THE CASE OF 

My clothes roused me like smelling salts from Hades. My head still ached and my shoulder was stiff. At least I knew where I was this time. In my apartment, on the couch.  

Moe – or his clean alter ego – was lying on the floor, his head bobbing as he listened to my vintage CDs on ear buds.  

He’d shaved, his long hair secured by a neat ponytail. He looked…distinguished. Except for the blue fleece pjs and thick black socks. “Are you wearing my pajamas?”

His eyebrows rose as he removed an ear bud. “It’s about time you wake up. I think you were asleep before ya sat down. Now, what’s yer name?”

I sighed. I could guess what was in the fridge. How many times I’d banged my head on the bulkhead inconveniently situated in front of the shower, thirteen. I could describe the layout of this small apartment with my eyes closed. However, the important things like my name and dozens other details were elusive. “Present Occupant.”

Moe grinned, flashing the gap in his now suspiciously white teeth. “Even if these are your pajamas, something you surely can’t confirm with your limited knowledge, there’s nothing else I want to wear right now. Ya know how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed the luxury of fleece, and socks with no holes in em? Besides Mystery Man, most of your clothes is black, suggesting ya might really be a ninja like I’m thinking, and yer duds are too big and definitely not my style.”

“I see, so just what might be your style?”

“Dapper. Tweeds jackets with leather patches at the elbow over a silk vest, white shirt, and jaunty yellow cravat.”  

I groaned. “So ancient college professor. I got it.” I moved, reactivating the stench. “After last night I may have to bury this couch and I really like this couch.”

“I gotta admit you are not the freshest daisy. The couch is leather. It will be just fine. So will you. By the way, I checked yer medicine cabinet. No pharmaceuticals with yer name on them, so no name there. The upshot is you’re healthy. Ya did have some over the counter painkillers, antibiotics, and expensive derma plast. So hit the shower, I’ll tend to yer wound and we can make some plans.”  

 “I can take care of the wound.” I stood. “Moe, where did you sleep?”

“In the guest room.”

“I don’t have a guest room.”

“It’s a guest room if you’re hogging the couch. Now git going. There’s a lot to do.”

Moe was in the kitchen when I was done. He’d made omelets, heavy on onions, ham, and cheese. I wolfed my portion down as Moe outlined his strategy for finding his daughter. I had mixed feelings about his plan. Some of it was sound. Overall, it required a great deal of money and a whole lot of luck. Neither seemed likely.     

Moe insisted on cleaning up, so I headed for the only other room in the apartment hoping it would yield some information about me.

Calling the jam packed, walk-in closet sized space a room was generous. Pretentious even. A cursory glance at the haphazard column of old books stacked on the floor near the office chair told me I read many mystery novels. I sat. The column swayed and the chair squeaked. A corkboard layered with dozens of old pictures hung on the white wall above the oak desk. Recon Team 6. I stared at a group shot. Our camo gear was crisp and clean. A younger me was smiling broadly and standing next to the man who’d given me the belt. I picked up a dog tag draped across a small silver frame and stared at the face grinning back at me for a moment. I didn’t know why I had Private James William Cootnay’s tags but I knew he was gone. A familiar grief settled on my shoulders.     

I opened the drawer above the chair well. There were two spiral notebooks inside, a clutch of pens and pencils, and a stash of hard currency. Strange, another flash of memory. Cash was illegal, and yet still in use in the more unsavory sectors beneath the dome. I pulled out the notebooks as Moe appeared in the doorway munching on toast and clutching an apple. He stared at the corkboard for a moment and pointed. 

“That’s Talon. Explains why you were looking for him.”  

I nodded. Talon was tall and lanky with close cropped, sandy blond hair. His smile was broad and his hazel eyes telegraphed mischief.      

“Yep, that’s definitely him, younger, no beard, and clean cut but that’s the man ya were looking for. There are twelve of ya.”

“Advanced Recon Tactical Team Six. ARTTS. Talon called us the ARTTSy FARTTSies ,” I smiled.  

Moe patted my shoulder. “Yer getting there, son won’t be long before it all comes together.” He picked up one of the notebooks. I opened the other.  

I glanced at the list of entries broken down month by month. The pages itemized my income and expenses. Absolutely none of it made sense. According to my notes, my income was sporadic. Often listed as zero, I rented the apartment from Big Fingers Jefferson for one dollar. Absurd a dollar? Who named their child Big? I spent nothing on food, clothing, or utilities. There were no payments for Babe. If I had a bank account or a credit card neither was listed on these pages. This was a joke. I flipped through the rest of the ridiculous entries finally locating a list of contacts near the back pages. A lead at last. If I could find a cell. A computer? I glanced around. “Moe have you seen a pad, a cell, heck any electronic device other than the CD player in this apartment?” Digital files can be hacked, paper can’t. Damn it, who’d, said that. And why?

