Henry Wood Detective: Boxed Set (Books 1 - 4)

by Brian Meeks

  3 leaned closer. “7th floor. Got it.”

  “So what is the office number?”

  “You are very annoying. It looks like 718.”

  “Very good.”

  “Very annoying.”

  “Listen, you need to buck up. I have no idea how this is going to go. The attitude stays here,” he said it in a tone that 3 didn’t question.

  “Sorry. Let’s go. Do we drink the tea if they offer it?”

  “I’ll drink first, and you pretend. If I fall off my chair, do your best to throttle the director. After that, well, you’ll be shot, but it’ll make Enclave history.”

  “Yeah, but I’m the asshole who let you take the first drink.”

  “I know,” 2 said, smiling.

  They took the elevator to the seventh floor. Offices lined both sides of the hallway, but all the numbers were odd. On their immediate left was 701. Across from it was 703. The hallway finished with 717 and 719.

  “Maybe the screw got turned, and it’s one of these?”

  2 didn’t think so but saw no harm in trying the knobs. Neither one opened, then he chuckled. “I think we have found the door.” He ran his hand under the edge of the credenza and found a small button. The end of the hallway swung open. They walked into a small room with a single door. The brass plate read “718.”

  “Do we knock?” 3 asked.

  2 used the traditional knock. A metallic click let them know it was okay to enter. The next room contained two doors. The one on the left had a sign “Emergency Exit” on it, and the other “Emergency Check-In.”. They took the right door, which led to a hall that seemed to head back to where 703 was. 2 knocked on the last door, which had a brass plate on it that read “The Director.”

  The Director sat behind a desk made of concrete in a room made entirely of concrete. On the right side of the room, a large obelisk highlighted the fact that the ceiling was 16 feet high.

  “Gentlemen, please have a seat.”

  “Thank you, Director,” 2 said. They both took their seats.

  “I’m reminded of a time in Jakarta, or Batavia, as it was known in ‘32 when our third wealthiest benefactor needed a bit of help with a local businessman who had gotten out of hand. It was a warm day, bordering on unpleasant, as the rains had cooled the temperature but the humidity was now oppressive. Quite typical for that time of year really.

  “The businessman had a half-brother he was only moderately fond of, so it seemed reasonable to use him to send a message. Agents 51 and 73 were supposed to deliver the .45 calibre incentive to his temple and drop off a politely worded message that his children would be next were he not to behave. Sadly, the half-brother bore a striking resemblance to the businessman, and 51 shot him instead. This resulted in a near revolution as the businessman had many loyal followers. Our benefactor could not have been more displeased and it took us nearly ten years to settle the accounts of that mess.”

  2, who was accustomed to waiting for the director to finish, took a deep breath and was about to mount a defense when the director held up a finger.

  “Both associates let me down terribly. This example bears zero resemblance to the unfortunate series of events that led to your decision not to check in.”

  A woman neither 2 or 3 had seen before appeared from behind the obelisk with a tea set. The director paused to let her serve. He didn’t ask if they wanted tea. She set three cups on a Lazy Susan and poured.

  The director made no move to drink the tea but continued with his monologue, “I have been doing this for longer than either of you could guess and, considering our strict guidelines for entry and the almost unreasonable expectations we have with regards to completing missions, I’m quite sure you did what you thought was best. I’m also sure I’d have done the same. Tea?”

  2 hesitated for the briefest of moments, then reached for the cup. The director noticed the look on 3’s face and held up another finger. “Before we enjoy our tea, let me get something to show you. I’ll be but a moment.” He stood, gave the lazy Susan a spin, and disappeared behind the obelisk.

  2 and 3 both let out the breaths they had been holding. Neither one said a thing; they just watched the cups spin around and around. The cups stopped, and, at that moment, the director returned with a small, wooden box. He sat down and without hesitation took a sip of his tea. 2 and 3 joined him.

  “Now, since we’ve gotten past the last mission, let me say I think you both deserve a couple of extra weeks of vacation, but I’ll not be able to let you take them until after one more task.”

