It was very early in the morning when Michael woke next to his darling wife. Unable to return to sleep, and unwilling to wake her so early, he'd put on a pot of coffee and made his way out the door without so much as a sound. The sun reflected bright off the desert sands surrounding the city, giving it the look of being midday though it was barely 7:30. Michael was very surprised, however, to spot a car already running in front of the office when he arrived. Exiting his car, he threw a curious glance towards the driver as he turned his key in the lock of the office door.

The man stepped out of his car and followed Michael in as Michael flipped on the lights in the lobby.

"Good morning sir," Michael said cordially as he shook the man's hand, "have a seat and tell me how I can help."

The man cautiously took a chair and curled the brim of his hat beneath his hands in his lap as he started to speak, "Yes...well... it's my wife..."

Of course it was. Michael was beginning to think Vegas was just a mire of unfaithful. "You think she's stepping out?" Michael led him to ease the anxiety he could hear in his voice.

The man seemed surprised but still nodded his head, "That's right. I work late most nights at the office and when I come home most nights she isn't there...last night I swear I heard her talking on the phone with someone agreeing to meet at the Fremont."

Seemed like a classic case to Michael. "You have a picture of her or something?"

"Yeah of course..." The man pulled out his wallet and produced a small portrait of what was a very pretty young lady who seemed to have expensive taste in dress.

"They meeting today?" Michael asked, looking at the picture.

"I think so."

"What's your name?"

"McNeal, Harold... or Harry, it doesn't matter..."

"Well Mr. McNeal, don't worry, I'll get you answers. Just be prepared if they're not the answers you want."

He'd seen too many men and women break down in his office already, he wanted to try to soften it up this time. McNeal provided his contact information which Michael pocketed, and, having nothing else to do, he wrote a note for Abbey for when she arrived and decided to set about tracking down the wife right away.

"Abbey,

     Got an early hit on a job, I'll be out late on a lead. Late dinner tonight?

-Michael"

Abbey grinned. Must be a good one, she thought. He'd forgotten the professions of love and doodled hearts. As she tucked the note into her pocket, the front door opened, and a snooty-looking woman entered. Extending her hand as if she expected Abbey to kiss it, she looked down her nose and smiled. 

"Molly Seigel. Charmed. I'm afraid I need your services...are you the Spillane I'm looking for?"

"Nice to meet you. Yes, I'm Abbey Spillane. Please come this way," she said, extending her arm towards the office. Molly entered first, and perched on one of the chairs in front of the desk. Abbey studied it a minute, then opted for a more personal approach, taking the chair next to the other woman and reaching for a pad and pen that rested on Michael's desk blotter. Uncapping the lid, she crossed her legs and sat up straighter.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to offer some pastry or hot beverage, can I get you-"

"No, no. I'm very fastidious about my figure," she retorted, giving Abbey's a quick once-over. "Let's get right down to it, as I have a hair appointment in an hour. My husband...I think he's cheating. In fact, I'm nearly sure of it. I'm not particularly crushed by this fact, but I have a considerable amount of...family wealth...that I don't want him getting his hands on when the divorce happens. I need proof, photographic evidence, anything and everything you can get me that I can give to my attorney. Cost is no issue, as whatever you could possibly charge is nothing compared to what I stand to lose," she finished wryly.

Abbey was doing everything she could not to cringe. Was EVERY case going to be about cheating spouses? She realized then that she could handle this one all on her own, and it was probably for the best, since Michael was tied up anyway. Taking down all the pertinent information regarding one Harold McNeal, Abby accepted the retainer and wrote out a receipt before escorting Ms. Seigel to the front door. As Abbey watched her totter off down the sidewalk, she couldn't help but wonder over the self-centeredness of a woman who enjoyed her gangster relations' infamy above and beyond the honor of taking her spouse's last name.

The Fremont Hotel and Casino was a raucous place most nights, and tonight was no exception. Michael made his way through the doors and was greeted by a roaring band and glittering dresses as far as his eyes could see. To get a camera inside without any real suspicion, Michael had faked a press badge and intended to say he was doing a comparative story on the different casinos on the Strip. Any manager upon hearing that, would be eager to make his experience as enjoyable as possible. He palmed the picture of McNeal's wife and tried to memorize the features before stepping down towards the stage among the sea of chairs and tables surrounded by gambling pits.

He took gratuitous pictures of the band and various patrons. He was even waved over by a couple on a honeymoon who insisted on seeing their picture on the front of "...whatever paper you work for." After ten minutes, Michael was certain the wife wasn't in the dining area and wandered off in search of a bar.

When he found it, he could see a couple getting very cozy at the end of the bar together. Approaching the bartender, he asked, "Hey, do you mind if I take a picture of the place for the paper?"

"Sure!" the bartender replied, much to eagerly, "Which paper is it?"

"Oh!" Michael said, suddenly realizing he hadn't thought ahead, "The, uhm.. Daily...Post Herald...Times! Of course!"

The bartender nodded his head in delight, "No kiddin?! Yeah take as many as you want!"

With a smile, Michael lined up a shot as the woman turned around to look at him. As he saw her face, he froze. It was her! He rested the camera on the bar and looked at the picture one more time just to be sure. Yes. There was no doubt. He moved slightly adjacent to the bar to get a better angle and lined up a shot again. He caught her with a hand on the man's knee as he laid his fingers across her arm on the bar. The flash caused them to both look suspiciously in his direction, but he simply flashed a smile and exited the bar.

