Port Sonoma

pate, had boarded the weathered, wooden vessel, over an hour earlier and I had decided to call it a night. I could hear the rap music that emanated from the boat where I stood at the opposite end of the pier. Their eardrums had to be decimated by now.
I hadn’t found any gangster connections yet; so far he was just a loser who was all mouth and no action. I would relay what I had discovered about Armani to the woman who had hired me, but I would keep to myself the opinion that he was a loser. I had learned that love blinds some people to the faults of their loved ones and they didn’t want to hear the truth.
I had to work later that night as a security guard at a car dealership. When I couldn’t start my motorcycle, I called my friend and co-worker Mitch, and asked him to come by the marina and pick me up. It was foggy and the wind had increased. I had forgotten to put the wool lining into my old Army jacket and I was cold.
Where is Mitch? I thought. I would be late for work. Francis gets pissed if a client tells him you were late. I needed the part-time security job. I didn’t get enough work as a private investigator to pay my rent and bills. I had to find more paranoid fiancées who needed pre-wedding research done.
Then I heard the familiar muffler of Mitch’s pickup as he pulled into the parking lot next to the pier. I walked up the pier’s steps to the gate which opened to the lot, walked over to the black truck and knocked on the window. Mitch rolled down the window, and then turned off the booming radio.