Before I go on, maybe I should tell you a little about myself. I come from a long line of Krabaklowskis. My dad was in the chocolate business, by that I mean he managed a chocolate factory. Not in that gentle, Willy Wonka kinda way. No, chocolateering for him was a grim business. Took it out of him. And when the stock market crashed well, I guess you could say his dream literally melted before his eyes. My mom couldn't handle it when dad started coming home from work drunk. See, she used to make him these delicious fudge brownies, reeal nice ones. But after the business went down the toilet, he could never look at them again. And she couldn't look at him again. She packed up and left and took her brownie recipe and my dad's heart with her. She's got a cooking website now, the brownie recipe's in there somewhere. I dunno about my dad's heart, mind you. After that my dad never ate chocolate again. If I wanted a KitKat, I had to go eat it in the backyard. It's a habit I've never quite broken, and my first night in this god-forsaken city, there I was, delicately removing the crisp foil from the smooth chocolate bar, undressing the confectionary. I can still hear my dad's voice in my head, "what are you doin' Ron?" "Chocolate'll be the death of you son". It was the death of him alright. Just before my eighteenth birthday, he was hit by a Herschey's truck. They never caught the truck driver, never got his licence and registration, you understand.
All the apartments in my block of apartments had balconies, and they were perfect for when you wanted to gaze out over the city. There I was, finishing my Kitkat, when I saw a girl on the balcony for the apartment next to my apartment. She had curly blonde hair, like a lion's mane. A real sexy lion, if you catch me. She was wearing this blue fleece to protect her from the cold, she was drinking Horlick's from a Fireman Sam mug, and her lonely eyes were gazing down at a Nintendo DS. Brain training, I thought to myself, go figure. Well she'd trained my brain, like seriously. Her eyes looked up from her puzzle, and caught mine. I had Kitkat crumbs round my mouth. Damn, I thought to myself.
"Those things will kill you," she said to me.
I was frozen. She was talking to me. Why, why was she talking to me.
"The foil pack makes the chocolate fresher," I replied. I took out a cigarette, lit it and, while I exhaled, wiped the crumbs from the side of my mouth.
"Those things-"
"Will kill me?" I cut her off. "Too late for that Miss-"
"Bradshaw, Evie Bradshaw."
So I had her name. Good place to start. Now I knew what to call her.
"I'm Ron Krabaklowski"
"Have you just moved in, Ron?"
She was observant, as a private detective, I've always liked observant.
"Yeah, how'd you guess?" I exhaled suspiciously.
"I met your removal man in the elevator," she replied, coolly.
Damn she was good. I put out my cigarette. I'd only had two drags. Two was always enough.
"Yeah, you got me," I said. "Moved in yesterday."
"How do you like the city?" she said.
"It rains a lot," I replied. I lit another cigarette. "I see you like games," I ventured.
"Do you have a Nintendo?" she asked, her blue eyes brightening.
"Had one. It broke."
She her expression softened. Had I made a connection?
"What do you do?" she asked
"Now? I've gotten into solitaire, sometimes backgammon."
"No," she laughed. "What's your job?"
"I'm a private detective. I detect anything, everything, nothing."
She tiltedher head to one side. "And what do you detect about me?" she smiled.
"You like your games." I said, exhaling again. I put out the cigarette.
She laughed. Somehow it cut through me, like when a really sharp knife cuts through you.
"Well, I'm off out. I'm meeting a gentleman friend, at the club in town? Mancock's, do you know it?
I said I'd heard of it. I was bluffing, I hadn't.
"If you'd like to get to know the city more, I'll happily show you around. My friend owns the club."
"And who might he be?"
"James Mancock"
She was connected. I didn't know much, but what I did know was that Mancock owned half this god-forsaken city. And he owned her. And probably her apartment, hell, he'd probably bought her the DS.
She swallowed her last mouthful of Horlicks and got up. "Well, it was nice to meet you," she said, breezily. She went inside. I was left with my cigarettes in one hand and my dignity in the other.
The girl was sweet, real sweet, like the best kind of chocolate. But right then, even my dad couldn't have guessed that she was about to get stuck in my teeth real bad.
