Wayne Sulu Friday

Sulu sat back. He had grown tired of listening to this potential client. Sure, the client was top dollar. Straight down to his shoes. Sulu would have bet that he even polished the bottom of them.

Cecil Renselear, one of the richer people Sulu had ever seen, was droning on about his problem, that he never thought he would need to hire someone like Sulu, oh my he was nervous, and isn't it a lovely day?

Sulu suppressed a smile. This is serious business, after all. He was used to the nervousness and social discomfort from the upper deciles of his clientele, but this seemed over the top. None of them was this rich, though.

Sulu had planned on a more quiet, relatively leisurely day, but that changed about two minutes before he left for home the night before. He was dawdling, thinking about what to have for dinner (he did handmade pizza on a special pizza stone), something he usually did as he locked up and took the stairs down. Instead, he was staring out the window, as the door opened and the problem walked in.

Lloyd Ferris, esq. Personal and confidential attorney for one Cecil Renselear strode in with a manner that Sulu checked to see if he had his own six piece mellow jazz band theme music accompanying him.

After Sulu got the preliminary details, agreed on terms, and, no doubt, Lloyd Ferris, esq vetted him, Cecil arrived with his tale of woe.

"Can you do it? Can you help me?"

Cecil Renselear's cliche question jarred Sulu back to the moment. He assured his employer that he was able to help, he knew what to do, in fact, he might get results if the mood so struck him.

Renselear was unsure how to take that. He awkwardly extended his hand to Sulu. They shook hands. Renselear left.

Sulu sat down, looked at the ceiling with his hands behind his head, smiling.

Once more into the fray dear friends.

He got up and went out to detect.