  Two facts lifted the spirits of 2 and 3 higher than they had been in years. They were both drinking tea and not dying, and the lives they cherished were to be exactly as they left them.

  “This box has a story, one I haven’t thought about in over 40 years,” the director said, pausing in such a way that 2 knew it was his turn to talk.

  “The tea is delicious. Thank you. We’re eager to help any way we can. What is the story of the box?”

  “In 1915, near Moscow, we were involved in an operation for our own benefit. There were over a dozen associates involved and close to 300 civilians who had benefited from our benevolence. It was a complex affair and rather risky, but the potential benefit was deemed worthy of the considerable risk. For close to a month, the gears of change were driven by our civilians and associates. People went missing while others were enriched, and all without a hitch. That is, until the last piece of the puzzle was about to be slid into place.

  “The key subject of our operation suddenly found himself rushed off to London via a very secret and circuitous route. Embarrassingly, we lost track of him. All was lost. At least, that was the assessment of senior management.” The director took another sip of tea and waited for encouragement to continue.

  3 didn’t hesitate. “What happened?”

  “The grandson of a man who had benefited and helped the Enclave more than a hundred years earlier noticed a mark on a building. He remembered the stories of his grandfather and curiosity got the better of him. He found his way into an Enclave office, something that had never been allowed and was able to hear the briefest part of a conversation before he was detained. His life was nearing an end, except that he was clever. He had just that day been involved in a briefing about the very man we had lost. He explained how he had found his way in, who his grandfather was, and where the man was at that very moment. He also knew the man’s schedule for the following two days. Within a day, we had the resources in place to finish our little project, and, for the first time in Enclave history, we had an outstanding debt.”

  2 and 3 were on the edges of their chairs. Their cups of tea were suspended in time, waiting to be drunk. 2 asked softly, “What happened next?”

  “Nothing, that is, until about an hour ago. This box was delivered, and I have no idea what is inside but I know that whatever it contains, it is the marker being called in by the son of that man 40 years ago. There isn’t a request that can be made that we won’t devote all our energies to grant.”

  3 said, “Wow.” It was a childlike response and normally would have been looked upon with disdain by the director, but he felt the same way. “Wow, indeed,” he echoed.

  The director pulled a chain from around his neck and removed a silver key. He turned it in the lock. The click sounded weighty in the concrete office. He lifted the lid, looked at the two men, shrugged and spun the box around.

  “It’s a clay pig,” said 3 with a mixture of disappointment and confusion.

  The director spun the box back around and removed the pig from the velvet interior. “It is, and I think it’s from the Ming Dynasty. It’s very old and rather valuable, I’d imagine, but not at all what I expected.”

  2 asked, “Is there anything else?”

  “It doesn’t look like it.”

  2 had a flash of an idea. “So the pig is a clue or...may I see the pig?”

  The director handed it to him, unhappy with his level of bafflement, but this was n
o time for pride. The most important marker in Enclave history was being called and if 2 could figure it out, good for him.

  2 gently ran his fingers all over the pig, across it’s back, the underside of the feet, and the belly. “Here, feel this, Director. There is a small hole on the belly of the pig. It’s hard to see, but I can feel it.”

  The director ran his hands over the pig and said, “I believe you are right, so I guess the message is inside.”

  He raised his hand and 3 yelped, “No, it’s...”

  “Yes, 3, it’s a priceless artifact that was deemed expendable many years ago.” The pig shattered, and a tiny roll of paper fell on the desk.

  The director unfurled the paper, read it, and smiled. “Okay, it appears this is merely the location of the task to be performed, which makes sense, considering that he had no idea what his son might need when he put the pig in the box.” He handed the note to 2 All three men stood and shook hands. “Come back here as soon as you have the instructions.”

  * * *

  The afternoon editions of the papers ran headlines that had the captain fielding calls from anyone who felt like kicking a man who was down. The stories were all the same and hinted, without outright claiming, that there had been a conspiracy to hide the existence of a serial killer from the press. The theme was that cops were incompetent and cared more about their reputations than the safety of John Q. Public. The captain’s name was mentioned frequently; Henry’s name was slipped in towards the end; and the Mayor’s reputation seemed to be in contention for hammering in future editions. Bad as it was, the captain knew it was the calm before the media storm.

