I’d done work for Cameron Connolly before, a few covert surveillances. Some – and he’s the one who made the joke – “leg” work.
He paid well, asked that I keep our dealings discreet. It was a casual arrangement. His bosses would throw a fit if he asked them to retain an investigator on the payroll.
I could have told him, “discreet” was my middle name. But we didn’t play those games. He didn’t want the gloss, the image, the ideals he’d grown up watching on the TV. He wanted the work.