The Broken Scarlet Sky

 I was sitting at my desk contemplating a blue berry scone when he walked into my office. He was around six feet tall but he looked like he had lost a few inches since his prime. He gave off the aura of an athlete in his twilight years as he limped up to my desk favoring one leg.

"You Spencer."

"That's what they tell me."

"Names Mcgee. I want to hire you."

"That's what I am here for so it seems you came to the right place. What do you need? Have a seat and let me know what this is all about."

He pulled back one of my client chairs and sat gingerly so that he could extend his bad knee without touching the desk. He had a deep tan that you could only get if you are out on the water all the time or live in a tanning parlor. Sandy hair that had gone white and an athletes build that age and strain had weathered to the point where you could only get glimpse of what he once had been. He reminded me of a retired athlete like Jim Brown or Dick Butkus who were astonished at how their body had betrayed them.

"I live in Florida in a houseboat in Fort Lauderdale. I'm retired but I used to do what you do now.  I didn't have a license or any paperwork. I operated as a "salvage consultant.' Basically people hired me to find something they lost. I covered the expenses and they owed me nothing if I didn't find it. But if I recovered it they owe me half."

"Sweet. But that's not how I operate."

"I figured. I will pay your rate. I heard from some people I know that you are the best up here in Boston. So I need you to find someone for me."

"Okay who is it?"

"My best friend. His name is Meyer. Ludwig Meyer. He came up here for a conference at MIT and I haven't heard from him since. That was three weeks ago. His conference was supposed to be four days max. I came up here and went to his hotel to see if he was there. He had never checked out but he hadn't been in his room for two weeks. It was a police matter. I spoke to a cop named Frank Belson. He seemed to know what he was about. He recommended I talk to you. So here I am."

"I know Frank. What did you friend do that he had a conference at MIT? Was he a professor?"

"He was an economist. A pretty well known one in economic circles. He had published a couple of important articles back in the day that he had monetized to support himself. Lately he had been working a computer algorithm that he said would be revolutionary. He said it had a predictive modality that was a game changer. I have to admit that I didn't follow it. But I know it has to have something with his disappearance." 

"Why didn't you start looking for him? You seem to have a lot on the ball."

"How old do you think I am Spenser?"

"I don't know. Late sixties maybe?"

"I am 87. Like Harry Callahan used to say a man has to know his limitations. Will you take the case?"

"Yes. I will. I will have a few questions. You want coffee? Half a scone?"

"Coffee. You keep the scone."

I liked him. He let me eat my scone. This would be the start of a beautiful friendship.