Secret Portal to Heaven.[noir] A PI on a search for a missing woman. (standard:mystery, 4622 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 21 2020	Views/Reads: 1428/1049	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Sam Muscosolo PI is contracted to find a missing woman. The search leads him to an abandoned house in a rural setting. The old falling-down structure hides a secet that changes his life.

Leaving the Dinky Drinky Lounge on the ground floor of the Jablonski
Building, I stagger slightly as I shovel my old bones into the single 
working elevator. In silence, I ride my vertical steed to the sixth 
floor. My destination is a dingy office with "Samuel Musscosolvo, 
Private Investigations" gleaming dully in fading letters on an 
old-fashioned wooden door. These days, such entrances are mainly glass, 
along with shiny trimming. 

Screw it. The place fits me -- old as the fucking hills -- which is all
that counts. Except, of course, the cheap rent. 

Once, I had owned a moderately successful detective agency with a dozen
employees. Now I live on Social Security and the little bit of money I 
make as a part-time PI. I once harbored high hopes that one of my kids 
would take over, but that never happened. My wife, Tamiko, has also 
lost interest in the business, preferring a second career as a Chicago 
City Councilwoman, which also pays shit. 

In my mid-seventies, I have little energy left. I like to think I need
the money and am still the breadwinner in my family, but know better. 
Hell, Tammy makes umpteen more than I do. She pays while I play at my 
old game. On the plus side, if we get in a bind I have a lawyer and a 
doctor in the family to take up the slack and bandage my bruises. 

At least the old place gives me an excuse to get out of a lonely house
and behind a lonely desk where I can doze in a comfortable chair while 
daydreaming of past, better, days. 

Absently I turn the key the wrong way – locking it. Some detective. I
didn't even notice the door was unlocked. Cussing under my breath, I 
turn it again. Stepping into an outer office, I see a light on in the 
inner sanctum. Damn, I shake my head, did I leave it on last night ... 
again? 

Nope. A small man sits in MY chair, behind MY desk, reading MY newspaper
from yesterday. But then, at 6' 4" and 280 lbs, most men are smaller 
than me. 

"A hell'a a way to run a business, Sam." It's an old sometimes pal,
ex-Special Agent Allan Tompkins from the FBI. "You better not have any 
current contracts with the Bureau or I'll report your ass for 
inefficiency." 

"The last one was twenty years ago, Al." With no alternative, I plop my
ass down in an equally comfy chair across from him. "And take your 
fucking feet off my desk. You're wearing down MY groove." 

He puts down the paper. Although the prick tries to glare, his myopic
eyes give it more of a squinting effect -- not enough to scare a cat. 
"Helen came to town to do some shopping. I made an excuse and dodged 
over here. When you gonna get a decent lock on that door?" 

"No reason to. Not when so damned many of my past clients are so
proficient with a pick, and others prefer kicking it in. A waste of 
money. Shit. Most of the time, like today, I don't need a key." 

"Bullshit. I heard you turning the lock. You didn't even notice." 

"What's the wife shopping for? You need a detective to help her choose
panties?" 

"How the hell should I know? I didn't ask." He shows a forced grin. "I
was just glad to get out'a the house for awhile." He glances around at 
the dingy office. With only rare visitors, even rarer customers, I 
don't bother to dust. It's merely my home away from home, a comfortable 
mancave packed with memories. "I might have a job for you ... if you're 
not too busy?" 

I stretch out, planting my own size-fourteens onto the opposite corner
of the desk. "I could probably fit it into my schedule." 

"A pal of mine, into oil, has his eyes on a piece a rural real estate,"
Al starts. Looking around again, somewhat guiltily, he offers me a 
smoke. Tammy wouldn't like it, but fuck Tammy. I accept. He continues, 
"Trouble is, he can't find the owner. He'll pay for help. I figured you 


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