The Continental Detective Agency.

870 Market is the Flood building, one you remember from your past life. Or future life? A stately pre-earthquake office building, you'd never been in it, but had often admired it's classic architecture.

Today you walk in the cavernous entrance and take the elevator to the third floor. When the doors open you walk down the corridor, finding 314 and opening it to a bustle of activity. A pretty receptionist nods a greeting at you while she speaks into a phone and another secretary gives you a smile of welcome. You step further into the office and are considering what next to do when a big shambling shapeless looking man steps out of an office and sees you. Pushing his thumbs into his belt he give you a big, goofy grin.

"Jerry! How's the noggin? Thought you'd be in the sack another day or two. Shoulda known you'd be in though, can't hardly keep you off the job." He comes over and slaps your back, grinning at you. "Truth is, the Old Man's been hoping you'd come back. He wants the loose ends tied up on the Gantvoort case. He was gonna send me, but now that you're back, he'll want you."

You nod at him, smiling, but not having the first clue what he's talking about. The receptionist puts down the phone and turns to him. "Mr. Linehan, here's a message from the gentleman you were trying to reach. You were on the phone when he called."

"Thanks sugar," he says, taking a message slip out of her hand. "Let's go to your office, Jerry. I could use a shot of that train-misser you keep in the bottom drawer." You nod again, and follow him down a hall to an open door.

It's a small office, sparsely furnished. Your companion takes two water glasses off a cabinet and puts them on the desk, looking at you expectantly. You hesitate, uncertain, and he gives you an odd look.

"You okay, Jerry? You don't look yourself. C'mon, crack that jug in the bottom drawer and let's have a drink to crime."

You step behind the desk and open the bottom drawer of the desk, finding a half-full bottle of whiskey there. You pour two generous shots into the glasses and the two of you clink them and drink. He puts his down in a slug, and smirks a bit at you sipping yours.

"You must be hurting, sipping like you're at a soiree or something. You sure you shouldn't be home pounding your ear?"

You consider your words carefully before you speak. "Truth is, I'm having a little trouble with my memory."

"Not surprised. After that yegg cracked you on the head and tossed you off the Oakland ferry, you're lucky to be breathing. The way I hear it, you got picked up by the Sausalito ferry, pretty much drowned, came to as they were landing there, insisted on riding back to the city, soaking wet and with a lump on your head. Then you call up O'Gar and go over to the Dexter frail's place, and bingo! Knock the grifter who chucked you in the bay colder than last Christmas." He chuckles heartily, slumping into a chair. "Next time you want to have so much fun, remember to call up your old pal Mickey."

You grin back at him, pouring another drink. "Will do, Mickey."

He tosses back the second drink and stands up. "Better not keep the Old Man waiting. He'll know you're in by now, and he'll want to send you off to see the Dexter frail. C'mon, I want to see the drowned man meet the old man."