Raymond Co.

He was a tall timid looking man. Not really timid in stature more in the way he carried himself; shoulders rounded, arms crossed over his chest; leaning over in an inquiring, quite serious, almost decisive manner to inspect the body lying on the morgue’s cold metal table. The detective had short brown hair, parted and combed to the side.  A moustache of a similar shade above his lip, trimmed just to the edges of his mouth, there was a slight shadow over his eyes. His suit was not extravagant but it fit him well. Something about him was confident or maybe it was an air of frustration in the shadows.

“Two shots through the heart,” said the mortician.

“And nothing else?”

“No, sir. Clean and simple.”

“His lady says he was involved with some big businessmen—lawyer of some sort.”

“Well all we found was an invitation for some lunch in his coat pocket.”  The man gave him the paper.

“I know this seal. Raymond Co.. I’ve had some dealings with them in the past—money laundering and whatnot. Well, I think that’s all I’ll be needing from you Mr. Dotson. Thanks.” And he is out the door as quick as his goodbye.

Walking through the crowded streets Louis Anderson wondered how wary he should be of getting mixed up with the boys at Raymond Co. again. He had had some run-ins in the past and wasn’t itching to have a gun pointed at his head anytime soon. But as soon as he reached where the Raymond lunch was to be held, he immediately forgot his previous thoughts and walked up the steps, handing the doorman the dead man’s invitation and sauntering in. As he suspected, the place was full of men in slacks and sports coats, smoke curling up above their whiskey glasses.  No one would know he was claiming to be a dead man.

Moving around the room listening for what he could, he noticed a woman whom he had seen coming out of the morgue as he entered it earlier today. He found it hard not to notice her, there was some force in her walk that caught his eye—and it was those green cloves he recognized. She was listening too but as he moved to follow her he overheard a name come out of her mouth that startled him. Lenard Rossfield. The very man whose chest he had seen two shots in at the morgue.

“Case? I’m not sure what case that would be ma’am,” one of the men she was talking to answered nervously.

“He hasn’t worked for us in over a year now,” said the other.

“Gosh, well it must have been that other company he was talking about. I get these things all mixed up sometimes.”

            In the hour he spent sipping watered down whisky too early in the day he had gathered a moderate amount of information. Walking out of the suit and smoke-filled room he worked through what he had. Rossfield had a recent relationship with the company as their lawyer for some suit brought up against them. He had gotten stressed and almost quit numerous times throughout the duration of the lawsuit—they had managed to keep it out of the courts. 

Walking down the boulevard he decided to check out a feeling he had. So he made a right at Percy pulling his coat up around his neck against the wind.

“I’d like to see Mr. Holsley ma’am,” Anderson said to the secretary sitting behind the Raymond Co. front desk.

“I’m sorry,” she said hotly. “And you are?”

She sat to the side of this exchange. The woman had a wide listening mouth. Her grey eyes were intelligent and lively. Her long pencil thin legs were crossed, green gloves rested neatly on the knee. Her voice was not as deep as one might expect and her laugh bubbled out of her at times.  She gazed out at this inquiring man from behind her newspaper trying to figure out whether this confidence she saw was part of his character defying his demeanor at hand or if it was simply frustration misconstrued for confidence due to the present situation. She generally did not have this sort of difficulty. Naturally, this intrigued her into testing her inquiries.

            “You’ll have to come up with me,” she called out to him. “Or else you will never get up to see him.”

He seemed to think for a minute, decidedly not going with the answer he wished to give, and came to sit down next to her in the hard wooden waiting room chairs.

“Rori Thatcher,” she says, offering him her hand.

“Louis Anderson,” he says, taking it.

“So what’s your business with Mister Holsley?”

“Just that. Business.”

“Ah. Must we deal with our business separately?”

“I doubt he would put up with that, given that his secretary is an outright—“ He catches himself.

“Cow of a woman?” she laughs, covering her mouth, for she may have spoken a little too loudly, catching a look from the secretary. “No need to watch your manners around me Mr. Anderson.”

“Well then, Ms. Thatcher,” he says standing. “I think it’s about time we took care of business.” He offers her his arm.

“You dare defy the cow? You surprise me Mr. Anderson,” Taking his arm. “Shall we then?”

“Onward to the lift!” And they march past the secretary, waving at her calls for them to stop.

Once the lift doors closed behind him Anderson turned, grabbing the woman’s wrists and pulling her in close. “What is it that you’re doing, really?” The look of shock faded from her face and with eyebrows raised she replied coolly, “I was just going to ask the same question.”

“Well I asked first now didn’t I?”

Shaking her head she steps down hard on his foot and pushes him back with more force than he would have expected, freeing one of her hands. When Anderson looks up there’s a pistol pointed at his chest.

“My turn, now.” She says, taking a step in. “Who are you? What business could you possibly have here?”

“Oh, so are you saying I look as if I don’t belong? Should I be offended?”

“I didn’t think you were the type, Mr. Anderson.”

“Well what type am I, then?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

 “And I you.”

“Well, I suggest you go first, seeing as you are the one with the gun pointed at his chest.”

“I saw you at the morgue and then again asking curious questions at the Raymond Co. lunch. Why do I keep runnin’ across you? What are your dealings with Rossfield? You’re working for Mr. Holsley aren’t you? And you think I’m on your tail—or you’re on mine—so your nervous.”

She throws her head back and laughs, lowering her gun. “You’re a shamus aren’t you?”

“Who’s askin’?”

“We’re on the same team, budd. I work for the city, put on this case by Jones. He’s been looking for a reason to put this man away for years.”

“You’re sure keeping it low.”

“We’ve reason to believe that Rossfeild pissed Holsley off by refusing another offer.”

“I had figured—that’s why I’m here. Hadn’t any proof yet though thought I’d come down here and see what I could shake up.”

“Ha, and how was that going to work?”

“Well I hadn’t figured that out yet.”

“Holsley’s hot. He also must of realized that he wasn’t going to get Rossfeild under his thumb and he knew too much so—”

“—he offed him.”

The lift had come to a stop and there was a pause.

            “I could use you in there Anderson.”

…

“I’ll kill you like I killed that bastard Rossfeild when he refused my case!”

The banter had reached a breaking point. Just as fast as the hot headed Holsley lunged at Anderson, Rori stepped out, gun raised, cutting him off. Holsley fell back, mouth agape.  “Now, see here—”

“All we needed Mr. Holsley.You’re just too easy,” Rori interrupted.

“Boy, you said he was hot but…” He said, shaking his head with an air of disappointment.

“Lets take care of this guy. Ring the station would ya, Anderson? My arm is going to get tired.”

“Gotcha.”