“Nope, not a thing and I looked. Listen to this. I love it, just love it. Case of the Ford Falcon – A Mr. George Sandalwood hired you to find out who stole his car. It seems the car wasn’t the only thing missing. Sandalwood’s chauffeur had been stealing jewelry, small objets d’art, bits, and pieces of silver and china from the Sandalwoods for over a year. You tracked some of the goods to a pawnshop. The car was at the sky port, ready to load on an air ship destined for some foreign land. After you notified the authorities a grateful Mr. Sandalwood said payment for your services would be ready in a couple of days.

A day later, Sandalwood’s wife called to say the money was ready for pick-up. Seems the very, very young missus didn’t have the funds but she was planning to give you a bonus. George Sandalwood, returning unexpectedly, misinterpreted what was happening. Words were exchanged. An angry, rotund, and over excited Sandalwood threw an ill-fated punch. He lost his balance. Tripped over an ottoman and knocked over a pedestal displaying an urn. You exited hastily as the ashes of George Sr. settled into Jr.’s expensive rug. Long story short, you didn’t get paid.”  

“I see. What month was that?”

“July.”

I found the page. “Zero income that month.”

“Zero. Huh, here’s another entry. The Sad Case of the Missing Son.”

“I did not write those titles. Did I?”

“I’m editorializing the titles and content. Seems Tabitha Brennan's son was a lightening bug. His addiction to drugs took him down some dark roads. Eventually Tabitha’s son became a dealer to support the habit. A rival killed him. Ah…some gruesome details about the death here, and….upshot, you lied to Tabitha,” he glanced at me. “You said Derik was a good boy in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tabitha received a notice to vacate her apartment during the wake. Seems Derik had been pocketing the rental payments for well over six months and intercepting the vacate notices. You moved her into ‘The Bright’s Retirement Complex’. Hmm. I gotta wonder. If Tabitha was too tight to pay your bill, how could she afford Bright’s Retirement Complex? It’s not just expensive it’s crazy expensive?”  

I shook my head as I shrugged. “No idea.”

“You really are a Mystery Man. No income and yet ya live in this ritzy place. You wealthy or something?”

“I’m definitely something.” I tugged at the bottom drawer of the desk. It was stuck. I gave it a hard yank. After steadying the teetering column of books, I went through the drawer as Moe continued reading. 

Minutes later, he laughed aloud. “Phew, this is a good one. Trixie Drew and The Case of The Stolen Knapsack!”

I hesitated, holding a pair of black leather gloves in one hand and a baseball glove in the other, as the memory popped in intact. “Hey, I remember that one. Trixie is the daughter of the couple next door. She hid her knapsack on the way home from school one day and asked me to find it. Trixie was very creative, leaving dozens of clues for me to follow. I even used a magnifying glass to amuse her. I had to climb a tree to retrieve the backpack. Trixie is quite the climber.”

Moe was laughing so hard he was crying. “It said she paid ya three cookies for the recovery.”

“Three really good cookies and I emphasize good.”

“Don’t that beat it all, a detective who don’t even know his own name.”  

I threw the first book at the top of the column at him, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. Moe dodged the yellowed paperback with more speed and agility than I’d have expected.

“Seriously though,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “This here appears to be yer latest case – check out yer notes.”

He handed me the notebook. The last entry was three days ago.  

I read aloud, “Eagle asked me to locate Talon. He’s missed his check in time twice. Eagle was brusque, terse, that means he’s apprehensive about more than just Talon’s disappearance. I didn’t press. He’ll tell us what’s bothering him when he’s put all the pieces together. He always does. As I was leaving, Talon’s girlfriend didn’t know he had one, came by. Talon had told her to contact me if he didn’t show up in two days. He didn’t show. She’s distraught, worried her employer Miss Wang is responsible for the disappearance. Going to follow the leads Eagle and Deeanna gave me. R.F... Argh! This is so damn frustrating?”   

“Don’t rush it, the memory will come,” Moe bit into an apple. Juice squirted everywhere.

“Great, so tell me, what do I do until then? Talon is clearly in trouble. Deanna, the blond obviously, is dead. I have no idea how to proceed from here. Who lives this way? Without a single connection to the grid or the outside world. I have no income, and still no idea who I am.”

“There’s one bright light.”

“What’s that?”

“The P.E.A. doesn’t know who you are either. Otherwise they’d a been here waitin fer us.”

I stared at Moe for a moment. He was right. I glanced at the photos on the wall. So just, who was I? I rose abruptly; the chair spun away setting off an avalanche of books as I headed for the door. I grabbed a jacket before descending to street level. How long would it take my memories to come back? If they didn’t what about Talon? Would he just show up? How did I even contact Eagle? I pushed through the door overwhelmed by the questions running through my head. I was awash with grief and anger all without context.