A man's hat

[Ludens]

Very interesting, SwordsMaster. I especially like the way you use the surroundings to create the atmosphere.

Please continue.

[SwordsMaster]

Very interesting, SwordsMaster. I especially like the way you use the surroundings to create the atmosphere.

Please continue.

Thanks

Here is chapter 1 for your enjoyment

****************************************

Chapter 1


Thin Lizzy insisted that the boys were back in town on the Jag’s sound system as we drove effortlessly through the late evening traffic making our way back towards the centre of the city from the more industrial area on the south-west where our interview took place. Somehow the man underneath the Australian hat seemed pleased with the fact that we had something to do – not because his chatter was anything but non-existent, mind you – but his spirits seemed to be higher than they were in the office.

Described in one word, the gentleman who interviewed us was sharp. Described in two words, he was not sharp. He was dressed in a fitted suit but you could see that he was uncomfortable wearing it, as if he was forced to for many years, but still wasn’t feeling quite free in it. I know that expression very well, because it’s the same my partner has whenever he has to wear a tie and keep his sleeves down. The expression of a gambler not quite sure if his bluff was through.

What this gentleman asked us to do was to find a woman and her daughter that turned out to be his daughter too. Actually what he wanted us to find was the daughter, with the woman being a necessary evil as she had the legal custody of the child.

The child in question wasn’t a child anymore, she turned 18 and the father wanted to know if now that she was old enough to decide by herself, she would like to move in with him. The problem – and that’s where we kick in – was that neither the address nor the phone number he had with their last known location were valid anymore as several postal notices informed him over the last few months.

Rebecca de-Clare was the name of the young lady. Marianne Galante was the name of the old lady, and Ismael de-Clare was our employer. Or customer. Same difference.

The conversation didn’t flow until after a decent dinner at a centric Japanese restaurant full of trendy couples having some food before filling their stomachs with alcohol and other many and varied drugs available in night Amsterdam.

- So how’d you get the job? – I managed with my mouth full of noodles.
- I googled it. – was the answer. At least he was talking now.
- You know, it’s not my fault you are in a bad mood so why am I suffering the consequences? – this was starting to feel like a marriage.

- We are not married, are we? – Sometimes I wonder if he actually is psychic.

I decided this wasn’t going anywhere and concentrated on the noodles. It was just pointless. We knew each other too well and for too long a time. I know why he was in a bad mood. His girlfriend for a year just left the city and moved back to Wisconsin – don’t know whose fault that was – but I could tell he wasn’t happy about it. For a second I thought about calling her to see if she changed her mind, but then remembered I didn’t have her number and asking him for her ex’s number just a week after they broke up was just plain wrong.

- Are you going to have those? – I pointed. He just shook his head and I reached for the plate.

The waitress, an attractive Japanese woman, came around to ask if everything was fine and my partner gave her a smile and said it was. He was definitely in a better mood than in the morning. Must be the Japanese food. Or the prospect of enrichment through finding that de-Clare lady. Or my company. Yeah, right.

-What’s the plan for the job, then? – Oh, he was talking. His unbearable chatter.

- What we always do. Have a look in the internet and the yellow pages first, then go visit the places, rule out the ones that are impossible and then see what happens. – He’d done it before. Maybe he drank too much last night?
- I know. But are we looking for both of them together or separately? Are we looking in Amsterdam only or in Europe or everywhere in the world? Cause it is going to take us some time if they’re in the middle of Nepal…- He had done it before after all and actually had a point.

-Hmm, yeah. I say we start with Amsterdam and then see where that brings us. – That seemed like the most logical solution. We would start looking at them separately to increase our chances and then rule out the most unlikely combinations.

He chewed a “Sure” and fell silent again.

The Japanese waitress came again with the desserts selection and then again with the bill. We looked at each other in a willpower competition. Finally I got my wallet out. I’ll get back to you on this. My partner smiled a satisfied smile and finished his coffee.

Bastard.

[Ludens]

Excellent. Please go on .

[SwordsMaster]

Thanks, sorry for not updating, major exam coming. Will update sometime this week.

[SwordsMaster]

Well, sorry about the delay. Real Life was busy. Here's chapter 2


Chapter 2


I screamed as I stapled my index finger. Playing with the stapler while searching for a file on the hard drive of my PC was not the smartest thing I’ve done today. The stapler was one of those models that didn’t open so I had to twist the staple before managing to get it out of my finger, screaming obscenities in the process.

My partner got in with a coffee.
- Are you ok? – he asked in a calm voice.

I nodded with the finger in my mouth and tears rolling down my eyes. He left one of the coffees on my table, walked over to his desk and let his weight fall on the chair. The breeze had changed this morning and the smell from the coffee shop downstairs was less noticeable. It smelled like sea. That big green extension of salty water somewhere outside my window.

Back to the matter at hand, our search has been moderately successful. We found a few people with the names given to us, but they didn’t have apparent relation to each other. We had another couple of potential matches left to visit today, and the man with the hat was arranging the meeting on the phone.

Another meeting. We’ve met a dozen people over the last week but as I said none of them met all the criteria we needed. We were starting to consider moving out, and checking outside Amsterdam, but none of us wanted to make that call to the boss and acknowledge defeat. A minor one, but nothing to be proud of, none the less.

