detective

Left to his own devices for dinner, Nick hailed a cab outside of the hotel - a nice beige Mercedes rolled up and he slid in the back. Before he could say a word to the cabbie, the locks clicked and the cab started to fill with a fine mist.

The morning was cold and wet - it wasn't raining as much as the air was full of a fine spray of water. Nick turned up the collar of his jacket and walked down the gray city streets. He had an appointment to keep and a little English ne-Antwerpen weather could stop him.

Nick leaned back and watched the taxi's meter tic. He smiled and pulled his hat over his eyes - he had the client on expenses, he could afford the little luxuries.

Nick scanned the crowd of the jazz club. The trumpeter led the band in a sinuous tune. The PI quickly spotted Diego at a table near the back - it was tough to miss the seven foot muscled brute, but he did look good in his gray pinstripe and red silk shirt. An ex-drug czar's enforcer turned con and an ex-con turned PI; Nick shook his head and approached Diego's table.

"We've got a lot to catch up on," he said as he slid into the seat across from the mountain of a man.

"I'm tired of you moping, cheer up!" Bradley said and thumped his friend on the back for emphasis. "Sure, it didn't end pretty, but we pinned the drugs on Scarpelli - he's looking at 25 to life!"

Nick sighed. "A pinch of sorrow ruins a pound of happiness."