A minute later he exited onto the Strip with a sigh of victory. Of course McNeal wouldn't be happy, but he was getting paid so things were alright. Then a voice called out from behind him,

"Hey! Hold up there!"

Michael turned and saw the gentleman from the bar approaching him.

"Hey, listen," the man started as he reached Michael, "the lady in there really would rather not have her picture taken, so if you could just give me that film, I'd really appreciate it." he reached out a hand as if he expected Michael to immediately apologize for his carelessness and surrender the film.

"Buddy, I'm just trying to do my job, alright? If she doesn't want her picture in the paper, that's fine, but I need the rest of these." he said as nonchalantly as possible as he tried to open the door to the car.

The man's hand shot out and closed the door and he grabbed Michael by his collar, "No, you're gonna give me the film from that camera, you understand?"

"HEY!"

A voice from down the sidewalk came, "What's all this, eh?" Michael looked over and recognized a couple of the hangarounds from the Damnation crew, who'd been bankrolling him making their way from the Fremont. At their head was none other than Mr. Thompson himself, who'd been Michael's first client.

"You roughin' up one of my boys there, Billy?"

The man immediately released Michael and took a step backwards, "No! No sir. We're just having a talk is all..."

"Yeah? Conversation's over. Get outta here."

Without another word the man ducked through the group and back into the hotel. Mr. Thompson watched him retreat and turned back to Michael, giving him just a slight nod of the head before heading on his way. Michael opened the car door and tossed the camera into the passenger seat. He took a deep breath in before turning the key and heading back to the office. Tomorrow, he'd call Harold...

The following day, Abbey took the car and stationed herself across the street from the lavish McNeal/Seigel residence. She wasn't sure what to expect, really...Harold was home alone, and Seigel had already departed an hour earlier for her nail appointment. Tapping her pen on the steering wheel, she watched idly as the next-door neighbor pulled into the driveway one house over. A blonde in a tennis outfit emerged from her car as Herald himself came out of the front door and headed to the mailbox. On his return up the flower-bordered walkway, he veered off the path and came to a stop on his side of the hedge that separated the two properties. A smiling conversation ensued, and the next thing she knew...

...Harold leaned over and kissed the woman. 

Not just a cheek kiss, either. It lasted so long that Abbey glanced up and down the street, wondering at their carelessness. She, however, was the only one around, and was quickly losing evidence. Pulling the camera from the passenger's seat, she snapped off several pictures of the two in a lip lock, even capturing the neighbor's gratuitous palming of Harold's ass as the two parted ways.

With a heavy sigh, Abbey figured she had enough. Her timing was spot-on, too, because just after Harold entered the house and Abbey started the car, Molly herself turned the corner half a block down and returned home.

Back at the office, she met up with her husband. "Hey, Honey," she said tiredly as she dumped her things on her desk. "How'd yours go?" 

Lackluster banter ensued about their respectively disappointing cases. They hadn't bothered to exchange names, details, or dirt...it was all becoming too much of a blur of sad marriages, case after case. Michael mentioned his 3PM follow-up the next day, and Abbey nodded, replying that hers was at 3:15. There was plenty of space for them to share if need be, none of it should really take that long anyway.

Michael sat at his desk with Harold. Trying to break the news to a man that his wife is cheating on him is not the most fun of activities. He'd given him a drink to calm his nerves, tried some idle chit-chat, but in the end, Harold just wanted to know, and there was nothing Michael could do to cushion the blow.

"I can't believe it..." he said, in the all-too-familiar-now pangs of sadness that Michael had grown accustomed to in the office. There would be a few minutes of this, usually some tears unless the man was just determined not to cry and then the tears were usually followed b- "THAT BITCH!"

Anger...well that was quick.

Michael tried nodding his head assuringly, "Now, Mr. McNeal, I know you're upset..."

"Oh, I'm damn well past upset now!"

Michael tried in vain to quiet the man down so as not to disturb Abbey's follow-up who he could hear just now entering the lobby outside the office. He didn't want an enraged husband rushing out of his office and scaring away another client. He offered him a drink and asked him to sit down, but it was as if Harold was a wind-up toy set off until he ran out of energy, that is, until he heard the voices from the other side of the door.

The faint hushed sounds of words floated through the door and caught his ear. Something that Michael made out as, "...Seigel, here you... warn you that it's..." followed by a return voice, "Don't worry, I can...scumbag...gone on long enough..."

A fire jumped into Harold's eyes as he threw open the door, Michael darting out after him. Sitting at Abbey's lobby desk, was a well dressed woman whom Michael recognized right away. He tried to communicate with Abbey with a look but the situation was so convoluted that he wasn't sure he was making any sense, but Abbey took one look at Harold and immediately matched his expression.

"You're fucking seeing somebody behind my back, Molly?!" Harold roared as he approached the desk. Molly, unimpressed, cooly stood from her chair and matched his anger,

"I should be asking YOU the same thing! How long have you been having your little chats with Debbie?!"

Michael could now see the pictures of Harold with his mistress spread out over Abbey's desk, and at last he understood. Both husband and wife suspected the other of infidelity...and had both hired the same Investigation agency to watch the other.

"I'm not going to sit here and be grilled by a cow like you!" Harold spat as he made his way towards the door, "Don't bother coming home."

"It's MY money that put us in that damn house, Harold! You're not seeing a cent of it after my lawyers get these!" She called after him waving the photos in the air.

When Harold had left, Molly gathered her own things and graciously paid Abbey what was due, "Thank you for the help, dear." she said, oddly condescendingly, before turning around and exiting herself... leaving Abbey and Michael just staring at each other...