. . When I want to go someplace, I like to travel in pampered comfort. In other words, I like to go by zeppelin. (Some people like to call these "Airships". I still don't know why.) Ordinarily, zeppelin travel gets expensive, really quick, but I have a friend who's in the industry. His name is Setzer Gabianni, and if the name sounds familiar, it's probably because he's very famous. We go way back, if you define the word "way" loosely.

. . During this flight, he was upstairs at the helm, because he didn't feel like letting one of his crewmen do it for him, but had he been sitting next to me, he'd be a bit taller than me, and have long, prematurely silver hair. Though his beat-up face would suggest otherwise, he's really only about 30 years old, probably a little younger. He has the appearance of a man who lived life to its absolute fullest, and somehow didn't die in the process; I suspect it's true. He usually sports a long coat, much like I do, but his is a trench. Since I haven't described what I like to wear, I will now.

. . On an ordinary day, I like to dress up in casual, yet functional attire. This involves a long coat, loose fitting shirts that button up the front, slacks, and - of course - a hat. I'm nuts about hats. My preferred style is fedora, yet I'll wear anything similar. Today I wore all white, because I knew I'd be in the sun. Of course, I had another set in all black, because I also knew I'd probably need to sneak around. Oh, and I mentioned earlier that I didn't wear a trench coat. I think the style for what I like is called "duster", but don't quote me on that.

. . Anyhow, Setzer used to be this ultra-rich, world traveling gambler type. He didn't give a damn about anyone or anything, and maybe had his reasons for it or maybe not. Eventually, he got pulled into this band of people who wanted to stop an evil empire from taking over the world, which didn't really amount to anything, because someone destroyed it - the world, not the empire - anyhow. Setzer helped restore something not unlike peace to his planet, and he's been dedicating his life to fixing it up, ever since.

. . Ordinary passengers on his zeppelin have to pay some ludicrous fee, the proceeds of which went to helping restore his world to prosperity, except for what went to keeping maintenance on the zeppelin, as well as someone named Daryl's tomb. I never asked who Daryl was, and he never told me, either.

. . His ship is also something of a museum. There are tables and display cases everywhere, filled with artifacts that he purchased at auction, or had some of his friends procure for him. Though there are too many to list in great detail, I can remember examining a few on my trip to Costa del Sol. The main piece of his collection was displayed prominently on a platform in the direct center of the room, which merited its own light source, as though being the center wasn't enough for it. Inside the case was a small coin, displayed standing upright, and held by glass on either side of it, which made visible the fact that it had two identical faces. The plaque read, "_Two-headed coin once used to determine sovereignty of Figaro. Donated generously by His Royal Highness, King Edgar Roni Figaro I, PD 2._" I assumed it held sentimental value for King Edgar or Setzer, or possibly both. The other objects I chose to look at were just standard faire and nothing really noteworthy.

. . Aside from sometimes interesting scenery, the trip to Costa del Sol was boring and lonely. Yuffie did not accompany me, instead leaving a day earlier by different means of travel. When I mentioned "zeppelin" - and later defined it as an airship - she blanched. Apparently, air travel does not suit her. I can't be one to judge, though; I'm afraid of boats.

. . The point is, eventually I arrived in Costa del Sol, and eventually I took my first step onto the beach. I'm going to spoil everything by saying that the only reason I didn't instinctively dwell on the feel of sand at my feet was that I had been wearing sensible boots, as opposed to going barefoot or in sandals.

. . Yuffie, who went the sandal route, bounded up to me, shortly after I landed, and smiled. She said, "Face! I'm glad you came so early," probably because she had told me I had a week to prepare. She seemed happy.

. . I told her that I liked to work quick, and she kept any rude comments to herself, as she grabbed - and are you paying attention to this? Because I wasn't - one of my suitcases from my hand, to which I thanked her, and she began walking me in some random direction.

. . It was late afternoon, and the sun had entered that part of its journey where you knew it was going to set any minute now, but didn't quite seem to want to. The ocean reflected the orange of the sky back upwards, and there were little gold sparkles throughout. The effect was rather beautiful, and the groups of bikini-clad swimmers certainly didn't hurt, either. I thought that I might enjoy my stay here, assuming it didn't kill me.

. . "How did you know to look me up, anyhow?" I had finally asked her the question, because it struck me as somewhat out of the ordinary for somebody to travel all the way from Costa del Sol in order to hire a private investigator.

She said, "Well, the area isn't really known for needing a P.I. Usually, things around here are quiet. We try to bill it to be a coastal paradise." She seemed to take pride in the way she said this, so I assumed that she must have enjoyed her career. "Besides, a friend recommended you."

. . Oh, that's right. Come to think of it, we did share a mutual acquaintance, but getting into the details would take too long to describe, here. I merely shrugged and asked, "Where am I going to be staying? I would like to get some sleep, before I get started."

. . "It's just a little further up ahead." She nodded in front of her, to some vague building, so we kept walking. I took the time to get a second look at her, now that she was more in her element.

. . She looked forward, instead of at me, and she wore a strange expression that looked open and hospitable enough. I got the impression that she was hiding just how nervous she was. I knew I was doing a bang-up job of the same thing. She sweated a little, though this was probably more from the heat, than from nerves. She didn't strike me as the type to sweat when she was nervous, and she certainly wasn't sweating from having to hike while carrying my suitcase. I had to admire just how tightly packed her individual muscles were, though I still thought she was fairly tiny. She was wearing a sweater again, which couldn't have helped keep her cool, even if it was sleeveless and had an exposed midriff section. That was tight, too.

. . Eventually, she said, "Ok! Here we are," and I noticed that we really were there. I looked around. From the outside it didn't look like much. We went in. There, it looked like even less. I sighed, and wondered about the beautiful resort that Ghaleon was no doubt staying at. Chances were, at least, that I'd get to pay it a visit, over the course of my investigation.

. . When we got to my room - if you could even call it that - I was amazed to find that it was even less accommodating than my apartment. That's the sort of thing you always joke about without ever expecting to really happen. I was genuinely surprised by how run down the place was.

. . "Sorry," she said, probably aware of my present thoughts. "We're in the middle of our heaviest season, so most places are completely booked. And hey, it's not all bad." She looked up at me. "Some famous people have stayed in this hotel before."

. . Yeah, I thought. But I bet they couldn't sleep in it. To her, I said, "It's all right. I've been to worse places."

. . "Yeah. I've seen your apartment."

. . I was tempted to correct her there, by listing the various charms of my apartment, but by then, I was feeling honestly tired and wasn't really in the mood for any banter. I told her so, and apologized.

. . "Ok, sure," she said. She turned around, and made for the door. Then she turned back and said, "Oh, and if you need anything, my building is the third one down, from this hotel. I have tomorrow off, so feel free to drop by, if something comes up."

. . I nodded at her, and she left. Sometime after that, I started to get seriously nervous about my assignment, but that was ok, because I always got a little nervous before a job. Also, if worst came to worst, I still had the rest of my retainer, so I could just take that and run. I can't remember being serious about that, and it'd be some time after all this, before I actually tried running out on a case. (Word of advice: trying to rip off a Special Forces team does not work.)

. . This was all moot, though, because when I went to move my luggage to someplace out of the way, I found that one of the cases was strangely light. I opened it somewhat curiously, and just then it hit me like a ton of bricks with what must have happened. I wouldn't be able to run away with my retainer, simply because I did not have one; the suitcase was completely empty.