Hob Lesatz for Hire: Arcanoir, #1

By Joshua Unruh

Arcanoir: Magic and fantastical creatures returned to the world at the turn of the century. But by the 1930s, it had only made the shadows that much darker.

"Sure, I'm Hob Lesatz. For hire. That's what it says on the door, anyway. But good etching won't get you a thing down on the waterfront in San Francisco. Not when you can get it just as nice on a tombstone. But if you're going to make a living, it helps if people can find you without a locator spell. I do whatever I can to shake a couple nickels together and hope they mate, especially if it takes a strong back and a stronger stomach. But some days it doesn't matter how much money you have because no doctor can vaccinate you and no mage can ward you against trouble. Especially when a dame straight out of your past comes sashaying in with a double helping of it."

Once upon a time, there was a woman Hob loved, but that was back before he did a nickel in Alcatraz. Now Roxy's back, and she needs Hob's help. Helping her will run Hob up against a feral hooker, her viciously deranged pimp, and even a few faces from his past.

The hooker and the pimp will leave scars, but it's Hob's past that could kill him.

"Hob Lesatz for Hire" is an Arcanoir short story by Joshua Unruh. Approximately 15,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pulp Diction Press
• Release date: Nov 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781497705692

Joshua Unruh

Joshua Unruh writes all the things. He has developed webseries and television pilots that have never been produced, comic books that have never been drawn, and roleplaying games that have never been played. But he always publishes the stories! Through his imprint, Pulp Diction Press, Joshua specializes in modern retro fiction. Action scientists, haunted cowboys, girl super spies, diverse superheroes, and marauding vikings are just some of what he offers through PDP. Joshua strives to make everything he writes clever, interesting, or funny. Like Meatloaf said, two out of three ain't bad. He makes his home in Oklahoma City with a wife, a son, a dog, and no room in the storm shelter when the inevitable tornado hits.

Book preview

1

Sure, I’m Hob Lesatz. For hire. That’s what it says on the door, anyway. But good etching won’t get you a thing down on the waterfront in San Francisco. Not when you can get it just as nice on a tombstone. But if you’re going to make a living, it helps if people can find you without a locator spell. I do whatever I can to shake a couple nickels together and hope they mate, especially if it takes a strong back and a stronger stomach. But some days it doesn’t matter how much money you have because no doctor can vaccinate you and no mage can ward you against trouble. Especially when a dame straight out of your past comes sashaying in with a double helping of it. That’s what happened to me the other day when a slip of memory came into my office. A slip of memory I thought of as Roxanne Slatterly, when I bothered to think of her at all. But she insisted on calling herself Roxy...Roxy Starlight.

Are you just going to keep giving me the hairy eyeball, Hob, or are you going to ask a lady to sit down? Roxy asked in that voice like a purring engine, all warmth and speed. I recognized the voice, but the face it came out of was barely familiar. It looked like Roxy’s older sister, if she’d had one, and if Big Sis had been a Hollywood starlet. Part of that was because I hadn’t seen her in years, but part of it was the glamour. She was painted bright with both cosmetics and a little magical help that made her look like the girl I used to love as seen through the smoked glasses of love and romance I’d worn as a kid. Only even better. That’s what a good glamour will do for you. No matter what my eyes told me, that voice shook me just like it had when we were kids. But I wasn’t that kid anymore, hadn’t been since I came off the Rock. And she needed to know that right from the start.

Well? she said, arching one of her downy eyebrows at me.

My mistake; I wasn’t entirely sure that’s what I was seeing. A lady, an apparition from the past, or just another doxy looking to make a buck. I’ve got space for exactly one of those. If you’re the right one, have a seat. I gestured toward one of the two ragged chairs that sat in front of my equally battered desk.

She didn’t like the insinuation at all, and I watched those green eyes go flinty as she stepped around and took a seat. She removed her gloves tidily and then tidily placed them in her handbag. Then she sat the tiny bag down in the chair next to her just as tidily. She met eyes with me again and gave me one of those smiles. I should have felt the smile in my hip pocket, but the cold stare just above it was like a bucket of ice in my pants. I didn’t smile back, but she needn’t have been offended. I never smiled at anybody.

Once the production was over, I settled back in my chair, which gave a shrill squeak of protest at the weight. So, what can I do for you, Roxanne?

Can’t a girl come by and visit an old flame without there being something he can do for her? Her tone was coquettish. It made me a little angry. I let her hear it in my answer.

"A girl can. But if you were that girl, I think I would have seen you a little before this. No, I think you’re no happier to be here than I am to have you. Which means you’re desperate and that there is something I can do for you. Something you can’t do for yourself. So shake it up and pour it."

Her smile turned into a frozen, ugly thing for just a second before she caught herself and switched to a look of wounded innocence. It was nice to know I was throwing her off her game as far as she was throwing me off mine.

If that’s the way you’re going to be, then perhaps I should leave.... She started to tug her left glove back on, but it was an unhurried gesture that radiated the hope I’d stop her. I had to admit I was pretty curious what would cause Roxanne to darken my door,