Someone might think that this friendly request represented a more sophisticated kind of visitor rather than some shell-shocked vet or hard-bitten cop. But I knew that the safest way to enter a room was to knock first—so as not to get shot.

“Come on in,” I called.

The man who pushed the door open was remarkable; maybe an inch taller than I and white like aged ivory. The one and only descriptive adjective that defined him was blunt. From the extra-broad shoulders to his helmetlike bald head, from his hammer hands to the hairless and protruding eyebrows. Even the color of his suit, a waxy crayon blue, made you think of some bad guy who just walked out of Dick Tracy in the funny papers.

“You Rawlins?” he commanded.

“And to whom am I speaking?”

“You Rawlins?”

“I’d like to hear your name before I answer that question.”

Mr. Blunt’s eyes were the color of pond scum, wavering between dark mud and coagulated algae. He took a bellows breath to keep from jumping across the receptionist’s desk and said, “Eddie Brock.”

He was as much an Eddie as I was a bee-size Helena hummingbird that sometimes inhabited the southern swamps of Louisiana.

“Have a seat, Mr. Brock. I’m Rawlins.”

It took a moment for Eddie to tamp down his rage. The request for civility was not a common event in his life. Brock lifted a heavy oak chair and then dropped it back down in the same place. Then he sat, heavily of course.

“I wanna hire you,” he said. It was less a request and more a fait accompli.

“To do what?”

“On retainer.”

“Retainer for what?”

Eddie Brock was definitely not a man used to being questioned.

“For whatever I need done,” he said.

“I don’t provide that kind of service, Mr. Brock. People come to me to find out if their spouse is cheating. They want to know if their employees or clients are stealing from them. I’m not a bodyguard, bouncer, or leg breaker. Operators like that don’t have offices with front doors.”

Eddie could make his eyes very small. I imagined that I looked like a distant marksman’s target. The stare lasted no longer than four seconds but they dragged by like an anvil being hauled by a rusty chain through half-dry cement. Then, suddenly, he broke out into a grin.

“Let’s start over,” he said. “My name is Eddie Brock and I need a detective to do some work for me.”

I smiled, showing no teeth, and nodded.

“The first thing I need,” the big man continued, “is for you to find a woman I’m looking for.”

“She have a name?”

“Donata Delphine. I have her picture right here.”

“Why do you want her found?”

This question actually made Mr. Brock blink.

“Excuse me?”

“What is your interest in Miss Delphine?”