It was hot. And sweaty. But then again, it's always hot and sweaty, in The City. My air conditioner had broken down that morning, and I had called the repairman. He said to be in my office from twelve noon until nine PM that night, and he'd try to get around, but probably not, 'cause they got a lot of calls that time of year. I wasn't surprised. I rummaged through my closet until I found an old fan, but when I plugged it in I discovered that a mouse had been chewing on the cord. The shower of sparks that started a small fire among the papers that lay strewn about the floor tipped me off to this, and after a flurry of fire-extinguisher foam I went down to the hardware store to buy a new one. Of course my car wouldn't start, so I had to walk, and when I got there all the fans were too expensive, but finally I found something that suited me. I lugged it home, through the dreary humidity, to find a note on my door when I got back. "Sorry I missed you, I'll try again later today. Maybe." Signed, the Air Conditioning Man. I got the thing plugged in and sat back in my recliner to enjoy the cool breeze, but the fan had other plans, and sent the papers on my desk flying to join their compatriots on the floor. I sighed in resignation and got out of my sticky seat to retrieve them when a knock sounded on my door. I'm a private eye.

I quickly snatched an armful of papers and shoved them in the first empty desk drawer I could find, hurriedly seating myself and propping my feet up before I said "Come in." The door creaked open on rusty hinges and in walked a dame. She had curves like the Indianapolis 500, legs that just wouldn't stop. Her skin was powdery, and her lips were the deepest shade of ruby red I've ever seen. She was dressed all in black, with elbow length gloves and a wide-brimmed hat that partially obscured her face from view. When she looked up her eyes were a beautiful azure, and she held my gaze for what seemed like an eternity. My Lucky strike fell unheeded from my lips as I gazed in awe at this goddess.

She stood still for a moment, then walked forward, her gait sending shivers down my spine. Truly, I had never seen a woman like this.

"What can I do for you?" I asked in as manly a voice as I could muster. It came out in a squeal.

"I need your help," she said in a low, sultry tone. "I need some information about a certain group of people, and I hear you're the man to talk to about surveillance."

"You've come to the right place. Please, sit down," I said, gesturing at one of the chairs that were overgrown with papers. Quickly realizing my mistake, I leapt up and cleaned one off, then held it out for her, getting a clean look at her shapely backside as she eased into the chair. She rested her handbag by her feet, and as she did so I caught a glimpse of steel out of the corner of my eye. Looked like she was packing. This was no girl to mess with.

"My name is Leland," she said by way of introduction. I saw no need to introduce myself, as my name was clearly stenciled on my door. Thomas Slug, PI. "For a long time now, I've been aware of an infamous group that goes by the codename AmeriCorps. We don't really know who they are, what they do, or why they do it, but they've been infringing on our . . . ahem . . . business. We want you to infiltrate their ranks, find out what their plan is, and report back to us regularly. Should you be found out, we will disavow anything you say about me, this meeting, or anything you may be told down the road." I decided this was not the best time to mention the tape recorder I kept under my drawer, which I had casually turned on when she walked in. "For your services we are willing to pay you handsomely."

I went with the cool approach. Taking my feet off my desk, I sat up straight and looked at her, not speaking. What was her angle? What did she personally get out of this? What kind of name was Leland, anyway? I had a feeling I would find out before the adventure was over. After several minutes of sizing her up, I gave mer my spiel.

"I'm the best. I don't say that for my ego, I say that because it's a fact. You came to me because you need my help, an I'm willing to help you. But I have to warn you, with my credentials comes a level of expertise, and with that comes a hefty price tag."

"I am prepared to pay anything you are prepared to ask for," she said, and I thought I detected the faintest remnants of an accent, carefully hidden. Cool customer indeed.

"My usual retainer is thirteen dollars a day, plus expenses. I expect room and board to be covered, as well as transportation. Upon successful completion of the assignment, I expect a bonus of $4,275 to go towards education. Can you handle that?" I had inflated my prices a little, but from the looks of the rings on her fingers that wouldn't be a problem.

"That is acceptable," she replied. She reached into her purse and I tensed up, not knowing what to expect. My hand slowly crept into my desk where I kept a Colt Python ready to say a thing or two if it had to. I shouldn't have worried. She pulled out a thick envelope and tossed it in front of me. "All the information you'll need is in there. Look over it closely, you start on Monday. Inside you'll find your new identity, and information about your team."

"Team?" I asked, startled. "Lady, I work alone."

