Bad Business Practice -Long Listed ONC2021

Chapter 13

Bill Staines left the medical clinic looking a little like Jack Nicholson in the movie Chinatown. His shattered nose had two short tubes protruding from a lumpy white bandage the size of a baseball, and he moved gingerly, holding his phone near his mouth, because each step reverberated through his medicated head.

Kevin Turnbull held his own head, listening to the muffled explanation from his investigator. From his desk drawer he took a container of jumbo strength painkillers and a packet of brochures touting the perfect retirement destinations.

As Staines struggled to speak, Kevin slowly hung up the phone, his future writ large in front of his eyes.

********

Tony Renesto winced from the shooting pain in his cracked rib as he tried to look in the mirror at the damage to his face. Aside from a lower lip that would have done Botox advertisers proud and a butterfly bandage holding together the split in his chin, his hair still looked pretty good.

He slammed the medicine chest door shut and hobbled carefully out of the bathroom, swallowing the meds with a dose of scotch. The stinging from the cut inside his mouth had him screaming, death to Peter Braxton and all who knew him.

He sat and worried the material on the arm of the chair while he tried to process tenable ideas. The police were rejected right away. He could be charged with attempted blackmail regardless of how he spun it. Make an appeal to Della - except she was in with Peter on the plot to have him killed. Still, she did have her own skin to consider.

The second shot of scotch didn't sting as much and Tony thought about Pope. He could help prove that Peter had hired a hit man. Trouble there was, Pope was the intended hit man and victim in that fiasco. What about that other guy in the office? He was shouting something about that Gunther, the detective Pope told him about.

Tony sat up suddenly, the rib reminding him most unkindly, was that the hit man Peter meant to hire? Should he try and find him and talk? Would that be a good idea? He slumped back in the chair. No, it wouldn't.

********

Harold stopped short as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. Seated on the top step was Cara Forrester, her arms wrapped about her knees and mascara streaking her damp cheeks.

"What are you doing here? We had a deal."

"He contacted me again. You said he wouldn't, you promised."

Great. This was all he needed. "Come inside and tell me what happened."

He made coffee and sat her down, waiting for her to calm down and gather herself, then he listened as she told him her story. The man, one Haslett Deveraux, had tracked her down and threatened her life if she didn't do what he said. She had left her modelling job and tried to find work elsewhere but he found her again.

Apparently, Deveraux felt since his dealings with Harold's employers had left him short a tidy sum of the money he'd put up for the hit, he decided to take it out on her.

"Has he hurt you physically in any way?"

She shook her head, eyes buried in her lap.

"What else has he done?"

"He just keeps showing up wherever I go and making all kinds of- of threats."

Harold sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had promised the girl. He thought about the mess going on at work and his suspension by his contract employers and how his life used to be so simple and straight forward.

"Do you know where he lives or works?"

"He's some bigwig at a law firm . . . Dunn and Hammersmith." She sniffled.

He looked at his watch and then at her. "Can you go home alright?"

"I'm afraid to, he's been there too. Outside, letting me see him on purpose."

"Okay." Harold went to a cupboard and got out some sheets and a blanket. "Make up that sofa and you can stay here until I get back."

"Where are you going?"

"To keep my promise." He went into his bedroom and came out several minutes later in a black jacket and jeans.

"Will you be long?"

"Nope. Make up your bed." He left, locking the door behind him.

********

George was about to sign Harold off for the night when he saw him come out again in a change of clothes and he wondered if his freelance suspicion was about to be confirmed. He left his car and followed Harold on foot.

A quick search on his laptop had given Harold all he needed to track down Mr. Deveraux away from work and he chose to walk the distance to make it later and darker when he arrived. The house was a stone front, two-storey, architecturally handsome design with a portcullis and a two car, attached garage.

He skirted the property and found some lit windows he could peer into. A woman in a bathrobe and a towel around her head carried a glass of wine and a magazine to a lounge, in what he assumed was a sitting room, calling something over her shoulder. Harold didn't like family members around but sometimes it couldn't be avoided.

He slipped back around to the front just when the door opened and he had to duck into the shadows. The man came out with a carton and carried it down the drive to the curb, surprised to meet Harold on his way back.

"Can I help you? This is private property."

"Are you Haslett Deveraux?"

"I am, and just who-?"

Harold took his arm. "Just step over here a minute, sir." He pushed Deveraux into some cedar bushes and pressed his gun into the man's chest. "You really should have left Miss Forrester alone."

"Wha-?" The muffled sound of the gun ended both the outburst and the life of Haslett Deveraux as Harold lowered the body to the ground.

He paused for a moment, listening and satisfied nothing was heard, he left, staying well in the shadows.

George witnessed the act unseen and was onto his employer immediately.

"For some reason I can only guess, sir, Pope just took out Deveraux."

"I thought you handled that when we let the girl go."

"I did, sir but it seems Mr. Deveraux didn't stick to the deal."

"But why would Pope get involved? Wait a minute, you assured me that he wasn't involved with her."

"He wasn't, sir but my guess is Mr. Deveraux was still trying to be."

There was a few minutes of heavy silence then George received his instructions.

"It was clean, sir. No witnesses no mistakes."

"I don't care if it was snow-white, Pope is becoming a liability. What about that other investigator, Staines?"

"Nothing new since the altercation at Kirkland."

"Hmm, well keep an eye on him still, and George, don't get soft-hearted about Pope."

"Yes, sir."

********

Harold let himself in quietly and saw Cara curled up asleep on the sofa. He walked over and looked down at her young face, a tiny crease above the nose suggested she was, or had been, dreaming of her situation. He pulled the cover up to her neck and went into the kitchen.

With a bottle and a glass, he stretched out in his armchair across the room and drank, watching the sleeping girl and running the evening over in his head. Was it worth it, he wondered? He knew he had crossed a line that could not be moved again or erased. He had used up his credit.

Harold Pope was now likely a target, this time for real.

He finished his drink, set down his glass and closed his eyes.

18,200 Word Total (Microsoft Word Count)