Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial

OKAY FOLKS, I'm trying out the SCHEDULE function again.  This is the Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial.  First Installment of "WHO IN THE HELL IS BOONE CARTER?"

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“This is Boone Carter.  I have good news and I have bad news.” I spoke into the cell phone. It was an old one, a little bigger than they make them now, so I didn't feel like I was talking into a credit card.  It also had the advantage of being cheap.  It was a pre-paid model, the kind they call a “burn phone” on tv. But I've had it longer than my most recent apartment.  Then again, that's not saying all that much.  I tend to be pretty mobile.

“Tell me.” The client sounded tense. Then again, from what I could tell Melodee Bigbee was always tense. Probably the meth. But maybe just her nature. I didn't know. Didn't much care either.

“The good news is, I found your car. The bad news, the police are going to be asking you lots of question and I'm not sure you're ever going to get the smell out.”

She started swearing and hung up on me.  I wasn't surprised.  I'd be willing to bet that a visit from the cops would be a life-changing experience for Melodee, and not in a good way.  Particularly not when they were going to be asking her questions about the murder of her dealer/boyfriend-maybe-commonlaw-husband Dirk.  Ah well, not my problem.  She'd paid me to find the car.  I found the car. 

I closed the cell phone and slid it into the back pocket of my worn jeans.

"Let me guess," Trey said "she hung up on you." 

"Yup."

Trey shook his head, smirking.  Let him smirk.  I've got a thick skin.  And I learned a long time ago to get paid, in cash, in advance.  None of this "in trade for sex" or whatever crap.  Show me the Benjamins or I walk.  It's one thing Trey and I absolutely agree on.

Trey Jefferson is my current roommate.  His full name is Theodore Thomas Jefferson III.  He hates it.  So he goes by Trey.  Trey is everything I'm not: Small, wiry, and black, he's quick, and clever.  He gets a lot of exercise jumping to conclusions.  I stand 6'7" in my bare feet, am whiter than your average lily, and tend to think things through very carefully before I take any action.  The latter is a product of my "colorful" upbringing.

I met Trey at my most recent job.  I'm a roofer for Carmichael & Sons Roofing Professionals in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  I wandered out here in search of sunlight and warmth after spending a couple years working on cleaning up the aftermath of Katrina and establishing my identity.  We hit it off well enough.  He needed a roommate.  I needed a place.  So far it's worked out better than most of my living arrangements.  Trey knows enough not to ask too many questions. 

Smart man.