Hair of the Dog by Gordon Carroll (reading strategies book TXT) 📗

building that stood taller in the sky than anything Denver had to offer, so far at least. Once there, I left the car running with its climate control safety for Max, and went in the front doors where I was stopped at a metal detector and armed security.

I showed them my PI badge, deciding to keep the Secret Service badge out of the picture for now. The guard looked at it with dead eyes and shook his head.

“No guns,” he said. “If you’re carrying, I suggest you put it back in your car.”

“I work for Senator Marsh,” I said as I pointed to the newspaper that sat on the counter beside his arm. “He hired me to find the little girl you’re reading about there.”

He glanced down at the headline, then back up at me.

“That so?”

“That it is,” I said, smiling.

“Hold on.” He picked up the phone and turned away.

“Holding,” I said, taking the opportunity to suck in all the incredible splendor of this massive structure.

“Senator Marsh says he’ll see you,” said security. “Forty-second floor, elevator on the right.”

In Denver, we don’t have hundred-plus-floor buildings, although there is talk. The view going up was quite spectacular. Lucky I don’t have a fear of heights.

Marsh’s offices were about as splendid as I would expect for God. They took up the entire floor, roughly the length and width of your standard football field. The windows were like an open view to the state, looking over those below as if in judgement.

His secretary, a nice woman about my age and dressed in a very businesslike black dress with matching high heels, ushered me into his personal office, smaller than the football field but bigger than say your average racquetball court. The entire space was decked out in rich woods, polished to a high shine. His desk was large and intricately carved and looked like it cost more than my mountain. It probably did.

Senator Marsh didn’t get up when I entered. He sat behind that big desk, his hands in front of him, fingers steepled.

“Thank you, Cindy,” he said to the secretary. “That will be all for now.”

Cindy closed the door behind her.

“Hello, Mr. Mason.” This time he sounded like God in Bruce Almighty again, only when he was fed up with Bruce and his disbelief; not in the mood to take any more guff. Like when God lost patience with Moses’ whining at the burning bush.

I held up a friendly hand. “Hi, there.” It was a pretty weak Jim Carey, but a pet detective I am not.

“What are you doing here?”

That seemed a bit harsh.

“Alrighty then. Let’s just get down to it. I want to see Keisha.”

His head remained motionless while his eyes did a slow scan of the room. “She isn’t here.”

“Then how about we go to where she is.”

He un-steepled his fingers and lay them on the desk. “Keisha is with her aunt and uncle; her legal guardians. She’s safe and getting on with forgetting the horrors of the past few years. The less she has to remind her of those years, the better.”

“Who did you say her aunt and uncle were?”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh, that’s right. So what are their names?”

“I don’t want you bothering them… or Keisha.”

“You know what I do, right? I mean you did hire me. I find people.”

“Let me reiterate, Mr. Mason, I don’t want you bothering them.”

“I won’t bother anyone. I just want to make sure she is safe.”

“And why in the world do you think she might not be safe? Just what exactly are you accusing me of?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Senator. But try and see it from my side. I took a job from you to find this little girl. But finding a child isn’t like finding a lost purse. I find an object and turn it over and my part is done. But finding a little girl is different. I have a responsibility to make sure she is safe and that my finding her was the right thing to do. Now as soon as you hired me, things started getting weird. Soon as I find her, the Bloods show up… twice. You say you’ll check for leaks, but then never mention it again. When I press you, two carloads of mercenaries with fully automatic weapons show up at my doorstep and try to take me out. And of course there’s the matter of you running for POTUS, so then I think maybe you want Keisha for a trophy to wave in front of the media. But then you don’t wave her in front of the media. You keep her completely hidden from the media. Then I find out your charity organization, which is how you say you became aware of Keisha’s plight, is really just a money funnel to your bank account and that makes me wonder why you really wanted me to find Keisha in the first place. So, you want to know what I think you’ve done and what exactly I’m accusing you of? I don’t know… not yet.”

I stepped up to his desk.

“But I promise you this much, if you don’t show me Keisha, I will dig and dig until I do know what I’m accusing you of.”

And then I think I saw the real Alvin Marsh for the first time since I met him. Not the posturing politician, not the charismatic actor. But the man from the streets that never really went anywhere. The gang-banger, the street-tough, the survivor.

“Who do you think you are?” his voice was nearly a hiss. “Some two-bit private eye wanna-be cop that I hired for a bag job. Well you did what I paid you to do and that, Mr. Mason, is all. Your services are no longer needed or wanted. So you turn your lily-white butt around and get back in your car and drive yourself back to Denver and don’t you ever…ever call me or venture back into my town again. Do you understand me?”

“Or what?” I asked, all innocent-like. “Another