Chapter Four

I stop into My Dreamland Palace, a German place in Waterloo, for sauerbraten and a decent lager, then carry on down to Chester, Illinois, one of those places that tourists from Europe know about but Americans don't.  Some decent architecture, but mostly it's about where it sits, on a high bluff over the Mississippi, a two-lane bridge below, leading over to a flatland piece of Illinois on the west side of the river.  Chester is the home of Popeye and Olive Oyl, proudly announced as you drive in.  Friendly folks in the town, some decent food, and a long way from everywhere.

I swing into Max's, a bar and grill with wi-fi, get another beer and plug in, to start answering my questions about Jamie, Marie, and Wayne the evil ex.  Plus their daughter, Chloe, my real client.

We all know how the Internet, and especially Wikipedia, has changed our lives, you recover the names of all those things you can't remember, you track down details you may never have known, the world's library right there in a saloon in a river town in southern Illinois.  For those of us who make a living tracking things, finding people, it's beyond your imagination and grows bigger every day.  Without breaking the law you can retrieve more in an hour than in the old days you could assemble in a month.  And if you're prepared to bust a few boundaries and use a few hacker's tricks, well.  There's a lot out there.

Not going to tell my secrets.  But another beer and then a cup of coffee, and I knew a lot more about each of the three adults than their friends probably did.

Much of which was more than nuances, as Jamie would say.  Like the fact that he was famous once - a hip-hop pioneer, whose career flamed on in the '90's, but out in the mid-aughts.  He was probably startled that I didn't recognize him in the park, or in my office.  (No surprise to me.  I haven't had a teenager around the house in decades and I sure never listened to that stuff myself.  Even though all my musician buddies told me to give it a shot.)  Some interesting reasons why his career ended.

Marie was a lady with some serious issues, mostly having to do with drugs.  Been in and out of rehab in the last five years more times than I'd washed my car.  How do I know?  Don't ask, but it's simple, believe me.

So she and Wayne Sloan must have been a real pair.  His drug use  - his drug business - is more than a matter of public record, although certainly that.  It's epic.  He invented distribution methods about which Harvard Business School should write a case.  The DEA is dying to get their hands on him.  There are some cartels with whom he has a tricky relationship.  He is clearly his own best customer, which is frequently fatal and always a mistake.   I'm sure he isn't planning to leave Governor's Harbour any time soon, and no wonder he's looking for a stake.

My cell rang.  It was Marie.  She sounded pissed.  "Mr. Payne, I hope you're moving ahead.  Wayne just texted.  He's upped his demand to three million, and says if we don't move our asses it will go up again."