Post by Lorpius Prime on Jan 31, 2007 16:03:40 GMT -5
Martin Bozeman Holland took his time responding to the fat man. He took a long drag on his cigarette, letting his nervous guest watch the flare of orange in squirming discomfort. Then he removed the cigarette from his mouth and turned it about in his fingers to consider the charred end. He squashed the stub in the crystal tray on his desk, thoroughly smothering its life in the ashes.
With that done he glared at the man seated across from him, taking in the sweaty folds of his face, the pale skin of his bald forehead, and that ridiculous yellow mustache. Tobacco smoke curled lazily about their heads. Martin counted to fifteen, slowly, in his mind before speaking. His guest looked ready to scream from the tension.
“You’re certain there was nothing?”
The man exhaled enormously, “Quite sure, I checked very thoroughly.”
Martin allowed the very barest of nods. His job had just become much more difficult, but his guest didn’t need to know that.
“I hope you have,” he looked to be sure the fat man knew he didn’t mean it in a friendly way, “for your sake.”
He was rewarded for the effort by more wriggling. Like a worm on a hook. Martin clamped down on the grin attempting to form. This was far better than fishing.
“I did what you wanted…” The eyes were pleading.
Martin nodded again, just a very slight inclination of the chin. He turned around to slip a thick brown envelope off the metal shelf behind him. He set it on the desk and slid it towards his guest with a single finger.
The other man snapped it up into his pink palms with unconcealed relief. He tore open the seal and examined the contents. Martin saw the white square backs of photographs.
“And these are the only copies?” the fat man asked, not taking his eyes away from the pictures.
“Of course they are.” Martin brushed away the question with disgust.
It was a lie. If Martin’s office ever needed this man again, he would find out his indiscretions were still very much at risk of publication. And if he never trusted them again, well, it would make no difference.
The fat man slid the photographs back into their envelope. “Thank you.”
Martin always found that the strangest part of his work. Did the fish thank the angler for releasing it?
“You understand, of course, that you may never speak of this to anyone.”
“Yeah, or you’ll kill me, right?”
Martin said nothing. Some questions didn’t need to be answered.
The other man’s flabby face tightened as he swallowed, “I understand.”
Martin affected a smile, “Then, Mr. Bradshaw, you may go.” Then, to make sure he wasn’t misunderstood, “Now.”
The fat man scurried away. Martin sat in silence for a moment, then reached into his shirt pocket for another cigarette.
He was halfway through with that one when one of his subordinates came into the office.
“Sir?”
Martin pulled the burning the roll of paper out from between his lips, “What is it?”
“Sir, we think he may have posted the materials after all. The wife’s calmed down a bit, and says she does remember him visiting the post office.”
“And?”
“Well we took the liberty of checking the London sorting station, and it’s not there, must have already been sent out.”
“Or it was never sent. Keep checking the house, and get in touch with the Exeter station, have someone check incoming deliveries.”
“Yes, sir, of course. But it is possible, sir, that it could already have been delivered by now. What do we do if it has?”
Martin sucked on the cigarette again, letting the warm, calming smoke enter his lungs before expelling it. “Let me worry about that. Do what you need to do—what you can—here. Keep me updated.”
“Yes, sir,” the younger man ducked out and made for the telegraph wing.
There was a dark flame in Martin's eyes as he sat pondering on what he had to do next. Finally, he crushed out this cigarette too. He had other fires to extinguish.
<<5<<_>>7>>
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-
With that done he glared at the man seated across from him, taking in the sweaty folds of his face, the pale skin of his bald forehead, and that ridiculous yellow mustache. Tobacco smoke curled lazily about their heads. Martin counted to fifteen, slowly, in his mind before speaking. His guest looked ready to scream from the tension.
“You’re certain there was nothing?”
The man exhaled enormously, “Quite sure, I checked very thoroughly.”
Martin allowed the very barest of nods. His job had just become much more difficult, but his guest didn’t need to know that.
“I hope you have,” he looked to be sure the fat man knew he didn’t mean it in a friendly way, “for your sake.”
He was rewarded for the effort by more wriggling. Like a worm on a hook. Martin clamped down on the grin attempting to form. This was far better than fishing.
“I did what you wanted…” The eyes were pleading.
Martin nodded again, just a very slight inclination of the chin. He turned around to slip a thick brown envelope off the metal shelf behind him. He set it on the desk and slid it towards his guest with a single finger.
The other man snapped it up into his pink palms with unconcealed relief. He tore open the seal and examined the contents. Martin saw the white square backs of photographs.
“And these are the only copies?” the fat man asked, not taking his eyes away from the pictures.
“Of course they are.” Martin brushed away the question with disgust.
It was a lie. If Martin’s office ever needed this man again, he would find out his indiscretions were still very much at risk of publication. And if he never trusted them again, well, it would make no difference.
The fat man slid the photographs back into their envelope. “Thank you.”
Martin always found that the strangest part of his work. Did the fish thank the angler for releasing it?
“You understand, of course, that you may never speak of this to anyone.”
“Yeah, or you’ll kill me, right?”
Martin said nothing. Some questions didn’t need to be answered.
The other man’s flabby face tightened as he swallowed, “I understand.”
Martin affected a smile, “Then, Mr. Bradshaw, you may go.” Then, to make sure he wasn’t misunderstood, “Now.”
The fat man scurried away. Martin sat in silence for a moment, then reached into his shirt pocket for another cigarette.
He was halfway through with that one when one of his subordinates came into the office.
“Sir?”
Martin pulled the burning the roll of paper out from between his lips, “What is it?”
“Sir, we think he may have posted the materials after all. The wife’s calmed down a bit, and says she does remember him visiting the post office.”
“And?”
“Well we took the liberty of checking the London sorting station, and it’s not there, must have already been sent out.”
“Or it was never sent. Keep checking the house, and get in touch with the Exeter station, have someone check incoming deliveries.”
“Yes, sir, of course. But it is possible, sir, that it could already have been delivered by now. What do we do if it has?”
Martin sucked on the cigarette again, letting the warm, calming smoke enter his lungs before expelling it. “Let me worry about that. Do what you need to do—what you can—here. Keep me updated.”
“Yes, sir,” the younger man ducked out and made for the telegraph wing.
There was a dark flame in Martin's eyes as he sat pondering on what he had to do next. Finally, he crushed out this cigarette too. He had other fires to extinguish.
<<5<<_>>7>>
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-