“Start with the obvious, what is on the desk?” Tony asked.
I stared at the neat stacks standing perimeter around the blotter. “You know, this would be a whole lot easier if I was able to use both hands.”
“True, but then I would miss out on your running commentary. So… please be descriptive.”
“Fine, fine.” I sighed. I started reading off what I was seeing. “There are three folders in a pile to the right, there are two more to the left. There are a couple of stacks of miscellaneous papers around the blotter.”
“Go left first, those are cases that are closed.” Tony said.
“Top one, some numbers at the top, Ramsey vs Authority underneath.”
“Skip it.”
“Bottom one, random numbers, Viridian vs OKI.”
“Skip that one too. Both of those were low stakes, minor cases. What about the upcoming pile?”
“Read the tabs? Top to bottom?” I asked.
“Go ahead.”
“PrimEstates vs Authority; V. Hale; and Miles vs Takai.”
“The last one I know about, seemed to be minor, I am surprised it is still open. The top ones must have usurped their order. Put those on the blotter… What about the stacks of paper above the blotter?”
“Hmmm. Two stacks. The first stack looks like bills. Seriously?”
“Yes, still accounts payable and receivable off prime.”
“Now that is just plain retarded.” I shook my head. “Everything is different, but it all stays the same.”
“Hey kid, I am a thousand or so subjective years older than you, and I still think the same thing. So no surprise there.”
“The other pile is two notes. The first is…” I picked it up and read it aloud. “Contact Charles Markoff, need signature for PrimEstates. The other is symbol of a angel? A black angel shape, kind of like six arm cross surrounded by a large circle. Looks like a simplified Da Vinci; Study of Man sketch-thingy.”
“That odd. That is the Angelus mark. Is it printed on the paper?”
“No. Looks drawn in, with a pen or something.”
“Really?” Tony said with some surprise.
“Really. It is definitely drawn by hand, I can see the pen strokes. The circle looks uneven too.”
“Huh. Anything else?”
“No, that is it.”
“No it isn’t.” Tony said smugly. “Lift the blotter.”
I pulled the edge of the blotter up and saw the edge of a scrap of torn paper. “There is a torn paper here, like the corner of a bigger page. How did you know?”
Tony’s voice ignored me. “Any writing on it?””
“Yes, scribbles almost. Like a shaky hand was writing it.” I said.
“Or a drunk hand. You said I was acting like I was drunk right?”
“Yeah, sloshed. Out of a little flask thing.”
“The flask still there?” Tony asked oddly.
I pulled the chair out, and saw the flask laying on the ground under the shadow of the drawer. “Yep. I am not picking it up. This is all freaking me out a little.”
“Back to the scrap. The writing? Can you make it out?”
“Chil…Chill? Child? Child. Of? The. I can’t make the last word out. Almost looks like Los Angeles? LA?”
“Child of the Los Angeles?”
I flipped the paper over. “Hold on, more writing on the other side. Block writing… not the same. R-E-0-5-0-4. All caps.”
“Wish I could see what you are seeing.” Tony said. “For now, just hold on to the scrap.”
“How did you know about the paper under the blotter, Tony?” I asked a bit more assertively.
“That is where I stick things I am worried about. Out of sight, but not out of mind. It is a sorting method I use… I used.”
“What now?”
“We start working the cases. Time to get your feet wet, son. Have a seat and start reading the two you laid on the blotter.”
I started reading the cases as best I could, but the gun kept looking at me. The flickering of the bullets was distracting, and it kept drawing my eye. I pulled my sleeve up to cover my hand and slid it gently into the center pen drawer. Out of site, and hopefully out of mind. Then I picked up the briefs and tried my hand at objective reading. While some of it made absolutely no sense, that content seemed small in comparison to what I thought I grasped. The briefs read like technical documentation describing people and events in relatively concise terms… they were not overly laden with confusing legalese.
When I was done, I dropped them both with a heavy sigh. I ‘understood’ the two cases from a topical point of view, but I didn’t see how they mattered to anything regarding the death of my little companion’s owner sitting in the map, waiting for me to come back. I was about to pick up the map when there was knock at my door. I stood warily and walked as quietly as I could over to the door. I took a deep breath and pulled it open.
Framed by the doorway was one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen in my life. I thought I could kiss the guy, and I was straight in my past life. He was that handsome. Alluring. Downright exuding sexual tension.
“Who are you?” He asked. His voice was velvety smooth scotch caressing my consciousness.
“Doug.” I said stiffly. The guy just smirked.
“Nice to meet you Doug. About time Anthony got himself an assistant. When will he be back?”
“Oh… not for a while. Something I can help you with… Mr…” I led.
“No need for Mr or Mrs here, Doug. My name is Oman. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Can you do me a favor and have him contact me when he gets back? He owes me a call.”
“Yes, of course, O… Oman.”
“Tell him that I most interested in his thoughts on my problem.”
“What case is this related to?” I asked curiously.
“No case. Just a separate inquiry. A private matter.” He smiled, like a patient father. It did something odd to his face though, he lost some of the pure lust inducing power he was radiating before. He looked more paternal. I could feel the pressure of his presence change. It wasn’t lost on me… so I reacted.
“Stop it.” I said.
“Stop what?” He said penitently.
“Stop that. First the sex symbol thing, and now the father thing.”
“Ah ha.” He smiled widely. “You are an Adjudicator. That means… Anthony is no longer with us, is he?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I lied.
“And you can lie without fear to me. Definitely an Adjudicator. In that case, a reintroduction is in order.” He flourished a deep bow, and I immediately felt all the waves of influence fall away. “I am Oman, Order of the Angelus, Freed and Unbound.”
He stood back up and while he was still handsome, and some ways, a traditional cut of a mature father figure, he was far more ordinary. Regal, and striking, yes, but not the impossible thing he was before.
“My name is Doug Gates.”
“I know, Doug. Your name is on the door. I just wanted to make sure.”
“Ah. The door.” I slapped my forehead. “It has my name all over it.”
Oman let a sly grin slip, a bit of teeth revealed. “Yes. Yes, it does. And now you have to assist me. Since that is your job now, Mr. Gates.”
“Help with what exactly?” I asked.
“Perhaps I can show you?”
“Right now?”
“Right now.” He grabbed my shoulder with barely a hint of movement, and he stepped away before I could even protest or try to grab my map.
A single word came to mind.
Shit.