I was polishing a beaker when Wilson marched up to my kiosk, somewhat out of breath, set his hands on his hips and opened his mouth to speak.
“We’re closed Mr Wilson, but we’ll be open first thing in the morning as usual” I said, cutting him off.
He raised his eyebrows and blinked a few times. “I, I’m not here for that, demon. I require information.”
“My pleasure; our product information is available on our website, please take a card.”
“I mean about the kidnapped child.”
Oh, that. Wilson was an amateur PI and a poor one, but tenacious.
“Yes, Fredrick, I, I mean Freddy.”
I started putting bottles away.
“Well what Wilson?”
“Any word on the street?”
As if I would tell him anything.
I needed that ransom money. Damned if I was going to be a ‘Devil’s Brew’ vendor much longer.