Chapter One, paragraph 3: Guy Steel, PI

Time passed in sweaty bordom and sleep until dusk made a welcome entrance. Guy set out the tools of his trade then showered to wash away the nightmares every sleep brought. Clean but never shaven he grabbed a fifth of cougar and his bag of tricks and headed for the door. He hesitated at the front door before existing by the rear. He still wasn't sure he'd smoothed over the problems of the last cheap job for a cashed up client who didn't like the truth. He'd learned back in the Force that you had to know when to move in the shadows when money came after you.

Chapter One: Guy Steel, PI

The fan spun lazily, barely moving the hot humid air in the small once-white painted office. It was hot, damn hot. Guy Steel, P.I., had his feet propped on the old worn desk he bought from a school auction last summer. It was cheap and institutional but he could hide the bourbon in a draw on the left and his Penthouse mags in a draw on the right. Somewhere in the middle it kept the files he was working on off the floor. Just like Guy himself, it wasn't pretty but it did the job.

A snore escaped from under Guy's hat. In this heat he took the same approach as his dog Sargent, he slept away the hottest hours until the evening crept up and he crept out. Camera in hand, Guy would spend the night hours watching and waiting. Occasionally he would come up empty handed but he was persistent and patient and eventually he'd get a snap every spouse dreaded, the loved one walking out of a cheap motel with the shirt misbuttoned or the skirt not quite straight. For now though Guy slept and waited for his hour to come.

to be continued...