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Have you ever felt uncomfortable in your own skin?

Maybe there's a reason...

I read somewhere that it's inaccurate to say that sleep is ever "dreamless." The REM cycle is all about dreams, and you definitely dream every time; the question appears to be whether or not you remember what it is that you dreamed about. We get several chances per night to have a nice deep REM cycle, about once every 90 minutes. Whatever we remember from our dreams could have happened at just about any time during those cycles, not just the last one; generally, though, it's the last one that has its say over the others, possibly because it's the longest.

I neither dreamed of running, nor of foxes nor snow. When I woke up, Daffyd was on my mind, and it was a bittersweet sort of feeling. For a long time after he left, I slept only on my half of the bed, hoping that Nature truly does abhor a vacuum. It didn't work, at least it hasn't yet. I wouldn't have thought that I'm particularly sentimental; I can say that I've never gotten used to the idea of being abandoned. An old childhood thing, you think?

Whatever else is true, I shouldn't take it out on Daffyd. Moon Bear was right - he was good for me. I was never one for becoming too emotionally involved anyway; friends were difficult for me, much less lovers. An uncertain, lonely childhood provided different sets of friends, each with a new set of well-meaning (and usually understanding) foster parents, never an adoption, never the certainty of "home" until I tried to create my own in college. Discovery of myself, confusion, acceptance, the occasional curious and uncertain exploration. Various cautious encounters in the strange world of dating, none lasting very long. Not like I had Mom and Dad to take anyone home to. Moon Bear met Daffyd, partly at Daffyd's insistence. Moon Bear's confidence went a long way for me to try. It lasted just under two years, which isn't a poor track record for someone who had to reach 30 before having his first "serious relationship." For the first time since my childhood, home was something shared. It was nice. And it was over about a year ago. My birthday curse. Or maybe the cursing was just mine.

Enough.

Bladder call, shower, shave, breakfast - the usual bachelor-based rituals that never change whenever I'm living alone, which is most of the time. All I have left of Daffyd is that photo, a sort of "The One That Got Away" souvenir, I suppose. Not smart. Sentimental, maybe. I was out of the apartment long before the appointed time.

At the office, I gave everything a quick visual once-over, unsure why I was making this rather unusual fuss over a new client. I was more than a little on-edge, without the benefit of caffeine. I took a chance with the potential client by preparing a small pot of exceptionally good coffee that had been chemically castrated. When the flavor is this good, you don't need the buzz, and I'd just have to hope that he'd agree.

Whoever it was that said "Punctuality is the soul of good relations" (I tried to find it in Google and failed) must have had this gentleman in mind. My computer had signaled the time of the appointment at exactly the same moment that he knocked on my door. I silenced the alarm and went to meet my new client.

"Mr. Pym, I presume."

First impression: Sleek. An odd word to use, yet an accurate one. He stood a little shorter than myself, perhaps 5'8", short black hair immaculately kept, a smooth face, small, clear eyes set astride a short, sharp nose, a perfect setting for a_pince-nez,_ if people still used such things. His mouth was small, his smile compact. He carried his slim build fluidly in his entirely-too-perfect black suit. The only real color to his outfit was a deep red ruby set into what appeared to be a very old and ornate silver tie tack frame. To complete this slightly comical picture, I expected a top hat, ash gray kid gloves, and slim ebony walking stick with a silver handle; in this, he disappointed me.

"Mr. Sobieslaw." I kept Philo Vance in mind once again, bowed slightly, waved an arm toward the inner office. "Please come in."

Walking slowly, Sobieslaw let his quick eyes take in every detail of the office with little movement of his head. It was less an attempt at being subtle and more like an expression of restraint or respect - it's impolite to stare or gawk, yet he needed to know all he could. I've seen mentalists work the same way. Most read environments and body language much more readily than they read minds. He was soaking up information like a sponge, and I finally felt that my precautions had been warranted.

"Would you care for coffee? I just made some."

"I detect a certain mild, sweet aroma. Peruvian?"

Bingo."Yes, sir. Decaffeinated. I have cream or half-and-half, if you'd--"

"No, thank you." He seated himself in one of the client chairs, sitting carefully. "I am impressed with your choice of beverage. It seems slightly out of place in the offices of a private detective."

I sank into my own chair. "As with any business, one must select carefully where to invest one's resources. Many clients may not care too much about the furnishings; however, few forget a particularly good cup of coffee."

Sobieslaw's lips curled slightly upward into what I presumed was a smile. It had a faintly sneaky, predatory air about it; I had the sense of small sharp teeth behind those lips. I felt myself enacting the millennia-old cliché in which our ancient animal instincts demonstrated the trait of warning the being in front of us that we were ready to fight if need be. I regulated my breath carefully to make the hackles go back down.

"You are shrewd," Sobieslaw purred. "Attentive to detail. Organized. Observant. It would seem that your reputation is well-earned."

"I hope that is so. At the very least, I can assure you of proper surveillance. That is, I believe, what you wished to discuss?"

"Certainly." Sobieslaw relaxed; the cliché image of him returned, as I imagined him tugging off the ash gray gloves and setting them, with his walking stick, to one side. I couldn't help seeing him both as he was and as some phantom of his character, as if he were an actor playing a role. This, of course, made him immediately suspect.

