Baghetti Jones: Juarez Jones

Retired

The town Jones was from had no shortage of crime. Nothing too serious. A mugging here and there, sometimes a home burglary; usually not armed or while the residents were home. That type of stuff. Only rarely would Jones have to make use of his Colt Python. It was more of a last resort.

Jones had made quite a decent living being a private investigator. Not having to answer to anybody but a client made jobs sometimes much easier. At other times, he wished he had the police's resources; however the police were usually happy to help with his investigations. Jones had been taking cases for about 15 years, never being able to not solve a single case; he had a perfect record. 

Jones sipped his black coffee as he read his newspaper in his favorite diner. He loved the atmosphere of the "wah-wah" background noise, clanking of dishes and silverware. For some reason the noise helped him focus. However he wasn't there because he was on a case, or needed to think. Jones was retiring. He was simply enjoying life, and taking in all of the sights and sounds he might have missed while being so busy all the time with detective work. 

The stock market is up 200 points. Maybe I should look into this stuff. Jones thought to himself. Just as he was reading the paper, his waitress approached his table. Jones' detective mind by force of habit began firing off neurons:

Hmm. I never waved her over. She knows I always leave what I owe when I leave. I wonder if she knows something is up today. Perhaps she noticed I'm more laid back than usual?

"Here you go, Mr. Jones. A note." The waitress said, handing him a business card sized piece of index paper. It was blank on the side that it was handed to him.

"Thank you, dear." He said, shooting her a charming wink and a smile. She smiled as well, and headed off. 

Jones flipped over the index card, holding it close to his body so only he could possibly see. In fine, woman-like handwriting it had an address, along with the words "midnight, leave no footprints". Cryptic, indeed, but Jones surely knew this was a job. He had never really been approached like this. After all, he wasn't some sort of vigilante crime fighter, he was a private investigator who followed the law, and had an office! So this was definitely odd. Jones figured he would at least see what was up, and try the address. He noticed a woman sitting at the counter who definitely looked suspicious. Not suspicious as in a criminal trying to hide, but a regular person trying to hide. She made eye contact at nobody, and didn't seem to have ordered anything. Interesting. Jones got up, left what he owed neatly on the table with a generous tip, nodded warmly at the waitress, and headed out the door.