Page 3 of Mann Hunt
As soon as the man was out of sight, Declan stubbed out the cigarette and put the butt back into his coat pocket. He didn’t normally smoke, and at fifteen bucks a pack, he wasn’t going to just throw one away. It might come in handy later.
After a few moments, he headed towards the building where the guy had gone in. It was a two-storey wood-framed structure that looked like an old store that had gone out of business. How this building had escaped the wrecking crew was anybody’s guess. On one side of it was a smart little bistro. On the other, a condo was going up. An alleyway separated the old store from the construction site.
How convenient.
Declan hurried around the corner and down the alleyway. The wall of the building was punctuated by a single window, too high to reach. A small dumpster had been pushed up against the wall under the window, right next to a door.
He hoisted himself up, making as little noise as possible, and levered himself high enough to look in.
Inside, Brick Wall was talking to another guy seated at a desk. Declan couldn’t see the face of the second man as his back was towards the window. The two of them seemed deep in conversation and the man who was sitting gesticulated wildly with his hands. Brick Wall took him by the shoulder and led him out of view. Declan surveyed the room. It appeared to take up the entire first floor. On a table along the back was a large model of a grand old building. Other than the desk and the table with the model, the space was empty.
Declan leaned a little farther to the left to get a better view. Suddenly the building was moving upward and he was heading down. His body hit the dumpster lid with a sound like a mallet pounding on a giant kettle drum. As the dumpster continued to roll, he blinked to clear his vision, only to see the high-mounted alleyway lights and the face of Brick Wall staring down at him.
“Whadda we got here?” he asked. “A little late to be sightseeing.”
Declan rolled himself off the dumpster and hit the pavement. He had intended to run, but before he could get to his feet, Brick Wall had grabbed him by the jacket and hoisted up his one-hundred-and-eighty-five pounds without effort, then slammed him back down on the edge of the steel dumpster. Declan crumpled to the pavement.
“A guy’s gotta learn not to poke his nose in another fella’s business,” Brick Wall said, before sending the toe of his sizeable right shoe crashing into Declan’s ribs. Several kicks followed before Declan felt himself being picked up again. He heard the sound of the dumpster lid being opened, then fell into a pile of rotting waste as the lid slammed shut and he was surrounded by darkness.
* * * *
Joan Beckerman unlocked the street-level door of the office, picked up the mail that had come through the slot and began the slow walk up the flight of stairs to the second floor. She wasn’t sure which creaked louder—the wooden steps or her sixty-eight-year-old knees. She turned the key in the lock and entered the outer office.
Mrs B, as Joan was known in the office, occupied the only desk in the main reception room, along with a couple of comfortable chairs, a couch and a coffee table withup-to-datemagazines to ensure that no one would confuse this with a doctor’s office. She loved this space. It was warm and comfortable. Large, mullioned windows let light pour in from the street. The walls were a deep red-brown brick—rare for Calgary where most old structures were wood-framed. And the floors—wide planked wood, worn by the feet of a thousand people over the seventy-year history of this building. It wasn’t old by international standards, but here in Calgary, it was a grand old dame.
She dropped the mail on her desk. There were a couple of bills and an envelope, probably containing a payment—she recognised the return address of the elderly man who had hired them to look for his missing brother. They’d found him buried legally in Queen’s Park Cemetery.
Before she could deal with any of these matters, coffee had to be made. Without caffeine, her brain didn’t function properly.
As she waited for the coffee to finish brewing, Mrs B tidied her desk for the day. She was, undeniably, an organised woman. As the sole employee of Declan Hunt Investigations, aside from Declan, she was responsible for dealing with the clients, maintaining Declan’s schedule, billing and whatever else was required to keep the company going. And for that, organisation was the key to success.
The coffee maker gurgled, letting her know that caffeine was mere moments away. She returned to her desk, coffee in hand—black, two sugars—and sorted the contents of the envelopes. The bills went into onepile, the payment from the man in search of his brother in a second stack. The payment also included a note.
Seeing as how you found my brother deceased, and now of no use to me, I see little reason to pay you the full amount demanded. Enclosed you will find a cheque for half your bill.
Mrs B let out a sigh. She had wanted today to go smoothly.
The street door opened, followed by heavy footsteps on the stairs. A man dressed in a long dirty coat entered through the office door. His face was unshaven and grimy. He walked with a limp.
“Good Lord, what the hell happened to you?” Mrs B asked.
Declan paused. “Some people in this city have no respect for the homeless.” As Declan straightened his body, he winced and grabbed his side. “Can’t take a kick like I used to.”
“Did you find Mr Attwal?” she asked.
“Not yet, and I’ve pretty well run out of leads,” he said as he winced again.
She moved towards him. “Here. Let me help you.”
Mrs B got him up to his apartment, which occupied the third floor of the building. She helped him take off his coat and shirt. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll chuck these into the wash,” she offered.
“Thanks.”
She looked at his strong chest and rippled stomach muscles. While attractive to many, they had no effect on her. The bruising, however… She pursed her lips and inhaled. “Oooo, that’s going to hurt tomorrow.”
She touched the area. Declan inhaled sharply.
“Oh, come on. I’ve seen you in worse shape.”
