Chapter 1:

            Jamie Gallino walked into a dimly lit corridor lined with yellowing wallpaper. Climbing up a flight of stairs with dirty red carpeting, she reached the second floor and found the door to apartment B on her left. Jamie hesitated. She chewed habitually on a piece of her shoulder-length blonde hair, her black tank top and camo pants highlighting her muscular physique. Suddenly, a barrage of shouts and cursing erupted from the other side of the door.

            “God dammit, you idiots!” a woman yelled. “It’s obviously Nevada, you nincompoops!”

            Jamie, having second thoughts about this interview, pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and looked at the address she had written on it. “Yep. 511 B Bishop’s Lane. This is the place.” She stood at the door a few more seconds before raising her hand to knock. Just then, the door opened and a tired-looking woman in her late twenties shuffled out to greet her. She was tall, about Jamie’s height, of a slender build, and had pale skin and thick black hair in a pixie cut. She had rimless glasses and was dressed in jeans and a black Van Halen t-shirt.

            “Jamie Gallino, I presume?” the woman asked with a debonair tone.

            “That’s me,” Jamie replied, still surprised by the woman’s sudden appearance.

            “Griswold Schwietzhoffer. Glad you could make it,” the woman said as she shook Jamie’s hand. “Come in madam...but please remove your shoes before you do.” 

            “Madam?” Jamie asked.

            “I like the title. It’s criminally under-utilized these days. Do come in!” Griswold said.

            Jamie went into the apartment and put her shoes next to a pair of biker boots at the door. Griswold led her through the kitchen to the living room and directed her towards a chair in front of a desk piled high with papers and folders. Jamie took a seat while Griswold scrounged around in her fridge. Surveying the room, Jamie found a couch and a low table facing a TV with a Super Nintendo plugged into it. Against the left wall was an old, wooden piano with scattered sheet music piled on top. The room was sparsely decorated with only a small Ficus tree to the desk’s left and a few yellowing Patrick Nagel posters on the walls. “Strange,” thought Jamie. Everything about Griswold’s clothes and belongings suggested that she would have been energetic and young at heart, but she acted like someone in her sixties and threw words and phrases from the late 1800s into casual conversation.

            “Can I interest you in a drink?” Griswold asked.

            “No thanks,” Jamie replied.

            Griswold slowly returned to take a seat behind the desk. She opened a bottle of lemonade and began the interview.

            “So, Jamie, tell me a little about yourself. What was your previous job and why do you want this one?” she asked taking out a clipboard and pencil.

            Jamie took out a resume and began to go over some points before Griswold interrupted.

            “No, no, no. Don’t worry about a resume. This is supposed to be an informal interview. I feel that these types of meetings help me best judge people’s abilities.”

            “Okay then,” Jamie said, putting away the resume. “I’ve been out of work since I left the army almost a year ago. I lost my leg just below the knee during the Gulf War and was honorably discharged. I’ve been living with my parents while recovering, but now I need this job so I can get a place of my own. Since this job is live-in, it kills two birds with one stone by allowing me to save for my own place.”

            “Alright,” Griswold said, writing something down. “Now, as this is a chauffeur job, it is critical that I ask this. I take it that you can drive and have a license, correct?”

            “Yes,” Jamie responded confusedly. “How many people who can’t drive actually applied?”         

            “You’d be surprised,” Griswold muttered. “Now, on to some important questions. How comfortable are you with complex driving maneuvers and driving under stress? You know, driving really fast, extreme u-turns, trying to shake people, etc.?”

            “Well, this has taken a weird turn,” Jamie thought. She then replied, “Uh…I am used to driving in high-stakes situations and performing some maneuvers from my time in the army, but why is that important?”

            “Don’t worry about it,” Griswold replied, scribbling on her paper. “Now going back to your time in the army, you say that you lost a leg?”

            “Yeah, but I’ve gotten used to my prosthetic leg now. It’s good as new,” she said lightly tapping her left leg.

            “Glad to hear!” Griswold said happily. “That answers another question. Lastly, I take it that, since you spent some time in the army, you do have some experience with hand-to-hand combat?”

            “What the hell is she talking about?” Jamie thought. Griswold, having seen the expression on Jamie’s face, responded, “I may have forgotten to mention that in the ad?”

            “Yeah, I have some experience in hand-to-hand combat, although I’m probably a little rusty,” Jamie replied, wondering whether it would be in her best interest to back out now. Staying, however, would mean independence from her parents...She would risk it.

            “Good to hear,” Griswold said.

             Fortunately for Jamie, the remainder of Griswold’s questions were less concerning. Eventually, Griswold put down her clipboard and pencil, stood up, and stuck out her hand. Jamie sat for a minute, confused.

            “Congratulations, madam,” Griswold said with a smile. “You’ve got the job.”

            “Well, that was quick,” thought Jamie. She got up and shook Griswold’s hand firmly. “Thank you! I appreciate you taking me on.”

            “No problem,” Griswold said. “When can you start?”

            “In about three days, tops. I just need to pack and tie up a few loose ends.”

            “Absolutely.” After showing Jamie what would be her room, Griswold led her to the door.

            “I’ll see you soon,” Griswold said as Jamie put her shoes on.

            “Sounds good,” Jamie replied. As she headed out, she paused in the doorway and asked, “By the way, what was with all that screaming about Nevada right before you opened the door?”

            “Oh, it was the answer to tonight’s Final Jeopardy! None of the contestants got it right.”

            “Oh, okay,” Jamie said. “Well, see you later!”

            “See you!” Griswold said as she closed the door.

            Jamie stepped out of the apartment building and walked to her car. “Really hoping I don’t regret this….” she mumbled to herself as she turned the key in the ignition.

