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witness in some civil suit, or deal
with a criminal matter that the cops are too busy, or too lazy, to deal with.
    That, believe it or not, was my bread and butter. Sure, that
wasn't the way things were going, but it was the way they were supposed to be!
    I know I used to be a cop, and sure, I've had my fair share
of the glamorous side of this business, like catching robbers and murderers and
being on the evening news. Hell, I've even proven the cops wrong and gotten
folks out of jail. But civil and criminal work doesn't usually include Wizards
and magic wands. I just shook my head and hoped this wasn't an omen of things
to come. I got out of the car, walked to the door and waved hello to Hailey as
I entered. She was on the phone, but I saw her wave back as she continued her
phone conversation.
    Hailey owned a legal services business. Paralegal work,
document filing, subpoena services, that kind of stuff. She'd been in the
business longer than I had and knew me when I was still a young rookie on the
beat. It was a small business, and even with a staff, she usually acted as the
receptionist and answered the phones herself. I rented office space from her so
that I had a downtown business address and a place to hold meetings. More
importantly, she was a good friend and treated me like family. I spent a minute
chatting with her after she hung up the phone, and then retrieved my mail and
messages.
    Once that was done, I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee
from the kitchen and headed to the back. Before you even ask, the cup is black
and says " I want to believe ". I plopped down at my desk and
booted up the computer. Most of the mail was junk, but there were a few checks
and letters. The messages were return calls or calls from other business
acquaintances. The checks were a nice bonus. It was always a good sign when
clients actually paid on time.
    The P.I. community in Vegas isn't small and, although the
large firms like to think they are the big shots, at the core of it all are a
group of folks just like me that I've known for years. These guys are ex-cops,
ex-agents or security professionals that cut their teeth on the Vegas streets.
Many as far back as when the mob ran the town.
    Although I wasn't old enough to have been there for all of
it, I'd known most of these guys and gals when I was still a rookie on the
force and the others from my childhood days growing up.
    I called a few of them back and spent twenty minutes just
bullshitting, or as we say in the business, keeping up with my contacts. Then I
reviewed the to-do list on my computer. Aside from my regular client caseload,
I had to do a few backgrounds, some phone interviews and one witness locate for
a girl from a wealthy family that was now a stripper. There you go. Here's
something that sounds like it would be out of the ordinary: head out to the
night clubs, find a stripper and let her know daddy's sick and mommy wants her
to call.
    I love it when some guy asks me what I did interesting this
week and I tell them I spent an evening hitting the bars and the strip clubs.
Wow, they'll say, I wish I had a job like that, wink, wink.
    Sure you do, buddy. Hell, unless I set it up in advance, I
usually don't even bother going past the check-in booth where you pay, unless I
have to. Most of the time, I just drop a dime.
    Of course I don't tell them that. Let them think what they
want. It lends an air of mystery, which can be good for business. The reality
is I've spent too much time in those places and too many hours close up with
the girls. Hard bodies or not, I see way past the makeup and poor me stories.
    Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike strippers, or exotic
dancers, as the profession is called. I get along fine with them, and they're
usually good sources. I do run across a few of them in my line of work. Most of
these girls are professionals, and believe me when I tell you, it's just
business.
    If you think some hot-bodied gal is gonna risk her $1000 in
nightly tips for