"It is a dark sky." my sidekick, James says.
"Well I guess it is."
We both stop at a corner of a street and walk to the glorious bunglow. We recheck the address then ring the bell.
Few days ago...
There are many pros of being a private detective in a post-apocalyptic world. Since, everyone is so busy trying to scrape that last piece of food from the tin, there is not much competition, if any. Cases are plentyful and not cliche`. I mean really, who gives a damn if someone dies. People would be merrier to loot him than to report.
There was a letter on my desk. It looked more like a piece of rag than paper but the writing was crystal clear.
"333/6D Avenue - Sunday 26" it said.
One wouldn't really investigate this unless ofcourse the given address is of a rich and lucky man. Not that being rich mattered anymore.
The world blew itself centuries ago. People said it was inevitable. Some protested until ofcouse the bombs blew them to kingdom come. I am not really sure about the rest of the world but USA has now very well become a damn shithole. Although, it never ceases to amaze me how quick mankind sprang back on its feet.
The door was answered by an old, short man. He looked us up and down then demanded our cause. We smiled.
The owner of the bunglow was a tall, handsome man as one would expect. A six inch smile was plastered on his face as he gaped at us for what seemed like forever. He insisted that I meet him alone. I nodded.
I came out and It took me about two minutes to inform James of the situation.
"So, he wants us to find his lost son. And in return we would get money, right." he said.
"Pretty much, except that there is a catch."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean..."
I started the car and lit a cigar.
"...that his son is already dead."
It is only a matter of time before my luck runs out - I thought. I have been doing weired things since the day I was born and had always managed to escape unharmed. Not this time , something told me. I could happily walk away...but then again, where would I go.