"We're hiring you to be infiltrate the team, not to work with them. Don't worry, they won't 'crimp your style.' We'll be in touch." And with that she stood up and glided out my door, closing it gently behind her. My new fan chose that moment to break, but somehow the temperature of the room seemed to drop, and I didn't mind the loss of the air. What a dame! I spent the rest of the afternoon reading over the information, sweating, and being mad that the repair man hadn't shown up yet. The envelope held a fair amount. There were several Ids, including a New York driver's license and several photos of 'my friends back home.' There was also an AmeriCorps ID and various letters of acceptance to accompany my story. Apparently I was a nineteen year old Ithacan, fresh out of High School, who wanted to get things done. I could live with that, I've certainly had harder covers. I would be located in West Palm Beach, Florida, with team Gold Four, and we would be doing exotic removal. When I read that my mind kept wandering back to Leland, hoping that she was the kind of exotic that needed removing. But as I read further, it turned out that it was just plants, specifically Brazilian Pepper that needed to go. I was disheartened. I would be staying in a youth camp, the Everglades Youth Conservation Camp, and for the first few days I'd be working with children, but after the first weekend things would get interesting. I was intrigued. What were these people about? Why were they helping others? What did they gain from it? Where did my underwear go? I kept reading. Shortly into the project in Florida we would be bussing out to Camilla, Georgia, where we would be joining another of the teams, Gold 2, in their project. It was Habitat for Humanity, and we'd be building a house for people who had lost their homes due to a tornado six months earlier. Interesting. After that, we'd be returning Florida to finish off the last couple of weeks. I would have these six weeks to find out the mission of this AmeriCorps, and at the end of the time I would have a 'family crisis' and have to leave the team with all the information I had been able to gather.

The repair man never did show up, and so I returned to my small studio apartment uptown. The elevator was broken, like it always is when it gets hot, so I had to stagger up all twenty-two flights of stairs, sweltering under my trench coat and fedora. The lock on my door has been broken, so I just pushed my way in. I spent that evening packing my things for the trip, and doing my income taxes. You should always do your income taxes as soon as you can. The last thing I need is a tax agent breathing down my neck. He'd have to get in line behind all the goons and other assorted low-lives.

Monday morning I was ready to go. My employer had courteously bought me a plane ticket, third class, to Miami, Florida. From there I hopped on a Greyhound bus and before I knew it I was at the Everglades Youth Conservation Camp, meeting Gold 4 for the first time. I started to introduce myself, but stopped when they all looked at me funny. It was almost as if they already knew me. I couldn't help but feel a little deja-vu. They put a machete in my hand and told me to go kill some plants. There are only two things I enjoy more than killing. More killing, and Snicker's bars. So I was ready to go. If anything, it was even hotter in Florida than it had been in The City. Light poured out of the sky in barrels, and within an hour my clothes were soaked through with sweat. My hands were breaking out with blisters, but behind me lay the broken corpses of my enemies, the Brazilian peppers. At lunch I sat down with the team and tried to get to know them.

"So, what is this AmeriCorps thing anyway?" That question elicited nothing but silence and quizzical looks. I figured the subtle approach was better. "Man, this is great isn't it? We're really doing some good for our country. What a great feeling. Say Jeremy, what are you getting out of this program?"

Jesse looked up. "What did you call me?" I suddenly remembered his name and corrected myself. I should have read over their brochure and web page a little closer. It's a good thing they had made these available, or my task would have been impossible. "Sorry, Jesse. Why are you doing this?"

"I dunno," he said, and then burped. The rest of the team seemed to find this hilarious, so I filed it down for further consideration. That evening some of us took a trip to the local Books-a-Million. I figure I should come along, to observe the team in a period of rest. It was duller than I thought it would be; all anyone did was sit and read and drink coffee. I stepped outside for a smoke.

I had only barely crossed the threshold when two ham-fists reached out from the darkness behind me and clasped around me, pinning my arms to my body.

"Listen bub," hissed a voice in my ear. "I know who you are, and my employers take issue with what you're doing. They want to have a conversation with you. Now why don't you come along quietly? We wouldn't want to have an argument, heh heh heh." I thought this over as I kicked back sharply, catching the goon in the shin. He yelped, and I was free. I quickly looked around for my best friend. His name is Smith & Wesson and he lives in a holster under my coat. He came out and made two sharp arguments in my favor. As the goon stopped moving I pulled out my second best friend. His name is Jack, and he lives in a bottle. But from out of nowhere another goon appeared, catching me completely off guard! Before I could reach his fists were beating a marimba on my skull, and the last thing I remember before consciousness faded from my eyes was the sight of his hideous mug grinning at me. "No we take you to see Big Boss . . ."

