PRIVATE EYE - Prologue and Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

It was a dimly lit bar in a dimly lit street. The kind of joint you might come to forget your troubles, plot even more trouble, or meet that secret, seductive woman you really shouldn't be cheating on your wife with.

The place was hazy with cigarette smoke. People were seated at small, wooden, circular high tables. Couples were hunched over in quiet conversation, sipping drinks. Some were just alone. A few more were relaxing on leather sofas at the back of the dark and stale-smelling seating area.

I was seated at the bar, of course, on a faded wooden stool, a glass of Jack Daniel's over ice in front of me. I was alone, the bar itself devoid of the the usual dejected, disillusioned souls that would normally adorn the empty bar stools at this time of night.

The name's Carlos Vespa. I'm a PI. That's Private Investigator for the uninitiated. Yeah, I wear the black trench-coat. The old stereotype. Why not? Looks cool. I'm a quiet man, a lover of jazz music, bars and quiet contemplation.

I've been doing this gig for about 15 years. Now, in my forties, my investigations are mostly pretty small-time. Mostly. Things like spying on suspected cheating spouses for their worried partners, the occasional missing persons case, stolen items.

But nothing prepared me for my latest case. An event triggered by the buzz and bright flash of my cell phone as it rested next to my half empty glass in this very bar, as I sat in this very seat.

This is how the story goes. Let me tell you...it's been a hell of a week.


CHAPTER 1

The large office was Victorian in decor, scarlet coloured walls subtly lit by attached lamps. A black iron chandelier hung from the ceiling and bookcases lined the walls.

At the far end, in front of a wide Georgian window, seated in a huge leather chair behind an antique, wooden desk was Oliver Marconi. He was a slim, almost gaunt man in his mid-sixties with a full head of white hair, slicked-back, dressed in an expensive Italian suit. A glass of scotch rested on the desk. On the other side of the desk were two more huge, leather chairs and between them stood Harry.

Harry was Oliver's son and had grown up like the typical spoiled brat. With no mother in his life for the last twenty years due to a sudden heart attack, his time was spent almost always alone until he was old enough to help out in the family organization. Now, at thirty two years old, with a short temper and immature, petulant mentality, Harry was unpredictable. And that made him dangerous. And that, in turn, brought him fear and respect. But not from Oliver. Oliver commanded fear and respect from everyone else. Including Harry.

"Has it been rectified?" asked Oliver.

"Yeah, it's done," replied Harry.

"Good."

Oliver took a sip of his scotch, the ice cubes gently clinking against the side of the glass.

Harry continued, hesitatingly. "There is...a problem, however."

Oliver placed his glass down and peered at Harry. "I'm listening," he said, almost daring Harry to give him bad news.

"I was made."

"You were made..."

"Somebody saw me."

Oliver sighed and rubbed the palm of his hand up against his face, frustrated. "Did they get a good look at you?"

"She didn't see me do it, but she saw me standing over the body. Afterwards."

"You didn't answer my question. Did they get a good look at you?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Oliver picked up the scotch and swirled what remained of the ice cubes around in the glass, trying to contain the aggravation building up inside of him.

"Harry...how can you be so inept?" he spat.

Harry pulled out one of the chairs from the desk and moved to sit down. "Dad, I - "

"I didn't offer you a seat," said Oliver, cutting him off.

Harry straightened himself up. "I tried to stop her getting away."

"You didn't try hard enough."

"I lost her. She ran and there were too many people. I did him in the alleyway beside Reno's Bar. I was sure no one would see."

Oliver took another sip of his scotch. "That alleyway joins the street. Where there's a street, there are people, Harry, whatever time it is in this city."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking straight. Adrenaline, you know?"

Oliver scowled at this excuse. "Well, now we have to deal with a witness to a murder that you committed. She will have no doubt gone to the police already and you will never see her again. Listen to me, Harry. Stay out of sight. I know you struggle with being a civilised human being, but you can not be seen nor heard. Do you understand me?"

"I understand," Harry conceded. "I was stupid."

"I agree," said Oliver. "We're done here."

* * *


The law office of Daniel Fern was a fairly typical, small affair. Books and paperwork were scattered over the desk. Bookshelves lined the walls and an ancient fax machine sat on a shelf next to a slightly more modern printer on a cabinet in the corner.

Daniel was seated at the desk. He was in his mid-thirties, with short, side-parted blonde hair and was wearing a dark grey suit, white shirt and red tie.

Nathan West, also in his mid-thirties and the younger brother of a certain Ben West, cruelly murdered outside Reno's Bar, sat opposite Daniel.

"Okay, this is the situation," began Daniel. "The witness went straight to the cops right after she saw what happened. From her statement, and bearing in mind that's all we have to go on at this point because there's no CCTV at that location, I'm told that her description of who she saw that night sounds a lot like an apparently very dangerous individual called Harry Marconi. But he's done an impressive disappearing act and he's keeping well hidden, so he can't even be brought in for questioning. I've gone to the courts and we've got the ball rolling on your brother's murder, but we need to find him to prosecute him."

"Okay. So what's new?"

"This key witness has been killed, Nathan." The words seemed to hang in the air, ominously. "Very soon after she went to the police. Don't ask me how, don't ask me when, 'cos I don't know the answer to either one of those questions. What I do know is that we're dealing with an individual that is not like you and me."

There was a moment of silence while Nathan took in this bombshell development. "But that shouldn't matter, right?" he said. " We've got her statement. We've got him. What else do we need?"

"Nathan, without our key witness to testify in court and no other evidence, this guy walks. We have basically no evidence at all, even circumstantial. If she's not around to testify, then her statement is void, it has no effect. She can't testify in court, so they can't use it. I'm sorry."

Nathan was crestfallen. "So he walks," he said. "Daniel, we can't let him walk away from this. He killed my brother. We have to do something."

"Evidence gathering is still ongoing. But it's not looking good to be honest, Nathan. It was a clean hit. Very neat, nothing to track so far."

"So, what do we do?" asked Nathan.

Daniel didn't have an answer.