Free Shrouds of Darkness by Brock Deskins

seat or curl up on the floor, whatever you prefer,” I say in a snarky tone.
    She takes a seat in one of the two empty chairs in front of my desk while the young man looms over and just behind her right side. The kid looks about to reply with a rude comment of his own, or possibly jump across my desk in hopes of throttling me for my less than gracious demeanor. His sister stops both of these with a raised hand and smiles at me once more.
    “Mr. Malone, I can see that you know what we are and you probably know that we know what you are,” the young woman says.
    With my usual charm I reply, “Yeah, hard to miss that wet dog odor in my lobby. You must hate this kind of weather.”
    I think she knows I’m trying to bait her and refuses to yield to my attempt to provoke her but I won’t give up easily. I want them to get angry so they let something slip that they don’t want to talk about. Her brother on the other hand takes the bait with eagerness but is once again interrupted before he can verbalize his response.
    “Mr. Malone, I have been told that you are very good at finding people. We need you to find someone, someone that may require some discretion that may not be suitable for involving the police.”
    I have a real good idea where this is going but I want to see how much information she is willing to give me without me having to wring it out of her later, so I remain quiet and let her continue on her own.
    Seeing that I am not going to ask, she continues. “My name is Katherine Goldstein, and this is my brother, Roger. Three nights ago my father, Martin Goldstein, did not come home and we have not heard from him since.”
    Despite her outward calm, I detect a quavering of true concern in her voice.
    “Maybe he just got whiff of a nice poodle in heat and got distracted,” I say flippantly.
    I finally struck that nerve I’ve been tweaking since I first saw them. I find that people are more honest when they are angry and unable to think up lies or hold things back. My methods don’t exactly endear me to my clients but it makes my job a great deal easier.
    “You son of a bitch!” the high-strung kid shouts as he lunges forward, arms outstretched and his hands reaching for my throat.
     His mongrel blood is truly apparent now. The kid is fast but his sister is faster. Katherine practically leaps from her chair and plants herself firmly between her enraged brother and my charming self. She stiff-arms him hard in the chest and stops him cold. Granted, it has as much to do with him not being willing to bowl over the young woman as it is her own formidable strength.
    “Roger, don’t,” she orders firmly, staring straight into his hate-filled eyes.
    “Yeah, Roger, don’t,” I say with a wry smile.
    Katherine spares a moment to shoot me an exasperated look before facing her brother again. “We need him to find dad. Please, he’s trying to make us angry and you’re falling for it. Just be still.”
    “Yeah, Roger,” I pipe in once more, “why don’t you go curl up in the corner over there and lick your balls while the grown-ups talk.”
    To his credit, Roger is able to compose himself. “Jealous?”
    “I’d have to like you a whole lot more to be jealous.”
    The kid doesn’t lie down like a good dog but he does pace to the corner of the room a few steps away where he stands with crossed arms and a barely suppressed look of anger on his face.
    Satisfied that her brother is in control of himself, Katherine turns back to me, plants her palms against the top of my desk, and gives me a hard look similar the one she used to halt her perturbed sibling. Uh oh, I think I may be in trouble now.
    “Mr. Malone, if you are through playing your little game may we please get to the business of finding my father? I am perfectly willing to tell you anything you wish to know if it will help you find him.”
    I lean forward and return her gaze, my own hands planted firmly on the desktop. “The problem, Ms. Goldstein,