Wait For Me

Part 20- NOLA's Newest Radio Host

He hustled to the street car and hopped on just in time as it pulled away, not two seconds after he stepped inside. Sure, he probably could've had his shadow whisk him away but honestly it made him feel nauseous last time and he didn't want to run the risk of something going wrong. His safest bet was to take normal methods of transportation until he had more time to experiment with all the things his shadow was capable of.

The street car dropped him off downtown at ten minutes to one, and Alastor walked at a brisk pace toward the direction of the station. Putting your best foot forward also included not being late to interviews, and Alastor was always punctual to everything. He walked through those second floor station doors into the lobby, outfit crisp, and not a hair out of place five minutes before his interview. He smiled at the familiar secretary.

"Hello again, my dear. I'm here for an interview."

The receptionist looked up from her work and her eyes widened in recognition as she took in Alastor's appearance. "Oh, it's you again. Yes, well, you'll be speaking with Mr. Chester Whittifield. I believe you spoke briefly on the phone. His office is three doors down the hall and to the right. You can't miss it."

Dismissed, Alastor followed the instructions and made his way down the dimly lit hall. The floor boards were hardwood with a frayed red carpet laid over the top, both of which looked dusty. Alastor wondered just how much money a place like this pulled in and if any of it ever went to renovations. He walked until he came upon the third door on the right, a big golden plaque with the name "Whittifield" etched into it.

Alastor knocked twice, loud enough to make sure he was heard but not loud enough to seem frantic.

"Come in," said a familiar voice.

Alastor grasped the decorative door handle and gently opened the door to see Chester Whittifield sitting in a chair at a desk cluttered with paper. The man had broad shoulders and a large gut. He wore thin spectacles on his thinning gray hair, and his beady eyes were squinting at some papers on the desk.

A quick glance around the room perfectly explained to the brunette why the desk was an unorganized mess. Bookshelves were stuffed to the brim with more than just books, filing cabinets were overflowing, and cupboard doors were ajar, unable to close properly.

"Ah, Alastor-" Chester squinted down at the piece of paper in his hands.

Alastor was surprised he could even find anything in the clutter.

"Toosan?"

The younger man pursed his lips. "Actually, it's Toussaint."

The man at the desk squinted at him and set his paper down. "Right." He gestured to the only other chair available in the room. "Have a seat."

Alastor knit his brows and tilted his head. The offered seat had clearly become a catch-all at some point as it was full of loose papers, documents, pamphlets, and books. He looked back up at Whittifield and raised an eyebrow. "Uhh..."

Whittifield rolled his eyes as if Alastor should know what to do.

"Just move them elsewhere," the older man said in a dismissive tone.

Alastor looked back down at the papers. "Do you have a preference?"

The man shrugged and waved vaguely at a bookshelf while lighting up a cigar. Once Alastor had removed the papers from the second chair and took his seat, Whittifield spoke again. "So, what brings you here today?"

Alastor smiled, remembering his manners. "Well sir, I saw that advertisement in the window, and I just had to see this place for myself. It seems like a real swell job position!"