Bad Business Practice -Long Listed ONC2021

Chapter 11

"He's here! Pope! And he's with Tony!" He peeked out again to make sure and then pushed her to look.

"But-?"

"I'm going to have a talk with my detective, find out what's going on."

"What'll we do?"

"Nothing. We can't let on, just act normal . . . not normal . . .you know . . ."

"Again, Peter."

"Hey what's going on in here?" A face with a goofy grin and flushed cheeks leaned on the cubicle door frame.

"Just some business came up, Percy, go on back inside." Peter peeked to see if Pope or Tony had noticed.

"Monkey business, I'll bet!" The grin turned to a knowing smirk.

"Percy, if you don't want to be in charge of window washing you'll go back inside - now. And be quiet."

Percy vanished like mist.

"Let's wrap up the party, We have to get this business sorted."

Della took a breath, squared her shoulders, a move that emphasized an ample bosom, and strode back to the office calling for attention . . . which she immediately received from the male staff.

********

Gunther turned from his small mirror where he was applying concealer to his bruises.

"Aah, shit."

"That's what your name will be if I don't get an explanation, Morse."

"I uh- I was going to call," Gunther lied. "Let me explain what happened."

"It better be good. Pope wound up on my floor yesterday."

"Dead!"

"What- no, my office floor you twit. At work!"

"Aah . . . okay . . . here's what happened."

Peter listened, dumbstruck at first over the Keystone Kop fiasco, livid over the fact that he might have accidentally had the wrong man killed.

"Renesto! You are absolutely sure?"

"I can show you where the picture was in his cloud file."

"Jesus, now what do I do? I've hired the wrong guy - to kill himself!"

"Well obviously that won't happen."

"But the bartender knows both of us. What the hell am I going to do now?"

"We all make mista-" Gunther began, but the fist pounding his desk, sent several items to the floor, including his open tube of concealer. He moved his chair back and called for time with a hand signal.

"There's something else."

Peter slowly sat, his eyes never leaving Gunther's.

"An investigator from the DA's office braced me about Pope and I had to tell him that I had found a picture for you that was taken by Tony Renesto. He also knew Pope had picked up something from the bar. He was following him." Gunther coughed. "I never said anything about what you uh, planned, Mr. Braxton and I never said I called to set anything up at the bar."

Peter's nasal breathing sounded like a dragon ready to ignite, and his knuckles turned white as he clutched the edge of the desk.

"You told him about me." The statement came out in a rasp.

"I had to! He already knew-"

"About Pope and Renesto, yes you said." Peter stood and bent down to the floor. "Here, hold this." It was Gunther's concealer - something he needed more of - after Peter socked him, knocking him off his chair.

********

Staines was back at Clyde's in his favourite booth going over his notes, muttering to himself. Renesto snapped an incriminating shot of Braxton and his secretary - or whatever she is. Pope gets a message from the bartender at the Parkhurst. Is this the connection? Is this how he gets his contracts? I'm closing in, Pope.

He scratched a large check mark next to the last item, the bartender, finished his beer and left with one last glance at the dancer.

********

Tony downed his scotch in one gulp and looked at Harold like a Basset Hound with gas. Harold had related the events - the reason, the mix-up and the result as scribbled in the message from the bartender.

"I need another drink."

"They don't have a license here, that was a favour to me and you can't drink this away, Tony."

"But what can I do?"

"Go to Peter and fess up. Delete the picture from your file in front of him so he knows and then take your lumps."

"He'll fire me!"

"Down a notch from being assassinated wouldn't you say? Look, you're his star salesman at the moment. The guy that brought in the Betts account. Tell him if he fires you, you'll take it somewhere else."

"Where?"

Harold groaned and picked up the bill, leaving Tony in the booth. He paid, adding a decent tip for the scotch and her silence, then walked back, leaning both hands on the table.

"You know, Tony, if your name had been on that message and I was a contract killer, we wouldn't have enjoyed this little chat today."

Pitiful couldn't describe the bleak look that followed Harold out of the diner.

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