Perry Stone was on a smoke break. Sitting on an upside-down bucket in a back alley behind Earl & Sons Publishing, he watched the afternoon sun slowly push shadows from one side to the other. The air smelled of wet garbage from last night's rainstorm and a nearby open dumpster. He took a deep drag on his cigarette and looked at the smoke as it lifted into the sky. He'd been close to quitting a few times but always felt like life's stress was just barely too much to tackle on his own. He made enough money from two small books and a handful of articles with local celebs, but nothing close enough to retire on. He'd had a steady job with Earl & Sons for the last seven years but couldn't help but wonder if he'd been in one place too long. It'd been nearly a year since he'd been on a project that seemed even remotely exciting. Perry scratched the dark stubble on his cheek and dipped the remainder of his cigarette in a small puddle between his feet. A tiny stream of grey smoke from the distinguished butt rose and danced in front of his face. He exhaled sharply and watched it fly away in a thousand directions as he rose to his feet and headed for the door. As he reached for the handle, the heavy, steel door shot open toward him and jammed his index finger.

Reeling in pain, Perry jumped back. "Son of a bitch!" He grabbed at his hand and instinctively squeezed the injured digit.

"Oh, shit. Sorry about that." Barb winced as she looked at him apologetically.

Perry shook his hand at his side, trying to get some feeling back. "Goddamnit, Barb." He looked at her with sympathy, he knew it wasn't her fault. He'd mentioned to his boss about replacing the windowless door a thousand times to prevent this sort of thing from happening. But those types of things never seem to be in the budget.

"Well shit, Stone. I didn't know you'd be there!" She scrunched up her nose and looked at his hand. "Is it broken?"

Perry rolled his eyes. "No, I'm sure it's fine. Hurts like hell but I'll live."

"Boss is looking for you." Barb nodded her head, motioning to the floors above. "Says he might have something for you."

Perry followed Barb back inside, feeling his finger begin to swell and throb. Barb was the type of co-worker that no one hated, but no one really loved her either. They'd worked together for the last five years and had grown to enjoy each other's company. She laughed at his dry humor and he admired how little she actually cared about what others thought. To Perry's surprise, they never found each other sexually attractive. It was a nice relief to know he could be himself without the stress of trying to impress a member of the opposite sex. Not that Barb wasn't pretty. He'd actually thought about her, on many occasions, and wondered why they'd never been intimate. She was in her late thirties, single, and had curves in the right places. She had short, curly, strawberry-blonde hair, and thick-rimmed glasses. They both paused at the elevator and waited for the doors to open. Without looking in his direction, Barb added, "I thought you quit."

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Perry, also without looking in her direction, replied, "So did I." The elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open. As they stepped inside, Perry reached out with his middle finger to push floor 10. Looking again at his painful finger, he noted it was turning a tinge of blue.

Once to their floor, Perry headed toward his office for a notepad and paper. He spoke over his shoulder to Barb, "Any idea what he's got?"

"Not sure, exactly. I overheard part of a phone call about a hotel, I think?" She sat back at her desk and nudged her glasses back up her nose. Her workspace was just outside of Perry's small office. Where she sat, she could see and talk with Perry, his boss, and another writer that hardly came to work anymore. Perry's real value was in his ability to not only write and ask investigative questions, but he doubled as a half-decent photographer. He insisted on doing all of his own photo work when writing for Earl & Sons. Barb had been the chief assistant for three and a half years and never got the coffee orders wrong. What they both knew, but never spoke about, was how either of them would leave the company the second the other did.

Simon Earl's door was open slightly while he thumbed through a proof about a local restaurant that was on the up. When Perry knocked, Simon muttered a noise that wasn't an actual word but still implied it was okay to enter. His corner office had large windows but was cluttered with boxes, papers, and folders. He had shades drawn to keep out some of the afternoon sun. Regardless, his office was always fifteen degrees warmer than anywhere else in the building. Perry looked at a brown folder on his coffee table with paper clipped to the cover that read 'STONE'. "I take it this is for me?"

Simon looked up and reached for his coffee cup. "Hey, Stone! I was just looking for you." He slurped his mug and gestured toward the folder. "I got a folder there for you." He leaned back in his office chair and took another drink. "How'd you like to get out of town for a couple days?"

Perry opened the folder and flipped through some old, black-and-white photos. He was looking at a hotel that appeared to be in its prime. Celebrities shaking hands, waving at other guests, playing poker, lounging by a pool. A picture of Frank Sinatra holding a martini. The folder had a handful of newspaper articles that had clearly been placed in chronological order, telling a short story of a once-prominent hotel and a slow, sad fall from grace. "What am I looking at, exactly?"

Simon tipped his mug back and gulped down the last of his lukewarm joe. "Ever heard of the Cayon Jewel Hotel?"