Manny hopped off at his stop and shouldered his backpack. The streetlights bathed his corner with patchy orange light that offset the gray-blue twilight, and a chilly autumn breeze scented with garbage juice smacked him across the face. He pulled up the hood of his jacket and popped in his earbuds.

The sounds of Hozier filled his ears, melting away the tension from his shoulders and neck. He needed to get himself together. His second job was waiting for him at home. His apartment sat on a pothole-pocked corner off the 59.

After dropping out of college, he’d moved to Pontiac from Linton in search of stability and hopped from dead-end job to dead-end job before finally landing at Arby’s and finding a roommate who wasn’t a complete jackass. Still, with his garbage income, he’d had about as much stability as a drunk on a tightrope.

Until five months ago. Manny had put an ad for open source intelligence services on Facebook Marketplace. And until that time, he’d gotten one client per month—two if he was lucky—mostly people who wanted to know if the person they were “talking” to was catfishing them. And if this job had taught him anything, it was that if you suspected a person was catfishing you, they were catfishing you.

Not his business, as long as the money was right. And it was right, but still not much. It supplemented rent and the bills, but he’d been barely chipping away at his student loans. Until he crossed paths with Asarr.

Asarr wasn’t his usual client. He didn’t have a shady love interest in need of vetting. Instead, he gave Manny a list of twenty social media accounts to watch, and a promise to “pay handsomely.” But Asarr had terms; they wanted to communicate through WhatsApp only and pay only through Venmo.

He hadn’t been comfortable giving up his phone number, but Asarr promised to give him the first month’s payment up front. Manny hadn’t believed a word of it, but humored the guy anyway.

Lo-and-behold, mere hours later, the handsome payment landed in his Venmo. The most handsome he’d seen in a long time. The Idris Elba of pay days. And thus began his five-month stint of working for Asarr. Manny gave updates, as requested, and Asarr sent him payment once per month, on the 13th. The accounts he was hired to watch hadn’t posted anything in two years, which meant he was getting paid to do nothing.

Not that Manny was complaining. Thanks to this arrangement, he’d put a decent dent in his student loans. His cat was eating better food instead of cheap dollar store crap, and he was eating better food instead of cheap dollar store crap. They could live… just a little.

Manny pounded up the steps to his apartment building and swiped his key card on the door. The reception desk was empty, with the usual stacks of paper that sat on its chipped surface tucked away where no one could steal them.

He bypassed the useless wet floor sign. The floor was hardly ever wet. The building manager used it as a defense because people kept tripping and injuring themselves on the cracks in the linoleum.

An Out-of-Order sign hung on the elevator, written in legible handwriting and spelled correctly. He hung a left and took the narrow stairwell up to the second floor. It took more than a few jiggles for the lock on his door to give, and he made a mental note to send a third report to the building manager.

The first thing he noticed—or smelled—was Tangy’s litter. The rascal weaved between his legs as he made his way to the breakfast bar. “I’ll feed us both once I get a bath,” Manny said, and knelt down to give the cat’s head a few scratches. He dropped his bag on the counter and made a beeline for his room.

A bed and a nightstand were its only furnishings. His basket of laundry bulged and leaked dirty sweatpants, T-shirts, and hoodies. He’d have to make his day off a wash day. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked it. A message from Asarr.

Update?

Will have one soon, he typed back and tossed the phone on the crumpled bed sheets. He grabbed his freshest pair of sweatpants and went to the bath. The water against his skin had never felt better. It took away the stench and memories of roast beef and vomit, and he emerged from the bathroom feeling like a new man.

Until he found Damon lounged on his bed, scrolling through the messages on his phone. “This Asarr person seems sketch.”

“Go away,” Manny groaned. “I have work to do.” He tossed his dirty clothes on top of the hamper and went to the kitchen.

Damon appeared on the couch, sitting instead of lounging. “I’ll stop coming around when you don’t need me to come around anymore.” He put his feet up on the coffee table. “Until then, get used to looking like a crazy person.”