CH Tannehill wasn't one to dwell on the finer things. His suit was as shiny as the penny he spent on it, his choice of rye bordered on rot-gut, the spring in his dime-store chair behind his industrial desk wasn't quite poking through the upholstery but was uncomfortable enough to make sure he didn't sit too long.
His former service revolver - and now simply licensed side-arm - was top of the line and kept in pristine condition. But, given the emotional cost of the sorrow attached to its backstory, it was as cheap as every other item he owned.
Not that any of this concerned him one bit. He willingly accepted the low pay and mind-numbing drudgery of the cheating spouse cases and two-bit insurance scam investigations that came his way as both penance for his previous sins and a welcome distraction from more in-depth thought.
For what seemed like the thousandth time in his PI career he stared at the lettering of his office door working himself uncomfortably toward the spring until he felt compelled to stand up and leave the office for some pointless errand.
"Snell and Tannehill - Licensed Private Investigators" it read. "Snell and Tannehill," he thought, not for the first time, "sounds like the start of a poorly written Lewis Carroll poem."
His partner, Dick Snell, was everything Tannehill wasn't - flashy to the point of penury, and vain. Snell had spent the better part of 15 minutes convincing Tannehill that his name should be first in the company business. Tannehill, for his part, didn't mind if his name was spelled with one 'n' and three 'l's as long as he could cover the monthly rent.
Tannehill popped up from his desk and walked over to the industrial file cabinet to park his latest case notes when Snell walked into the office.
"Got another one," said Snell, grinning, his large chin looming even larger with the broad grin fixed on his face.
"Care to elaborate?"
"Another unfaithful wife, Tannehill. Another easy paycheck." Snell winked in apparent deference to his partner's perceived lesser intelligence. From Snell's point of view, if Tannehill couldn't read his mind, he must obviously be stupid.
"OK. Tell me, how did we wind up getting a client with not one individual - other than your esteemed self, of course - walking through that door in the last two hours?"
"The husband approached me outside," Snell responded, no change in his grin.
"Your doing?" Tannehill knew his partner was neither above wrecking marriages simply out of boredom or vanity. He'd even go so far as to hint to the aggrieved party what was going on (necessarily leaving his own name out of the details) in order to drum up further business. Tannehill wondered if this new "case" was simply an irate husband approaching Snell for revenge.
"Ha!" Snell guffawed hollowly and slapped his partner on the back. His grin seemingly widened. "Why don't you do the footwork for this one?"
"Why me?" Tannehill was surprised that Snell didn't want to chase down the lead. Snell wasn't particularly inclined toward hard work and would pawn his duties off on his partner when the opportunity presented itself. But, given the chance to watch an amorous couple in flagrante delicto before announcing that he'd caught them - and, coincidentally, giving them the opportunity to pay shakedown money to save their reputations - he'd usually be able to tap into his diligent work ethic. Tannehill gathered that Snell either had a prior engagement, the woman in question was too ugly for his tastes, or that Snell was, in fact, the offending party.
"I don't know, pal. You've been sitting in this office all day. I thought it'd be nice to give you the opportunity to get some fresh air and some exercise." The grin on Snell's face slipped a little as he began to be annoyed by Tannehill's questions.
"Sure, partner." Tannehill ensured that the sarcastic response wasn't too subtle for Snell's understanding. "Though it'd be nice to have a starting point."
"Here you go," Snell's smiled returned as he slipped a note to Tannehill. 513 High Water St. Suite 802. Downtown. A nice 10-mile trek to cover when your car's in the shop and the rush hour was approaching.
Tannehill opened the top drawer of his desk, checked his service revolver and holstered it, stuffed a notebook in his coat, opened the bottom drawer, grabbed a camera and a pair of binoculars and headed for the door.
"Enjoy the fresh air!" Snell yelled out cheerily while plopping down behind this own desk.
Tannehill grunted in response and left the office.
[Author's Note - For those keeping score at home, the section above is 767 words, but seemed like a logical chapter break. I'll still write at least another 233 words today, but they won't be published until next week's installment.]
No comments:
Post a Comment