Hair-Trigger by Trevor Clark Read Free Book Online Page B

the beer. “There are some detective agencies that only do that, and they advertise a flat rate. Workplace fraud is a big thing. People stealing merchandise. And showing services —that’s where, say you walk into a muffler shop and the guy behind the counter says, ‘Okay, well, you need five hundred dollars’ worth of work, but I’ll tell you what. Rather than having it done here, come back to my place. I’ll fix your car in my garage and charge you two hundred bucks.’ I’d be hired to investigate that, where the staff is taking business away from the owner.
    â€œMissing persons was another major one. People looking for lost loves, missing children, things like that. Private investigation’s a huge industry because police don’t have the manpower or man hours to investigate what they don’t consider top priority cases.”
    â€œSo, why don’t you open your own place up here?”
    â€œI came up here for different reasons. I looked into it and knew I’d need a lot of money to get back into the business. In order to get licensed for Ontario I’d have to take various legal courses, which I had no problem with, because the industry isn’t well served by people misrepresenting . . . You hear stories, like a guy hires somebody to find out who’s fucking his wife, and the detective ends up fucking the wife too. I have no problems with licensing procedures, because like I say, it doesn’t help the industry to have these rogue people out there. I want to see them licensed.
    â€œI figured my license would have cost about twenty-five hundred dollars in legal courses, because you have to know the PI and Ontario court systems, and stuff like that. That’s why if you’re licensed in California, you can’t work as a PI in Hawaii, right? It’s just like a lawyer. You have to pass the Bar in New York, Connecticut. . . . You’re licensed for just one state, and in Ontario it’s the same thing. I think the act is called the Investigators and Security Guards Act; it went into effect in maybe seventy-five. A lot of times you work with the police. What the police consider a routine investigation is not routine to a man whose daughter or wife has gone missing. Information is worth a lot. I used to think to myself, ‘I’m the last lifeline for this guy. He’s been fucked by the police, he’s been fucked by attorneys, he’s been fucked by the insurance companies. He comes to me, and I tell him what he wants to know.’”
    Marva yawned and then seemed to refocus. “You said you did ‘consulting’ now?”
    His ash dropped onto the sheet as he turned to reach for the empty bottle. Brushing it off, he said, “I’m not licensed up here but I do the odd freelance job as a security consultant. I still know what I’m doing, and I’m good at it too. I’ve done some missing persons, landlord-tenant stuff . . .
    â€œA few years ago there was a shooting outside this West Indian nightclub, and the cops had a suspect but no witnesses. This guy’s attorney called my old attorney, and he recommended me, so he called and asked me to look around, ask some questions, see if I could find any witnesses. I couldn’t, but it’s a long story. Based on my testimony the police dropped the charges—” The telephone suddenly rang again. “You’re very popular, aren’t you?”
    â€œI don’t believe this.” Marva picked it up. “Hello?”
    He watched her blank out again while she listened and answered yes, no. He dropped the butt into the bottle. Maybe she was hooking on the side. If the conversation was anything other than business it was remarkably toneless and one-sided. He scratched his scrotum and went to take another drink, but caught himself.
    When she got off, she said, “It was Tyrone again. I don’t know what he wants. Just this bullshit