A Descent into Darkness

Sleuths

Once again dressed as Amanda, I step off the elevator on the second floor of Langon Park, a small outlet mall on Lakeshore Boulevard. This guy better be as good as advertised. If not, he's fucking dead. In the past, I would avoid private investigators at all costs. Sleazy as they may be, many are former cops, and have something resembling a conscience. Which might make them reluctant to work for a serial killer. Not that I would be up front about that fact, but it would be easy to connect the dots if the cops came knocking about the person I had hired them to investigate going missing.

That said, not only does the information I'm seeking today have nothing to do with a potential kill, the investigator I'm going to see wasn't a cop. Rather, he was an investigator for the Crown Attorney's office before being recruited as a fixer for the federal Conservative party two years ago. Rumour has it, he was involved in finding those photos of Trudeau in blackface before last year's election. He moved to the private sector after the Conservatives managed to bungle the election despite everything he found for them.

I know his name because the Crown used him against my father's clientele all the time while he was in their employ. Dad used to say he could work half days if he didn't have to worry what this guy might find out about his clients.

I will admit, I was slightly hesitant at the idea of sinking so low as going to a sleuth for help. But I am done asking MonkeyLover. I really should have been done a long time ago, but I let things get worse. I'm like a female Fox News anchor. Trapped in the wretched claws of a sexual predator, despite having enabled that very environment myself. Oh well, no matter, what's done is done. After I find someone to kill and pay his debt, I'm done. But I still need to learn more about Eve, hopefully something I can use against her, so I figured why not try something new?

I reach the seventh office on the right side of the hall, with a placard reading, "Adam Roskovitz," on the door, and knock.

"Come in," replies the voice inside.

I open the door and step inside. Roskovitz is behind the desk, looking at me, probably trying to size me up. Whatever one would think he looks like as a private investigator, they would probably be wrong. The well-tailored suit, combed hair and clean-shaven face before me more closely resemble my father on the day of a trial than the Jessica Jones, Harvey Bullock image most people get when imagining a private eye.

"Amanda?" he asks as I shut the door.

"That's me."

"A pleasure. Call me Adam. Please," he gestures toward the chair opposite his desk.

I take a seat and try to get an idea for what he thinks of me.

He's probably noticed I'm rather young, yet my attire suggests I can still afford him, thanks to my wealthy family. Which hopefully means, he will assign my case something of a priority.

"Coffee?" he asks, standing up from the desk and walking over to a small table with a pot at the side of the office.

"Is it any good?" I ask, trying to sound in good humour.

"I used to work in a government office, what do you think?"

"I'll pass."

"Good call," he returns to his seat, with a mug for himself and takes a sip.

"So, what can I do for you?"

"I need you to investigate someone for me. No questions asked."

"Ooh, I'm afraid that's not going to happen."

"Excuse me?" I ask, incensed, my bloodlust building. "I thought you advertised that you would look into anything or anyone for the right price?"

"And I will look into anything or anyone for the right price. But it will not be no questions asked. You can rely on complete confidentiality from me, and know that the questions I ask will always be essential to me doing my job. But no matter what you're into, for the right price, they could have me in Guantanamo and I would never betray your confidence."