Jordan Almond: Cut and Dried
I’ve heard it said there are a million stories in the naked city. I don’t know about the naked cities, but here in Flint, nothing is as obvious as that. Of course, if things were laid out for anyone to see, I’d be out of a job.
You see, I’m a private detective.
I know what you’re thinking, but trust me, I’m not living the dream. I mean, it pays the bills, and I could be doing a lot worse things with my life, but to paraphrase an old country song I hate, ‘Mama, don’t let your babies grow up to be P.I.s’. It’s harder work than it sounds, and sometimes you piss people off enough to want kill you.
Seems to happen to me a lot more than I’d like, but that’s the way life goes sometimes.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not in this for the money; I’m not in it for the prestige either. This business isn’t as rich and glamorous as Hollywood would have you think, which is too damn bad. There’s a silver lining here somewhere. I haven’t found it yet, but a gal can hope, can’t she?
Who am I? The name is Jordon Almond. Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard all the jokes, so don’t bother. My parents thought it was funny. I don’t.
From what I was told, the name was actually Allman up until the ‘60s when my father took a bad trip and ended up changing it to something more in tune with Mother Earth. After he woke up a few years later, he kept it Almond because he thought it was a good joke. Now I’m stuck with it. I would’ve changed the name years ago if my father hadn’t made me promise to keep it. He knew I never broke a promise. I wish I’d remembered my father’s sense of humor before I agreed. He up and died before I could wiggle out of it.
He also roped me into the family business, but he did that after he was gone. His last will and testament said that as soon as I finished college, the whole kit and caboodle was mine. So I stepped off the platform—degree in hand—and right into the gaping hole of my future as a private detective.
Now you see why I never bothered to change the name on my office door. Even after my father died, I left it like it was: Eddie Almond Investigations. Hell, even in the crappy neighborhood where Eddie bought this office, I don’t want to take a chance on someone stopping in to buy candy. I don’t do candy. Hell, I barely even eat the stuff.
Not that taking over the family business was the worst day of my life. Oh no. I’ve had plenty of worst days in my thirty-five year existence, and most of them had nothing whatsoever to do with dear ol’ Dad. In fact, one of the crappier days I couldn’t really blame on Eddie at all. If I had to blame it on anything, I’d blame it on my own desperation.
You see, it was like this...
Looking at it now, I guess I really should finish this and get cracking on those others books, eh? What do you think?