I jotted down notes as he spoke - the address of the property, how long he'd owned it, and so on. "There are several tenants," he told me, "as the property is subdivided within. Some of the space is outfitted for offices, and I have no concerns there. Those tenants seem to be simple businessmen, people with business too small to warrant an office designed to impress visitors." The tiny smile appeared. "I suspect that they drink instant coffee."

"There will always be a market," I observed. "May I assume, given the location, that the remainder of the building is devoted to one or more warehouse spaces?"

"One warehouse space," Sobieslaw nodded. "Three loading dock entrances in the rear, a smaller loading dock area to the front. Large quantities of goods arrive, smaller quantities depart. The lessee is a Mr. Thad Gillig, d.b.a. Clu-Pea Ruber Wholesale Goods."

He spelled it for me, and I gave a brief prayer of thanks to Will Shortz. "I assume that you have already acquired some sort of bona fides for Mr. Gillig?"

"His paperwork all seemed in order at the time, and I had no misgivings letting out the property to him. He placed a large yet reasonable deposit - nothing so large that it aroused my suspicions, you see."

"Something about that has changed recently?"

Sobieslaw shifted carefully in his chair. "One of my small business tenants has been working late over the past few weeks. He had observed to me casually that the secret to being successful when working for oneself is to work only half-days, and that one may choose any twelve hours he wishes. It seems that he was taking this advice to heart. During his late nights, he saw some activities which seemed ... unsavory."

I resisted the temptation to ask what savory activities might be like. I suspected something that might require a dash of Worcestershire sauce. "Any particulars?"

"Deliveries," said Sobieslaw, "to the front dock, at night. Much of the time, ordinary looking boxes, although it seemed strange that things were being delivered so late in the evening. The people involved looked, as the businessman said, more like men in a biker gang than simple delivery drivers. The trucks involved bore no markings. In one case, the gentleman was certain that he saw something that looked like a coffin. Nothing like a proper coffin, as defined these days, but the more angular coffin, looking like a sarcophagus."

I made a quick sketch on my pad, angular lines and flat surfaces. "Something like this, perhaps?"

He leaned forward to examine the drawing. "Precisely." Again, the quick smile. Sobieslaw moved a hand to his chest and fiddled with the bejeweled tie tack. "Strange, isn't it," he purred. "Unusual."

"Very," I agreed. The ruby caught the light with curious intensity.

"What would you make of that..." he asked without inflection.

I closed my eyes for a moment, snapped my fingers and suggested, "A prop. Something for a movie perhaps. It's too stylized to be something for a body, wouldn't you agree?"

When I opened my eyes again, Sobieslaw was no longer fiddling with his tie tack. He sat straight in his chair, no longer sitting on its edge, eyeing me carefully. "Perhaps," he admitted after a long moment.

I smiled. "Mr. Sobieslaw, in truth, I'm not sure that anything is particularly amiss. It might be solved more simply by having a word with Mr. Gillig. Is there any reason not to confront him with the information, ask for a look around? You're the landlord; with 24 hours' notice, you can enter your property and see for yourself."

"What if he's dangerous?" Sobieslaw asked, his face suddenly appearing frightened. "In 24 hours, he could remove anything incriminating, and I will have made myself vulnerable. Without cause, I can't simply cancel the lease." He leaned forward slightly. "I need proof."

"The surveillance can be arranged," I said. "I have access to some operatives who can help cover the property 24/7. I can arrange for two sets of operatives, if you'd like, to ensure that both the front and rear loading docks are monitored."

Sobieslaw's face was stony. "I am not a rich man, Mr. Pym."

"I was not trying to pad my expenses, Mr. Sobieslaw. If I'm to provide proper surveillance for you, I need to ensure that I can see all that needs to be seen."

After a moment's hesitation, he suggested, "I have security cameras that cover the back of the building. Would it be sufficient to provide - what do you call it, a 'feed' to another monitor for you?"

I nodded. "That could be very helpful, if it provides the coverage."

"The technical company who installed that system should be able to find some way to let you monitor the cameras. I will be in touch with them today."

"That should work well. I can examine the building this afternoon, get an idea of how and where we can set up a single team, watching the front of the building live and the rear on camera. I can give you my summary by this evening, if you wish, and begin the surveillance as early as tomorrow morning."

The smile returned. "That would be satisfactory, Mr. Pym, thank you." He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a checkbook. "You shall require a retainer?"

I held up a hand. "It might be best if I made my evaluation first; I want to be sure that I can provide the service properly and economically. For now, just let me know where I may contact you."

"A man of scruples," Sobieslaw observed softly. He provided his contact information, stood, and made a shallow bow in my direction. "I look forward to hearing from you."

"One thing, Mr. Sobieslaw." I felt like Columbo. "While I'm looking at the property, perhaps I can get an interview with your informant, just to make sure I've got all the information about--"

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Sobieslaw said with another of his thin smiles. "We can keep our consultation strictly between us, for the sake of security. If the businessman learns that I've hired an investigator, what might he say to others?"

I nodded, smiled. "As you say. Very well - it's just between us. I'll call you early this evening."

Sobieslaw dipped his chin a few inches in acknowledgement and saw himself out of my office. I made preparations to review the site, called Moon Bear for another dinner appointment, and got ready to be my own double agent.