‘Whatever you are trying ta sell I ain’t buying,’ Digby said with a slight island lilt in his voice.
His shoulders softened and he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a pack of
smokes. ‘Do I know ya?’
‘The name is Stone, I was told by a friend that you might be able to help me find someone I’ve
been looking for?’
Digby lit a smoke he had pulled from the pack, took a long drag and let the smoke billow out
from his mouth lazily, creating a temporary cloud that shrouded his features. ‘You a copper
then?’
‘No, a P.I.’
‘And this friend? My friend or a friend of yours?’ He took a long drag on the cigarette and
blew out a cloud that hung in the thick air, ‘And what makes you think I can help you find the
person you’re looking for anyway?’
I didn’t have time for a lengthy discussion so I slowly reached my hand into my pocket and
pulled out a couple of photos and held them up for him to see. It took him a second to get his eyes
adjust as the smoke billowed away. He quickly tossed the rest of his cigarette into the street and
grabbed the photos from my hand. I tried to get something from the myriad of emotions that
traveled the features of his face, but it was hard to know which one was ringing true. Longing,
relief, anger, sadness, joy and acceptance; maybe Digby was feeling all of them or had felt all of
them for the woman in the photos. But who was she to him?
ht
Lig
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THE CONE - ISSUE #15 - 2018