Free Naming Day (Jake Underwood Book 1) by Michael Ruger Page B

need it, because you won’t have it on.
    I unlocked the door and punched the code that would disarm the system and stepped inside. I knew something was not right the moment I opened the door. I don’t know whether it is an extra sense from being half fey or if it is just an instinct developed after decades as a private detective. In any case, my home had been disturbed.
    I pulled my pistol out and started to make a sweep of the room when I heard a clinking sound from kitchen. I made my way past the cluttered bar and peeked past the post through the serving pass through and into the kitchen.
    “Hey. You’re out of mayo. All you have is some nasty Ranch dressing that passes for mayo.” Marty Obromowitz stood in the kitchen and offered a scrapped jar for my inspection before unerringly tossing into the nearly full trashcan. He was dressed in a suit that fit, mostly, but he never really looked comfortable. I have always thought that this is what put made a client want to take a poke at him more than anything he actually said.
    “Marty! Damnit! How many times have I asked you not to break into my home?” I holstered the Glock and breathed a sigh of relief. With Kevin’s death, I have to confess I was a little on edge. “I could’ve shot you, you know.”
    “Nah. You aren’t a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ type of guy.” Marty had a serrated bread knife and was carefully cutting a ham and cheese sandwich into halves. It reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
    Marty noticed me making eyes at his meal and raised his eyebrows. “You want one? I can make another, sans mayo of course. There’s plenty of ham”
    He seemed oblivious to the fact that I knew there was plenty of ham since I had bought it at from the deli downstairs in the lobby of the building just a few days ago and that there was be a lot less of it than there should be thanks to his breaking and entering skills. “Yeah. You can make it with mustard if you want.”
    I pulled up a stool and watched Marty start work on another sandwich on focaccia bread. He layered the thinly sliced virgina baked ham with a few slices of provolone cheese and added tomatoes, onions and thinly sliced black olives and topped the sandwich with a dollop of Dijon mustard.
    “To what do I owe the pleasure of this late night break-in other than to feed you ham and cheese?” I took the offered sandwich and settled in with beer and some crispy chips. Marty pulled a stool around to his side of the counter and followed suit. I find a cold beer the perfect accompaniment for a late night snack like this. The tang of the Dijon goes well with effervescence of a good beer. “How’d you get in anyway. The guy who sold me that system told me it was a good system.”
    “It’s not a bad system. It’s just that I know you too well. You keep a copy of your code on that archaic rolodex you have at work. With the code it’s no problem to get in. That Schlage lock might be a challenge for some, but it and I are old friends.” He smiled and took a bite of his sandwich.
    It’s true that there are few locks that Marty can’t pick given enough time. I have seen him take apart some of the most intimidating locks around without breaking much of a sweat. “I’ll have to change the damn code again. You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”
    “Well, to be honest, I’m not exactly sure myself.” He look thoughtful and snagged an olive. “I suppose I could say that I finished your case and wanted to deliver the results to you right away. It’s true, but that’s not the reason.”
    “Already? That was damn fast. You’ve only had the case a few hours.”
              “Dave, idiot that he is, wasn’t that far off. He had the right idea, but the wrong approach. I’ll get you a written report, with my bill, tomorrow.”
    “Thanks.” I said sardonically.
    “Hey, it could be worse. I could have milked this for a couple of days but I