Dark Whispers. Debra Webb

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       Chapter Three

      Richard Arrington Boulevard and 6th Avenue

      Tuesday, September 20, 10:00 a.m.

      Clint’s first client as a private detective had been at work for an hour when he decided to make his appearance at the offices of Brenner, Rosen and Taylor.

      He’d stayed with Natalie last night until her sister, April, arrived. He’d gone home afterward and done some research on Natalie’s career and background. He’d discovered that one of the senior associates at Natalie’s firm was Vince Farago, an old school pal of his from Samford. Clint gritted his teeth. He wondered if Natalie was aware that the man could not be trusted in any capacity. Farago was the proverbial snake in the grass.

      Clint would stop at Natalie’s office and check in with her after he visited with his old friend. He had a few questions for Farago, and frankly he intended to enjoy watching the guy squirm.

      The moment he entered the posh lobby the receptionist looked up. “Good morning, sir, how may I help you?”

      Another receptionist manned the ringing phones, ensuring someone was always available to greet arriving clients. The building spanned from 6th to 29th, filling the corner of the busy intersection much like New York’s Flatiron building. The lobby’s glass walls looked out over the hectic pace of downtown Birmingham.

      “Clint Hayes,” he said. “I need a moment of Mr. Farago’s time this morning.”

      The receptionist made a sad face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hayes, but Mr. Farago is completely booked today. May I set up something for you later in the week?”

      Clint gave his head a shake. “Let him know I’m here. I trust he’ll be able to spare a minute or two.” For old time’s sake, he opted not to add.

      The receptionist, Kendra, ducked her head in acquiescence. “Of course, sir. Would you like a coffee or a latte while you wait?”

      “I’m good.”

      While Kendra made the necessary call, Clint moved toward the wall of fame on the far side of the massive lobby. Dozens of photos of the partners attending various fundraisers and city events adorned the sleek beige wall that served as a canvas. Numerous framed accolades of the firm’s accomplishments hung proudly among the photos. Despite his best efforts, bitterness reared its ugly head. Clint rarely allowed that old prick of defeat to needle him anymore. He turned away from the reminders of what he would never have. He was only human; the occasional regression was unavoidable.

      He’d done well enough for himself. His law degree had come in handy more than once in his law enforcement career. It gave him an edge in his new venture as a private investigator. If money had been his solitary goal, he would have accepted one of the far more lucrative opportunities he had been offered during his college years.

      “Mr. Hayes?”

      Clint grinned, then checked the expression as he turned to Kendra. “Yes.”

      “Mr. Farago will see you now.” She gestured to the marble-floored corridor that disappeared into the belly of the enormous building. “Take the elevator to the fourth floor and Darrius, his assistant, will be waiting for you.”

      With a nod, Clint fastened the top one of the two buttons on his jacket and followed the lady’s directions. When he reached the fourth floor the doors slid open with a soft whoosh and revealed a more intimate, but equally luxurious lobby.

      Smiling broadly, a young man, twenty-two or -three, met him in the corridor. His slim-fit charcoal-gray suit had the look and style of an Italian label way above his pay grade, suggesting he either came from money or his boss handed out nice bonuses.

      “Good morning, Mr. Hayes. My name is Darrius. May I get you a refreshment?”

      “No thanks.” Clearly Farago’s tastes hadn’t changed. The assistant, a paralegal most likely, was young, handsome and no doubt hungry. A man did things when he was hungry he might not otherwise do. Clint knew this better than most.

      “Very well. This way, sir.”

      A few steps to the right and Darrius rapped on the first door to the left and then opened it. He gifted Clint with a final smile and disappeared, closing the door behind him.

      Farago got to his feet and reached across his desk. “Clint, it’s been a while.” They exchanged a quick handshake.

      “I hear you’re scheduled to make partner before the year is out.” Clint had nudged a few contacts last night in addition to his internet research. Farago was on his way up at this esteemed firm. Good for him. He’d done his time. Going on eight years now. Still, Clint couldn’t СКАЧАТЬ