            It had rained during the interview and a heavy fog had moved in. The headlights reflected in puddles and scattered in the mists as Jamie drove back to her parent’s apartment.

*****

            Three days later, Jamie, having packed everything and said her goodbyes, headed back to 511 Bishop’s Lane, a two-story apartment building of cream-colored brick. Griswold greeted her and helped carry her stuff into the apartment. After getting settled, Jamie asked Griswold what she should do first. Griswold responded, “I’ll let you know when I need something done.”

            With that, a long period of inactivity began. Jamie would mostly do small chores for Griswold, such as picking up groceries, laundry, and take-out, and infrequently driving her around in her car to get her out of the apartment (during which Griswold always insisted on taking a strange pimp cane with a steel ball handle with her).

            Various people would visit from time to time. On one occasion, a muscular, African American man with short black hair and a black goatee and mustache stopped by. His name was Steve and he appeared to be an old friend of Griswold’s who was just checking in on her. Other times, Tom, Griswold’s neighbor from across the hall, a middle-aged man of Irish descent with a white walrus mustache and white hair that went to the top of his neck, would stop by to deliver home-cooked meals and occasionally help with her monthly bills, which Griswold refused to learn to do on her own on the basis that “there were more valuable uses for one’s mental faculties than bureaucratic ordinances and societal mandates.” Their most frequent visitor, though, was a young woman of Croatian descent named Margaret who had short, platinum-blonde hair that hung down over her right eye. She and Griswold would usually just watch TV together. On other days, though, Margaret would take Griswold on day trips to get her out of the apartment.

            In her down time, Jamie would pass the days either reading an assortment of fantasy novels and comic books she had on hand, watching TV, or exercising. On nice days, Jamie would go on runs around Cumminsville, Griswold’s neighborhood, to become familiar with it. Some days, her path took her by abandoned storage facilities, garages, and warehouses all seemingly connected by a large tangle of cables and telephone lines extending in all directions. Other days, she went through residential districts past old buildings with chipped paint and unknowable purpose, run-down houses from the 1950s, and large trees, both with and without leaves. Bits of grass and weeds grew up through the cracked pavement wherever she ran. Although these all helped to alleviate her boredom, Jamie still found it difficult to ignore the fact that she had been living with Griswold for about three weeks and not much had happened.

            One Monday evening, Jamie’s curiosity got the better of her. As Griswold came into the living room to eat dinner and watch Jeopardy! as usual, Jamie intercepted her on her way to the couch.

            “Alright,” Jamie said calmly. “This is driving me crazy. You’ve got to let me know why you hired me. I’ve been here for weeks now and I’ve hardly done anything. You barely leave the apartment, making me wonder why you need a chauffeur at all. What gives?”

            Griswold sighed. “Jamie, I wish I could tell you now, but I don’t want to burden you with details until absolutely necessary. I promise, to reveal my intentions in due time, my dear.”

            Just as she finished, the phone rang and she picked it up. Jamie listened to Griswold’s half of the conversation as she sat on the couch.

            “Hello?...Yeah Steve, what is it?...A client?...Tell him he can come over tomorrow at 3:00 P.M. We’ll discuss his predicament then….All right, see you later.” 

            With that, Griswold hung up and walked over to the TV. She put a VHS tape in her recorder, set it to record for the next forty minutes, and turned to Jamie.

            “I guess that time has come sooner than I expected,” she said. Jamie looked at Griswold with widened eyes. Griswold paused for a moment before continuing.

            “The truth is, I am a…uh…a private eye. Yeah! That’s it! You see, there are many cases, from all around Ohio, that have gone unsolved and have done considerable harm as a result. It’s my job to solve those cases and help people get their lives back on track. These cases sometimes come intermittently, which is why you’ve rarely seen me working and why I haven’t needed you much either,” she said, letting out a sigh.

            They sat in silence. At last, Jamie said, “That does answer one of my questions. But, you still haven’t told me why you hired me or why you don’t leave the apartment.”

            Griswold continued, “All have simple explanations. I hired you because my work takes me all over the state and I needed someone to drive me, as I am bad at driving and hate it. It takes away valuable thinking time. On top of that, these missions can be quite dangerous and I need someone capable of fighting and dodging enemies to defend me, since, as you can probably tell by my general physique, I’m not the strongest. I also don’t go out much because I’ve made a lot of enemies over the years. The more I’m out, the more likely I am to be attacked. That’s why I carry Tickler wherever I go.”

            “Tickler?” Jamie asked.

            “It’s the cane I use for self-defense,” Griswold said. That’s why I had the heavy steel ball installed on top. If anyone tries to attack me, I whack the fucker.”

            A look of surprise and confusion crossed Jamie’s face. “Whack the fucker?” she asked.

            “Yes, my dear,” replied Griswold. “Whack the fucker, indeed. Not to mention that, because I’m always carrying a cane on my person in public, it’ll cause people to let their guard down and give me the upper hand.”

            “Isn’t that kind of like how Ted Bundy lured victims into his car?” Jamie asked.

            “Yes,” Griswold responded, “but this is for self-defense, not homicide.”

            “Fair enough,” Jamie said.

            “Anyway,” said Griswold, “I’ve got a client coming in tomorrow. I don’t know anything about his case, except that he’s coming from Portsmouth.”

            “Is there anything I can do to get ready?” Jamie asked.

            “For now,” Griswold said, “I suggest that you pack a bag that’ll last for several days. I have a feeling we’ll be doing some traveling soon.”

            “Okay.” 

            “Can I watch Jeopardy! now?”

            “Sure. Sorry I interrupted.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” Griswold said, taking a bite of a chicken salad sandwich.

            Jamie left her to her show and went to her room for a while. After packing, she lay on her bed, wondering what tomorrow would bring.