My name is Jacob Dyer, Jake to my friends, and that blind guy over there to everyone else in the world who doesn't know me. The sign on the antique frosted glass of my office door reads, "Dyer Straits Lost and Found." We are not investigators, not lawyers, and not anything else that's easy to describe. We simply stumble around and find things that people have lost when they have nowhere else to turn.
At this point, I must say you would not be the first person, nor I'm sure the last, to think it strange that people retain a blind man for the express purpose of looking for something that they can't find. The "we" I speak of is my assistant Monica and me. We have only three rules in the lost and found business: ONE: always get paid. TWO: never get emotionally involved. THREE: avoid dangerous people. But then there was the time we successfully shattered all three of these regulations.