases my way occasionally."

I shuddered, thinking I'd have to chase after him, but didn't say anything. I wouldn't make much of a PI if I was frightened by the people I'd encounter.

And it wasn't as if I hadn't come across all sorts as a waitress.

"Do you know how to compose a missing dog poster?"

"Yes. I'm great at posters. I used to handle the advertising for my ex's band." They hadn't exactly been in the Madison Square Garden league, more in the local saloon slash bar slash community center league. We did everything ourselves, including advertising.