I looked over what I had done so far and changed some things around.
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The phone rang. It rang three times before it roused the man from his slumber. He sighed, and fumbled around in the darkness until he came up with an old flip phone. “Hello?” he mumbled sleepily.
“Morgan, you awake?” a deep voice said.
The man glanced at his alarm clock. The numbers “3:25” shone dully back. “Julius?” he muttered questioningly.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What the hell are you calling me for?”
“I found him.”
Morgan sat up, groaning. “The bail jumper?”
“Corner of 35th and Main in Westbrook, Lucky Star Motel.”
Morgan flipped the phone close. He looked at the clock again. 3:26. He could hear rain splattering against his bedroom window. With a great effort, he heaved himself out of bed and started to get dressed. He shucked off his nightshirt and put on a pair of jeans, a patterned dark blue t-shirt, and a black jacket. He stepped out into the living room and grabbed his keys and a messenger bag in the corner. After a moment of thought, he also took his umbrella before stepping into the hallway.
Every other light in the hallway as out. Morgan remembered his landlord telling him that he took out half the lights to save money. Apparently, he took the same attitude with the stained walls and ceiling. As Morgan moved down to the hallway to the elevator, he noticed a sign reading “Out of Order” taped to the metal door. Apparently, the landlord felt the same way about the elevator too.
Several flights of stairs later, Morgan stepped out the glass doors of his apartment building and headed across the street toward his car. The rain was coming down harder. What started as a light pitter-patter earlier that night had built into a full-on storm, thunder and lightning and all. Morgan cast a cursory left-right look as he crossed the street. This late at night the streets were mostly quiet, but all it took was a wayward drunkard behind the wheel of a car to turn a bad night into a worse one. Thankfully, tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Morgan squeezed past the security bar and made his way to his car, a secondhand gray VW Golf from sometime during the mid-90s. The car was cheap and beat-up. There were dents in the hood, scraps on the doors, a crooked side-mirror, and a myriad of other defects, large and small. Morgan unlocked the door and slid in. It was clean inside but for an old spiral-bound notebook and a stack of legal processes. The soothing sounds of late night talk radio came over the speakers as Morgan started up his car. As he passed through the security gate, his cell phone beeped and buzzed. He fished around in his pockets and flipped the phone open to read the words “Hurry up.” He sighed and dropped the phone into his lap.
Morgan took as direct a path he could toward Westbrook. Westbrook, along with the Bends and Wallingford, were located in Breaker. Breaker was considered the shitty part of town and Westbrook was considered a shitty part of Breaker. Port City was basically a giant donut with a chunk bitten out of the western side with a tiny donut hole of an island in the middle of the water. The city was split into four areas: The Hill, Staunton, Breaker, and Waterfront. The Hill was geographically the tallest part of the city and located the north. It was made only taller by its cityscape of skyscrapers. Staunton was the furthest inland and was mostly composed of residential neighborhoods. Waterfront and Breaker together made up the center of the city’s historic fishing and packing industries and were generally considered the shittiest parts of the city because of the smell. They were the oldest parts of Port City and had been there long before the rest of the city had been set up. Breaker was the central island connected to the rest of the city with bridges and was so known because of the turbulent waters that surrounded it, eroding the sides of the island.
No one really lived in Breaker. They all just sort of passed through. Breaker was the central connecting point of the city, sort of like a gigantic Grand Central Station without all of high ceilings and whatnot. The island was always fairly crowded and noisy, even at night. There weren’t any skyscrapers, expensive townhouses, or fancy restaurants here. Rather, one was more likely to find dimly-lit strip clubs, rundown motels, and masturbating hobos. It was a place favored by transients and people who wanted to stay close to a way out and didn’t really care where that way took them as long as it was away. Morgan liked to think of himself as a private investigator, but more often than not his jobs were to find and bring in bail jumpers or serving legal processes informing people of their court dates. This often took him crappy parts of town at odd hours of the day and night.
Even this late at night, there was still some traffic on the roads. Morgan didn’t exactly encounter traffic jams or anything. Most of the danger at this time of night came from drunk drivers and tired workers coming and going for late night shifts. Yellow and orange light shone down from lonely streetlamps as Morgan’s tiny car passed beneath them. A green overhead freeway sign reading “Breakers, right 1/4 mile” rapidly approached. Morgan eased his car into the correct lane and reached into his lap for his cell phone. He tapped out a quick message reading, “About to come off the bridge”. Several seconds later, a reply came back: “Meet me at Round Holes”. Morgan rolled his eyes. Even now, Julius needed food.
Round Holes was a 24-hour establishment known locally for its cheap coffee and good donuts that catered to the sort that would find a 24-hour location handy. It was plopped conveniently between a package store and an unmarked building Morgan suspected was a brothel. Morgan pushed past the glass and metal door, a tinkling bell preceded his entrance. He scanned the room before seeing an older black man sporting a red, black, and white plaid shirt and a visible paunch. The man looked up from his corner booth and waved him down. Morgan approached, saying, “I hope you called me out for something good.”
Julius Brown gestured at the empty chair. Laid out before him were a half-eaten burger, hash browns, some greasy sausages, and a large mug of coffee. Julius was a large, round black man with a shaved, waxed dome of a head and pearly white teeth that he somehow kept immaculate regardless of how much coffee he drank. He didn’t bother trying to hiding his overflowing midsection, instead choosing to wear dress comfortably in loose-fitting clothing. He took a quaff of coffee before reaching down to the seat next to him to lift up a beaten manila folder onto the table. He opened it, pulled out a couple choice pictures, and passed them to Morgan. “I thought you might find this interesting.”
Morgan squinted at the photo. “What’s this supposed to be?”
Julius rolled his eyes and snatched the photo out of Morgan’s hand. He gestured at a figure in the photo with a sausage speared on the end of a fork. “Mac Griffin,” he said simply. “The bail-jumper.”
Julius handed the photo back to Morgan and bit into his sausage. Morgan grimaced at a spot of grease on the photo. Julius muttered something under his breath and shoveled in his hash browns. After several seconds of silence, Morgan let out of a breath and said, “Alright, so when are we going then?”
Julius chewed for a moment before managing a muffled, “Let a man finish eating first,” between a mouthful of potato and sausage. A little bit of food flew out of his mouth and landed on the table. Julius deftly swept it off the table with a flick of his hand. Morgan stared at him for a moment before turning to the counter to say, “Can we get a doggie bag here?”
“I don’t see why you couldn’t just give me 5 minutes to finish my breakfast in peace,” Julius grumbled.
Morgan didn’t turn to look at Julius, instead choosing to continue staring out the windshield of his car at the squat, yellowish building across the street. They had parked the little car in an alley off the street. Police in the older (and oftentimes poorer) parts of the city like Westbrook tended to ignore cars that were out of the way, mostly because they had better things to do than bother with a couple of illegally parked cars.