This was going to be his first paid job since he arrived to Memphis five months ago. Walters had no idea what the job was or who was really interested in his services. He hadn’t been searching for a job and he didn’t really know anyone in Memphis, so it wasn’t clear to him who could have referred him and to whom. He still had some money left and preferred to spend his days scuba diving through the hundreds of miles of canals that crisscrossed the city, always with the hope of finally finding something he could call a treasure. The idea of a job wasn’t too appealing; more a nuisance, an interruption of his routines, than a needed challenge.
One hour ago someone knocked at his door. Walters was renting a one-room house in Midtown, in a run-down but relatively safe area, nicely ridden with lots of canals, some of them possibly the oldest in Memphis. His house was crammed into a line of similarly minuscule and attached houses. From the non-canal side, where all the entrance doors were located, it seemed that more houses that could fit into the available space had been wedged into it, some walls and roofs being contorted in the process. The house that Walters was renting was roughly in the center of that line of dwelling holes. The door opened to a single room, with the bed to the left and the kitchen area to the right. A small bathroom was hidden behind a drawn curtain. The back wall consisted mostly of two large windows and a glass-panel door that gave to a small, hanging balcony by a canal that didn’t see too much traffic these days.