As my finger stopped bleeding and my tears dried, I looked back to the computer screen. Online White pages. France. Some 40 matches in Paris only. I could only guess how much time would it take us to check the rest of France, get rid of the most absurd cases and personally visit the rest. That’s why I had the feeling that one of the two people left in Amsterdam would give us a clue. Or, more accurately that was my wishful thinking.

- I hope one of these will give us something to work with – said my partner across the room. How does he do that?!
- Yeah. I was just thinking the same thing. – Maybe it was just professional deformation or something feng-shui related.
- I can see the tears in your eyes as you look at the Paris phone directory. – There was a grin on his face. The tears in my eyes had to do with me stapling my finger and not with the page, but in any case he was right. Going outside Holland, or, God forbid, Europe would ruin us just on phone bills. And that is extremely bad for business.

I put a plaster on my finger before leaving the office for the first meeting in the Haarlem area my partner has arranged in one of the cafes. So we took the N200 and headed West with enough time to make the five o’clock meeting. The cafe we were meeting in was in the Smedestraat area, so we managed to park nearby and walked the rest of the distance.

- It’s a female – said my partner showing an impressive deductive power. I nodded. Rebecca and Marianne – I remembered. Most likely female.

- How are we going to recognise them? – I asked. My partner made his polarized sunglasses flash in the evening sun as he turned towards me.

- They will. I described you to them meticulously. – How nice of him. Two women looking for me.

- You always so generous. – I replied only to watch him shrug and then grin.

- You know, I live to give. - I couldn’t tell which was more present, sarcasm or vanity.


Ten minutes later a well dressed lady sat in the seat in front of us.

- Good evening. – She said with a French accent. – I’m Marianne Galante.-

[Mouzafphaerre]

.
More, more, more!
.

[SwordsMaster]

Thanks Mouza



Chapter 3

Marianne Galante was 42, taller than average, well built, and fair haired. She had blue eyes and a friendly smile. Probably the combination of all those made my partner shift on his chair after her greeting. Or maybe it was professional interest. I couldn’t tell.

We introduced ourselves and offered her to choose something from the menu while we talked. Apparently she didn’t know the exact nature of our business, but my partner told her it was important and concerned an investigation about her family.

- We would like to talk about your daughter ms. Galante. – started my partner. Her smile disappeared and I deduced it was a subject close enough to grab her attention.

- My daughter. –She sighted. – Ok. What is it?

- Your ex-husband, Ismael de-Clare wanted to know if your daughter would like to move in with him, now that she has the legal age to decide for herself….

- How many times have you seen my ex-husband? – she interrupted with a hard note in her voice.

- Just once, but… - I started but she interrupted again.

-You don’t know anything about his life, then.- She said. We had to admit we didn’t.
- My daughter hasn’t seen him in years, and she is in an age when she might find attractive the kind of life he can offer her. – she paused for a second and sighted again. – Who am I kidding? Money is always attractive for us, girls, and especially when we are teenagers with a social life… -

My brain had worked out so many sarcastic and slightly chauvinistic jokes about that aspect of the female personality, that finding a woman that admitted to it herself left me blank

- …But I raised her myself, and call me selfish if you want, but I do not think he earned the right to call her his daughter after being absent from our lives for so long. – I was going to take up her offer of calling her selfish, but she kept on talking and I repressed my urge.

- …And the court didn’t grant him custody because of his gambling problems. – Gambling? I didn’t recall Ismael mentioning that during our interview and I felt my partner’s stare on me. Technically it wasn’t our business, but it could affect the outcome, so we should have looked into that before setting up the interview.

- Did he win? – I heard myself asking, completely out of place. I cursed myself internally for my lack of empathy.

- He did, occasionally. – I could tell she was slightly put off by my inopportune interruption. – But I don’t know much about that. He always tried to conceal it as much as possible if you know what I mean… - Oh, I knew. Gambling and losing is not something to be proud of. My partner had had the vice a few years ago.

- Is that why you got divorced? – My partner asked. Her expression changed subtly.
- In part, yes. – she said. We understood. It wasn’t of our business. Or, at this point maybe it was.

- So would you agree to allow us to talk to your daughter about it? – Back to business.

She thought about it for a while. Finally, after finishing her tea she looked at each one of us and shook her head slowly.

- No. I wouldn’t. – After that there was nothing left for us to do but nod, pay for the orders and leave after politely wishing her good night.


Both of us kept silent as we drove back to Amsterdam. We would report to Ismael tomorrow with our findings although the prospect of it made my mouth taste bitter. I didn’t like the idea.

- When did we start looking into family problems? – my partner’s voice was quiet and almost reflexive.

- When did you start getting sensitive about your job? – I countered.

He remained quiet almost until the end of the road. As we took a right, he looked at me again and replied so late I wasn’t expecting a reply anymore.

- When Sarah left me. – he said like a confession. Sarah was his ex-girlfriend from Wisconsin. For the first time I didn’t know what to say.

- I’m sorry. – I said.

After another pause he looked at me again. His tone was different.

- Is pizza good enough for dinner?-

[Mouzafphaerre]

.
More, more, more!
.