Making the Rent the Hard Way - 8

 

When I got back to my office, I checked first thing for messages. The only one was from someone who wanted to hire me to investigate his wife. I told him I was booked through next week, but if he was willing to wait that long, I'd get back to him. Given how I feel about those kinds of jobs, I really hoped he'd find someone else, even if I did need the money. That reminded me; I had to spend the evening following the presumably wandering husband of the woman who'd hired me for that reason. I figured I'd give it another week then let her know her misgivings were unfounded—or at least that I couldn't prove that he was having an affair with his pretty business partner or any other woman, as far as that went. Men? That was debatable. He'd spent time after work, a couple of nights a week, at a local club—some of it in the men's restroom. No fucking way was I going to go in to see if he was hooking up for down-and-dirty sex. If I tried to get photos? Well, he was no small fry and I'd probably end up with a broken jaw before I could take even one shot.

Settling at my computer, I turned it on, then thought of something. Placing a call to Nick Allen, I asked, when he answered, "How did Luca pay for the repairs you did?"

"Usually in cash. Once in a blue moon by check."

"I don't suppose you remember the name of the bank the check was drawn on."

"After four years?" He snorted softly, then went silent. I thought he might have hung up and was about to do so myself when he said, "I do remember part of the name, because I asked him where Rockshore was. The check was from Rockshore something or another. Credit Union, if I remember rightly. He said it was 'back East' to quote him and left it at that."

"Thanks. It might help."

After we hung up, I set to work. Now that I had Luca's name, his most recent address, and Social Security number, I could run a credit check. That, in turn, would tell me where he banked and his credit card numbers, if he had any. It wasn't a simple operation, but it was something I was an expert at, as I did background checks on potential employees for two small companies who were regular clients of mine.

I managed to get a credit report and discovered that Mr. Allen had remembered the credit union's name correctly. Unfortunately, as it turned out, it had closed its doors a year ago, so that was a dead end. No new bank accounts were listed, which surprised me.

Long, boring story short, I was able to retrieve Luca's most recent credit card history by running his card and Social Security numbers through a highly restricted site I had access to. That was when things got interesting.

Luca, or someone, had used the card two days ago at a club here in the city. It hadn't been the first time, either. The club's name showed up at least twice a week over the past three months, which was as far back as the report went. Twice a week, that was, until he'd vanished three weeks ago. Then nothing until this last Tuesday.

"Stolen?" I muttered. "From his wallet or dead body? Or has he resurfaced?"

Only one way to find out, but not until after I did surveillance on my client's wayward husband this evening, if he didn't go right home after work.

Since I had time, I ran a search for Luca in Rockshore. His name came up as, no real surprise, a graphic designer who did free-lance work for several small businesses in what turned out to be a town in Alabama. "Hardly back East," I said to myself. He also had had an apartment there up until five years ago. So, presumably, he'd left Rockshore to come out here,

At which point, he'd ended up in a sleazy hotel for a year before moving into a snazzy high-rise and starting his business. How had he managed that?

Rockshore was as far back as I could track Luca. He'd shown up there eight years ago, seemingly out of nowhere. I checked his driver's license. It listed his DOB as 1989, making him thirty-one now and twenty-three when he'd arrived in Rockshore. Of course, being a shifter, he was undoubtedly older than that by several years—or more.

I rubbed my eyes, which were feeling the strain of staring at the computer screen for most of the afternoon. A glance at the time told me I'd better get moving if I was going to catch my client's husband when he left work.

I printed out all the information I'd gathered on Luca, putting it in his file, then put the folder in the safe hidden in the small storage closet off the waiting room. After shutting down the computer, I took off.