breathtaking view of the Pittsburgh skyline and enough office space for 550 employees. One of the execu tives-a vice president in the legal department-was exiting the glass elevator as Payne was stepping in.
“Morning,” Payne said.
“Barely,” the man replied, as he headed off for a lunch meeting.
Payne smiled at the wisecrack, then made a mental note to dock the bastard’s wages. Well, not really. But as CEO of his family’s company, Payne didn’t have much else to do, other than showing up for an occasional board meeting and using his family name to raise money for charities. Everything else, he left to his underlings.
Most people in his position would try to do more than they could handle, but Payne understood his limitations. He realized he wasn’t blessed with his grandfather’s business acumen or his passion for the corporate world. And even though his grandfather’s dying wish was for Payne to run the company, he didn’t want to screw it up. So while people with MBAs made the critical decisions, Payne stayed in the background, trying to help the community.
The moment Payne walked into his penthouse office, his elderly secretary greeted him. “How did last night’s event go?”
“Too late for my taste. Those Make-A-Wish kids sure know how to party.”
She smiled at his joke and handed him a stack of messages. “Ariane just called. She wants to discuss your plans for the long weekend.”
“What? She must be mistaken. I’d never take a long weekend. Work is way too important!”
The secretary rolled her eyes. Payne had once taken a vacation for Yom Kippur, and he wasn’t even Jewish. “D.J. called, too. In fact, he’d like you to stop down as soon as you can.”
“Is it about a case?” he asked excitedly.
“I have no idea, but he stressed it was very important.”
“Great! Give him a call and tell him I’m on my way.”
With a burst of adrenaline, Payne bypassed the elevator and headed directly to the stairs, which was the quickest way to Jones’s office during business hours. When he reached his best friend’s floor, he stopped to admire the gold lettering on the smoked glass door.
DAVID JOSEPH JONES Private Investigator
He liked the sound of that, especially since he’d helped Jones achieve it.
When Payne inherited the large office complex from his grandfather, he gave Jones, a former lieutenant of his, a chance to live out his dream. Payne arranged the necessary financing and credit, gave him an entire floor of prime Pittsburgh real estate, and provided him with a well-paid office staff. All Payne wanted in return was to be a part of his friend’s happiness.
Oh, and to assist Jones on all of his glamorous cases.
Plus he wanted business cards that said Jonathon Payne, Private Eye.
But other than that, he just wanted his friend to be happy.
Payne waved at Jones’s receptionist, who was talking on the phone, and entered the back office. Jones was sitting behind his antique desk, a scowl etched on his angular face. He had short hair, which was tight on the sides, and cheeks that were free from stubble.
“What’s up?” Payne asked. “Trouble in Detectiveland?”
“It’s about time you got here,” Jones barked. His light mocha skin possessed a reddish hue that normally wasn’t there. “I’ve been waiting for you all morning.”
Payne plopped into the chair across from Jones. “I came down as soon as I got your message. What’s the problem?”
Jones exhaled as he eased back into his leather chair. “Before I say anything, I need to stress something to you. What I’m about to tell you is confidential. It’s for your ears only. No one, and I mean no one, is allowed to know anything about this but you. All right?”
Payne smiled at the possibilities. This sounded like something big. He couldn’t wait to hear what it was. Maybe a robbery, or even a murder. Jones’s agency had never handled a crime like that. “Of course! You can count on me. I promise.”
Relief flooded Jones’s face. “Thank God.”
“So, what is it? A big case?”
Jones shook his head, then slowly explained the situation. “You know how you have all those boxes of gadgets near my filing cabinets in the storage area?”
“Yeah,” Payne replied. He’d been collecting magic tricks and gizmos ever since he was a little boy. His grandfather had started the collection for him, buying him a deck of magic playing cards when Payne was only five, and the gift turned out to be habit-forming. Ever since then, Payne was hooked on the art of prestidigitation. “What about ’em?”
“Well,” Jones muttered, “I know I’m not supposed to mess with your stuff. I know that. But I went in there to get some paperwork this morning, and . . .”
“And what? What did you do?”
“I saw a pair of handcuffs in there, and they looked pretty damn real.”
“Go on,” Payne grumbled, not liking where this was going.
“I brought them back here and tried to analyze them. You know, figure them out? And after a while, I did. I figured out the trick.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, so I slipped them on to test my theory, and . . .”
Payne stared at D.J. and smiled. For the first time, he realized his friend’s hands had been hidden from view during their entire conversation. “You’re handcuffed to the desk, aren’t you?”
Jones took a deep breath and nodded sheepishly. “I’ve been like this for three freakin’ hours, and I have to take a leak. You know how my morning coffee goes right through me!”
Laughing, Payne jumped to his feet and peered behind the desk to take a look. “Whoa! That doesn’t look comfortable at all. You’re all twisted and-”
“It’s not comfortable,” Jones interrupted. “That’s why I need you to give me a hand.”
“Why don’t you just break off the handle? Or aren’t you strong enough?”
“It’s an antique desk! I’m not breaking an antique desk!”
Payne smiled. “Wait a second. I thought you could pick any lock in the world.”
“With the proper tools, I can. But as you can plainly see, I can’t reach any tools.”
“I see that,” Payne said, laughing. “Fine. I’ll give you some help, but . . .”
“But what?” Jones snapped as his face got more flushed. “Just tell me the secret to your stupid trick so I can get free. I’m not in the mood to joke here.”
“I know. That’s why I don’t know how to tell you this. I’ve got some bad news for you.”
“Bad news? What kind of bad news?”
Payne patted his friend on his arm, then whispered, “I don’t own any fake handcuffs.”
“What? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jones tried pulling free from the desk, but the cuffs wouldn’t budge. “You mean I locked myself to my desk with a real set of cuffs? Son of a bitch!”
“Not exactly something you’ll put on your private eye resume, huh?”
Jones was tempted to curse out Payne but quickly realized that he was the only one who could help. “Jon. Buddy. Could you please get me some bolt cutters?”
“I could, but I’m actually kind of enjoying-”
“Now!” Jones screamed. “This isn’t a time for jokes! If my bladder gets any fuller, I’ll be forced
