Promises

"

I

should get a secretary. All the big guys have secretaries. I should probably get a client first though. A client would be really good to have, too," says the man sitting behind the desk to the empty office. He is focusing on trying to get 3 pencils to balance against each other on their eraser ends.
         The door to the office opens and a short, dark-haired woman slips into the office, shutting the door behind her. The man drops the pencils, rolls them to one side of his desk, stands and looks her over.
         "Please, have a seat, Mrs. ?" He leaves the question hanging between them as he waves her to the seat facing his desk.
She pauses briefly, scans the desk, nods and takes the seat. She takes another moment to rearrange her skirt then asks
         "Are you a private detective?"
         "Yes, licensed and insured," the man replies.
         "Just checking, one can't be too careful these days. I need your help. I believe my husband is having an affair and I want you to prove it," she says with a frown.
         The man pauses for a long time, then says, "I charge $35 a day plus expenses and I will need two days in advanced. If I conclude the investigation before two days are up I will refund the second day minus any expenses."
         The woman's eyes narrow and she asks, "Really? I thought you guys hated 'divorce' cases?"
         A surprised look comes over his face; he smiles and says, "You've been watching too many movies. Divorce cases are our bread and butter; we don't like them because they are always messy and no one is happy in the end."
         She nods, opens her purse, pulls out a crisp $50 and a companion $20 and lays them on the detective's desk. She then pulls out a picture, black and white and lays that on the money. She drops a piece of paper with two addresses carefully written on it on to the picture. It makes a neat stack.
         "That is my husband from earlier in the summer. He is a middle manager at Ultra Defense and Space. His name is Maynard Roger Pickles. He goes by Roger. The first address is our home, here in Long Beach and the second one I found in the pocket of his jacket. I believe it's in Brentwood," she passes on the information without emotion.
         He picks up the picture and looks at it. It shows a tall, thin man with a full head of hair smiling. He is wearing a light jacket, slacks, and boating shoes. He is alone in the picture standing on a dock. There is open water behind him.
         Next, he picks up the addresses and looks them over, then asks, "The first one is your address?"
         "Yes."
         The detective frowns, nods and says, "OK. I will find out what your husband is doing and if he has a woman on the side. Just to be thorough may I see your driver's license?"
         "I don't drive."
         "How did you get here?"
         "A taxi."
         "OK. How about I drop you off at your house so I can take a look at his wardrobe and maybe his home office/desk? Many times there are clues there that the spouse just doesn't see," the detective asks.
         "That .. that won't be possible, the house is under construction and a real mess. I must go. I have other errands to run and don't want to go home right now."
         "How will I contact you?"
         "I will call you every morning at 9 am," the woman says as she stands, then leans over the desk looking the detective in the eyes and says softly, "Please find out everything you can; it's very important that you check everything out personally."
         She walks out the door, closing it behind her. The detective rises and steps out into the hallway. He looks to the front door just in time to see a dark blue Ford quickly pulling away from the curb.
         The detective returns to his office and sits at his desk. Looks at the picture, then flips it over to look at the back. There is some faded printing on the back, almost illegible. The initials MRP are visible and under that a smudged number that could be 43, 48 or 53.
         "Well that wasn't fishy at all. No siree, I am sure it's all on the up and up," the detective reaches for his phone and dials a number from memory.
         "Long Beach Police."
         "Patch me through to Homicide Detective Ryan."
         "Right away."
         "Ryan here."
         "Hey, you got a body name of Maynard Roger Pickles, a middle manager at UDS?"
         "Who is this?"
         "A concerned citizen. Let me tell you a story," the detective relates everything that happened from the moment the woman opened the door to the car taking off. He even gave the police a partial license plate.
         "Why you?" Asks Detective Ryan.
         "That is the $64,000 question, isn't it?" the detective pauses then continues. "You remember that Crowely business from a couple years ago?"
         "Yes, how could I forget. 6 people, 2 of them children ... and the DA telling not enough evidence to convict. He was standing there with the ... yes, I remember it," Detective Ryan replies darkly.
         "My guess is he is just trying to tie up a loose end."
         "Why's that?"
         "In the heat of the moment I promised I'd put that monster behind bars. Looks like he doesn't like broken promises."
         "You want to check out the other address?"
         "And find another dead body? No thanks. I saw that movie. Let me check something," The Detective puts the phone down and opens a drawer. He pulls out a handgun, counts the bullets and smells the chamber. He puts the weapon back and picks up the phone "And no, my gun has not been fired. Send a guy to check."
         "Will do. Sit tight. We'll deal with it."
         "Got it."