<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Los Angeles, California, October 10, 1933 - 9:05 AM</span></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;">A quietly hissed oath sounded in the small, grimy bathroom where Jonathan had just cut himself while shaving. <span style="font-style: italic">Always, always happens. No one should let you near anything sharp.</span> He tore off a small piece of toilet paper and looked reproachfully at his mirrored self. A blue tie with wild geometric patterns hung around his neck, and the hair above his left ear refused to be tamed because of a cowlick he had. That, together with the now red piece of paper on his cheek and the bags under his eyes screamed <span style="font-style: italic">"unemployed"</span> to him. Or, if you really wanted to be specific, <span style="font-style: italic">"pretending not to be unemployed and barely scraping by only because my aunt is so nice and lets me live here for almost nothing"</span>.<br/><br/>He had just picked up the razor for a hopeful attempt at shaving the other cheek, when someone knocked at his door. It was a light, polite knock, but still enough to startle him, and he cursed as the razor broke skin once more. "Coming!" Jonathan shouted as he quickly washed the remaining shaving cream off and half-ran into his office to open the front door. Presentable or not, this was money, and you took whatever you could get in these days.<br/><br/>If the person standing outside had not been a young woman, Jonathan probably would not have been as embarrassed as he was when he opened the door and revealed himself in all his half-awake glory. In fact, he had just opened his mouth to apologize profusely for the way he looked when he noticed the way <span style="font-style: italic">she</span> was looking. His mouth snapped shut as he took in the smeared make up, missing shoes, and white dress that was clearly less white than it had been to begin with. He took a step backwards and opened the door wider for her. "Please, miss, come inside."<br/><br/>Closing the door behind her, he quickly walked past her to clear out some of the clutter on his desk. A half empty cigarette pack and a coffee cup was pushed towards the edge along with a pulp magazine. A pencil and a couple of day-old newspapers went the other way. One fluttered to the floor. "Sorry, miss," Jonathan mumbled as he hastened to pick it up and lay it on top of the others. He was not doing a very good job of presenting himself as the calm, collected, and efficient private eye he liked to imagine he was. "Please, take a seat and tell me what I can do for you?" He said, indicating the worn, wooden chair on one side of the desk, while he himself took place on the other. He folded his hands in front of him and shot her his most convincing, charming smile. It looked like there might be something interesting coming up for once.</div>