in the back office of his dry goods store counting the evening’s till. Hunched over his small stacks of bills and coins, he brushed away the thick flakes of greasy dandruff that kept falling every time he turned his head to look at the stranger sitting in the corner by the linen storage cabinet.
Ichabod slid his sweaty bifocal spectacles back up onto the hook of his nose and squinted at the newcomer.
The strange gentleman sat cloaked in a dark gray Inverness coat, its deep cape draped as a hood, concealing his face.
“Sir, you must be terribly warm in that heavy coat,” Ichabod insisted for the second time since letting the man in through the alley door. “Surely you would feel much more at ease if you removed it and helped yourself to a refreshing drink?” He picked the whiskey bottle up off his desk and offered it to the silent man.
The stranger gripped the end of the armrests with his gloved hands. “I don’t require drink,” he answered faintly. “The night breeze from the Gulf gives me a chill. I’ll be warm soon.”
The cautious voice was unfamiliar to Ichabod but well-paying customers were always welcome any time of night. That’s how he built up a loyal clientele. Ichabod hooked his thumbs under the straps of his denim coveralls and pulled them out an inch. He let them snap back against his sweat stained white cotton shirt. “As you wish, sir.” Ichabod tipped his head. “In both of my businesses the customer is always right.”
The stranger relaxed his grip and placed his hands on his lap. “On the telephone you said that you had found a woman fitting the photograph that I sent you.”
“It took some doing,” replied Ichabod, as he swept the coins into a leather money bag. “Such a stunning beauty and all that long, flowing auburn hair. What was her name again?”
“I never told you.”
Ichabod pulled the strings closed on the money bag. “Ahh . . . that’s right, sir, come to think of it, you didn’t. Didn’t mean to pry, but a man such as myself, who makes a good portion of his livelihood from obtaining specialized services for refined gentlemen, likes to get to know a man’s taste so he may better serve his penchant for the cultivated experiences life has to offer.”
The stranger raised his hand to his mouth and coughed. “We’ll see how tonight goes first, then we’ll talk about . . . what life has to offer.”
“Without a doubt, sir, but—” Ichabod paused, filling his glass to the brim with bootleg whiskey. “I find it somewhat unusual not to be involved with a client on a first-name basis.” He downed a swift gulp of the liquor, then another. “It’s only fitting that gentlemen establish a . . . a certain rapport at the beginning, based on trust, as it were, or one of them might start to think the other had certain designs that weren’t quite—”
“Then for the purposes of our rapport, Mr. Weems, you can address me as sir, as it were.”
Ichabod nodded and rubbed the white stubble on his jaw. “Of course, sir. The gentleman is always right.” Ichabod opened the top drawer of his desk and glanced at his new pearl-handled Smith & Wesson .32. Imposing strangers who preferred to remain nameless required extra scrutiny . . . and money. “After all, I am getting on. So many families have moved away from here over the years since the war. I have trouble remembering all their names.”
As an oil lamp cast its wavering light, the stranger seemed to bear his gaze down on the gnarled stick of the old man in coveralls and spectacles hunched over his desk. “I’ve only recently arrived.”
Ichabod chuckled. “Ah, well, of course.” He closed the drawer. “So many fine gentlemen pass through our splendid city. Some more private than others.”
The stranger reached into a deep pocket of his coat.
At that moment Ichabod regretted closing the top drawer. “That’s a fact,” he said, smiling. “Impossible to remember all of their names and I suppose that’s for the best.”
A folded money clip landed on the desk in front of Ichabod’s glass of whiskey. “You suppose correctly, Mr. Weems, and hopefully this will provide a satisfactory answer to any more idiotic questions from you.”
Relieved, Ichabod removed the brass clip. He thumbed through the fives and tens without looking up. “Goodness, yes, I should say so. Absolutely, sir,” the dry goods merchant answered, rubbing the fingers of his right