Those Who Live in Grass Houses

Holdfast's Big Case

Holdfast’s Big Case

Holdfast leaned back and crossed his ankles on the desk in front of him. It had taken a while, but he felt at last that his private eye business was well established, his reputation growing and the future reasonably secure. He existed largely by tailing various unsavoury or sleazy individuals through a succession of bars and hangouts in the toughest parts of town, but sooner or later, the first case that called upon his hidden talents of perception and deduction was bound to come along.

And after that, who knew? The glamorous world of jewel thieves and cat burglars spread its riches before him and he dreamed of the time when he made the breakthrough to stardom.

He was awoken by a pounding at the door to his shabby office. Before he could remove his feet from the desk, the door burst open to reveal a large, red-faced man in a sharp suit. The fellow strode to the desk and and boomed at the detective, now with his feet on the floor and trying to wriggle his way into a more upright posture. “Are you the guy running this outfit?”

Holdfast straightened his tie. “Er yes, I’m Holdfast of the Holdfast Detective Agency.”

“Good,” said the man. “Saw your advert in the paper this morning and I have a job for you. I want you to follow my wife.”

“Ah, I see. Not a problem but I’m going to need some details.”

“Of course you are,” said the man. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a leather billfold, slapping it down on the desk with aplomb. “Everything you need to know is in there. And the name’s Grimsby, by the way, Arnold Grimsby.”

Holdfast immediately paid a lot more attention. Arnold Grimsby was the town’s millionaire, owner of several businesses and a man of ostentatious wealth. Although it sounded like the normal domestic troubles type of case, it was bound to pay well.

“Shall we discuss payment, Mr.Grimsby?”

“What’s your usual rate for this kind of job?”

Holdfast answered with a slightly inflated version of the truth.

“Fair enough,” said Grimsby. “I’ll double that if you can guarantee you’ll drop all other jobs for mine.”

“Done,” replied Holdfast, with the knowledge that it shouldn’t be too hard a stipulation, as he had no other jobs.

When Grimsby had departed, Holdfast studied the file. It contained a photo of the lady concerned, a stunner by anyone’s definition, names and addresses of connections and places normally visited, and a description of her usual daily routine, as far as it was known. Holdfast’s task was merely to follow and record her movements, then report back to Grimsby.

He locked the office and set out for the diner where the lady was known to take most of her lunches. Once there, he settled himself into a corner where he could see the entire room and waited. In time, she appeared, all five foot five of her, blonde, statuesque and dressed in practical jeans and sweater that still managed to look expensive. He watched her eat and then followed her out to her car.

Several days later, he had trailed the lady through all her known haunts, seen nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary, and was becoming thoroughly bored with the whole thing. He was on the verge of giving up and making a final report to Grimsby, when she at last changed her routine. She drove down to the marina, Holdfast trickling along in her wake.

Out into the maze of piers and yachts she went, while Holdfast sneaked from one hiding place to the next behind her. And she stopped at a particularly large and pristine boat, gleaming in polished finery. Leaning out to reach the hull, she knocked.

A man poked his head out of the hatch and saw her, then gestured for her to come aboard. He emerged and assisted her across the gangplank and they disappeared below. Holdfast had been kept busy, photographing the procedure, but now he settled back to wait.

It was a long wait. When they finally emerged and Mrs. Grimsby departed for her car, Holdfast followed and then returned to his office. He spent the remainder of the afternoon typing out his report.

That evening, he phoned the number Grimsby had left as his contact. A voice he did not recognise answered. “Grimsby residence.” There was a drawl in the delivery that spoke unmistakably of a butler.

“Arnold Grimsby, please,” said Holdfast.

“Mr Grimsby is not currently available. If you could leave a message, I shall relay it to him at his convenience.”

“Just tell him Holdfast called.”

Holdfast put the phone down and reread his report. He made a few detail changes, then stood and gazed out the window at the nighttime street below. The same, dreary view, lit into an orange glow in the streetlights, stared back at him. He waited a while longer, gave up and went home.

The next day, he was sitting at his desk when Grimsby burst in, his usual bluster and energy nearly making Holdfast fall from his chair. The report was produced and Grimsby settled long enough to read it quickly. He gave no sign of satisfaction or otherwise, merely grunting occasionally as he read.

When he finished, he reached into his coat and produced a chequebook, scribbled quickly into it, then tore off a cheque and handed it to Holdfast.

“Very good," he said. “Didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know, but that’s what I wanted to hear.”

Holdfast was astonished. “You’re not angry?”

Grimsby barked a quick laugh. “Hah, not at all. You just confirmed that my wife bought the yacht for my birthday from a man named Bertie Leeman. I just wanted to be sure she wasn’t being taken for a ride by some wheeler dealer. And Bertie’s a good man.”

“I see,” said Holdfast.

Grimsby laughed again. “Dirty mind, Holdfast. Shouldn’t let your work get to you.”


House Martell

Word count: 994
For "Game of Thrones"  The North Remembers, Western World Prompt: 3
Prompt: You are a private eye in the heart of the city who is often tasked with scoping out adulterers, people who skip out on their girlfriends, or shady business deals. When a young woman comes to you, teary eyed, and tells you her story, you...