The weather outside was grey, about to turn to rain but hesitating. The dark-eyed receptionist had slung off her heels under the desk and was listlessly going through some old case files. Absent-mindedly she fixed her red lipstick, running a finger over the corner of her mouth. The radio was tuned to some old jazz bit that she was sure had been popular tune a few years back. It was a slow day, though she had a funny feeling about it.
A shout from the office startled her from her reverie. "Juanita, do you want some coffee?" That she knew was code for "Juanita, will you make me some coffee?", for all his talents her employer could not make coffee without it becoming bitter sludge. She stood up, she was a tall, olive-skinned, with legs that her mother affectionately joked were up to her armpits. Juanita didn't bother putting her shoes on as she strode into Drake Hargate's office.
He didn't look up as she entered, busy peering at the coffee machine. Even slightly crouched it was easy to tell that he was tall. "Move out of the way, I'll get it."
Drake gave her a small, clipped smile and sat back down at his desk. "Thanks, Juanita. I'm sorry there isn't much for you to do today." In the light coming through the blinds Drake looked a little worn, he was a little in need of a haircut and shadows fell heavily underneath his eyes, one of which had a thick scar that stretched right across his temple. He was dressed presentably, though, his clothes clean and well-kept.
She handed him a chipped mug. "You're the one paying me, Mr. Hargate. Besides, I've managed to find something to do. I finally cleaned up my old pistol and I've just been checking some files."
He watched her take a sip from her own, significantly less-chipped mug, and shrugged. "So long as you're not bored."
She was about to reply when she heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. "Sounds like the Governor," Drake said. "You'd best let him in. Looks like we've got a case."
Juanita managed to get her shoes on and take a seat at her desk by the time the door swung open and the local governor walked in. He was a large man, slightly balding, with an expression that suggested that you didn't cross him lightly. "May I?" he asked her, gesturing to the door that lead to Drake's office. She nodded.
Drake stood up as the man entered, walking over to shake his hand. "Mr. Halliday, I take it that you haven't popped by for a social visit?"
The older man laughed. "Drake, you don't beat around the bush, do you? Can't I go and see an old friend?"
"When you're as busy as you are, Patrick? I doubt it," there was a warmth to Drake's tone that suggested at least a slight fondness for the politician.
Halliday relented. "All right, fine. There's been a woman murdered up on Bishopgate on the east side. It's a family neighbourhood and its got people scared half to death themselves. I do not want this turning into some kind of spree. People need to feel safe in their houses. This wasn't the usual scuffle between a couple of downtown thugs. I'm putting all my resources into this one, Drake, and that includes you, if you'll take it."
"Of course. You've got the file for me to take a look at?" Halliday reached into his briefcase and pulled out a brown envelope. "Thank you. I'll see what I can do."
The politician nodded. "I appreciate it." As Halliday was leaving, he noticed the lipstick-stained mug of coffee left by the machine. "You really ought to do something about that vixen of yours." Drake started to protest, but he held up his hands. "Hear me out, they'll be a bit of talk of course. Detective runs away with his secretary and all that, but with girl like that one, I don't think you'd regret it. Certainly I wouldn't blame you."
Once Halliday was out of the office, Juanita came back into see him. "I can't believe he thinks I'd want to marry you. Men are pigs."
"Your evaluation of the male psyche is appreciated, but we've got a case." Drake picked up his coat off of the coat rack. "We ought to get started. I'll fill you in on the way."