I came to some time later, not knowing who long I'd been out or where I was. I had been tied up securely, and was hanging by my feet from the ceiling. I couldn't move a muscle, and all that was accomplished by my efforts was a slight swinging of my body. Giving it up as useless, I paused to look around at my surroundings.

I was in a dark room, shadows everywhere. The only light in the room emanated from the fish tank on the far wall. It was filled with all kinds of fish, and some I suspected were exotic to the Florida habitat. The crowning jewel was a hammer-head shark, going round and round, occasionally chomping one of the smaller fish with one mash of his giant teeth. He was a natural killer, not thinking twice about it. Much like my hosts, I suspected. Aside from that, the rooms main attraction was the large number of pillars. They were all done in different style, some ancient Persian, some Greek, some neo-gothic, nothing was repeated. The shadows from these formed curious patterns on the marble floor.

I was still inspecting the room when I heard the voice. "Mister slug," it boomed, deep and powerful.

"My name is Harris-Warrick, ass," I replied, hoping he was just guessing.

"I know who you are, Mister Slug, but I suspect that you do not know who I am." He was right, of course, and so I tried to turn myself around to look in the direction of the voice, but all I could make out was the occasional silhouette of a form seated in a plush chair far away from me. The voice had an odd ring to it, almost as if I had heard it before . . .

"Don't try to see me, I've arranged matters so that you cannot possibly see my face. There are some who call me . . . Big Boss." Every PI worth his salt has heard of Big Boss, but I had never thought I would meet him face to face.

"What do you want form me?" I asked, trying to sound menacing. It didn't come off well.

"I understand that Miss Leland has hired you to run a job for her, correct?"

"Sorry, attorney client privilege."

"Very funny Mister Slug, I didn't realize you were such a comedian."

"Yeah, well there're a lot of things you don't know about me."

"Come Mister Slug, tell me a joke," I could tell it was a challenge.

"All right," I had to search the bowels of my memory for a joke, but finally one surfaced. "The Pope, Fidel Castro, and a talking dog walk into a bar . . ."

"I've heard this one, Mister slug," Big Boss interrupted.

"Oh, well what about the one where . . ."

"Let me tell you a joke, Mister Slug. How did the meddlesome worm die?"

"How?"

"I ate him. You see Mister Slug, it is best not to get on my bad side."

"That wasn't very funny."

"I know, I said it to make a point."

"Was the point that you're not funny?"

"No, it's that I'm dangerous."

"Oh, listen, couldn't you have made that point and been funny at the same time?"

"No. Shut up and listen. You were hired by Miss Leland to infiltrate the AmeriCorps team Gold 4 and find out what their mission is. I can tell you that right now, and save you the time and effort. What do you say?"

His offer sounded a little too good to be true, but I thought I'd play along, just for shits and giggles. "All right, what is the true purpose of AmeriCorps?"

"AmeriCorps exists to help people. That's it. There's no deep underlying plot to take over the world or anything like that. These young adults sacrifice ten months out of their lives to go out and do good. And no, they're not criminals."

"So what do they get out of it?"

"Just an education award and the satisfaction of a job well done."

I wasn't buying, but I thought it better to keep him happy. You don't get to be the most influential crime boss of all time through flowers and candy. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Big Boss. I do have a contract and a commitment, so can't just leave, but your information will certainly go in my report."

"I will let you go now, return you to your team, but NO MORE QUESTIONS! Understood?"

"Year, sure," I replied.

I could barely see Big Boss make a gesture with his hand, and before I knew what hit me a goon hit me. I woke up in my bunk back at the camp, and none of my teammates seemed to even know I had been missing. No one questioned the black eyes, they just gave me a machete and put me back to work.

The next few weeks went quickly. I took Big Bosses advice, and didn't press my luck. Sure, I had a contract, but it wasn't worth my life. Leland would have to be happy with what I had. But certain things just didn't add up. We were talking about the ed award one evening after work, and I caught Channing and Vicky grinning mischievously at each other whenever it was mentioned. When I talked about doing good for the country, some team members broke down and started laughing. I knew something was up, and even if it cost me my life, I had to find out what.

The project ended, and the team returned to Charleston. I made my secret report to Leland, using the number she gave me, and to my surprise, she asked me to stay on the case! I had forwarded Big Bosses info, along with my own misgivings, and Leland agreed, there was more to this than meets the eye. The team is going to Little Rock, Arkansas next, to work at the Children's Hospital there, and I'm tagging along. Who knows what will turn up there . . .

To Be Continued . . . . .