  All of this was relayed to a phone at the major’s table. The major hung up with a deep satisfaction. “Today didn’t go as I had planned, but my backup plan worked better than I could have hoped.”

  “When I got the call, I did exactly as you said.”

  “You did well, my friend.”

  “Thank you.”

  A waiter appeared, and the major ordered another bottle. “I feel like celebrating.”

  “What’s next for me?”

  “Just focus on my defense and keeping me out of jail. I would like you to arrange for me to mostly be in the company of influential people over the next few days.”

  “For alibis?”

  The major didn’t answer. He took a bite of his steak and when the waiter arrived asked for coffee in fifteen minutes. He picked the phone back up and dialed. “Yes. Have they tossed my place yet?”

  “No, but I’m expecting something eventually, sir.”

  “What about the apartment?”

  “To the best of my knowledge, they haven’t found it yet. Regardless, it has been sanitized, and a reasonable amount of dust was added to show you’ve not been there.”

  “Well done. What about the press?”

  “We have four anonymous sources scheduled to feed the press just as you instructed.”

  “How is business going?”

  “I don’t think there will be any side effects from this morning.”

  “Thanks,” the major said and hung up.

  The manager of the restaurant stopped at the table. “How was your meal, sir?”

  “I found it to be excellent,” he said and looked at his attorney.

  “Very good, thanks.”

  “Will you gentlemen be needing any dessert?”

  “My friend here will not be staying, but I’ll have the usual.”

  “Very well, I’ll let our dessert hostess know. She’ll be right over.”

  The attorney dabbed his mouth with his napkin and stood. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Again, well done today.”

  The attorney stole a glance at the blonde bombshell making a b-line for the table and left.

  “Hello, Major,” said the blonde. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ll have the cheesecake.”

  She took his hand, curtsied, and led him to a hallway and stairs in the back. He’d been there before, and she knew what he liked.

  * * *

  Henry walked through the door, and the smells of pot roast, fresh bread, and cake filled his nose and heart. The kiss from Luna was even better.

  “How you doing? You look beat.”

  “Looks can be deceiving, but, in this case, you have correctly judged this book by its cover.”

  “You always get wordy when you’re exhausted.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. Now go wash up; I’ll get you a beer.”

  Henry did as he was told. The bathroom seemed cleaner than he remembered, which would have been troubling if he had been less tired, but he wasn’t about to criticize the woman who had made cake. As he dried his hands, he asked, “Did you check the closet?”

  “Yes, it was empty.”

  Henry sat down at the kitchen table and started to nibble on his salad. The beer was cold, wonderful, and likely to be followed by another very soon. “I’m sure you want to hear the whole story, but I don’t think I’ve got the energy.”

  Luna said, “It’s okay,” but looked disappointed.

  “There is something I want to pass by you, though.”

  “What is that?”

  “A reporter came to see me. His questions were odd. I called Francis, and he said the guy is a real weasel.”

  “You get interviewed all the time after you solve a case.”

  “Yes, but the papers usually send over people I know. I don’t think he was assigned to do an interview but was digging on his own.”

  “What could he be digging for?”

  “I just don’t know.”

  “Sorry, Henry, I can’t say I have any ideas, either. How’s the pot roast?”

  “Delicious. Thanks. You really didn’t need to do all of this, but I’m very glad you did.”

  They ate and talked about Mr. Palmeroy as his funeral arrangements had been made. Henry found his second wind when she took the chocolate cake out of the oven and told her how he nabbed the major.

  After dinner, Henry went down to the shop while Luna did the dishes. He wasn’t really working on any projects, but he grabbed a piece of scrap wood and his Stanley no. 5 for a bit of practice hand planing. It helped him relax and clear his head. If he didn’t, despite his exhaustion, it would be hard for him to get to sleep. He desperately needed sleep.

  Luna finished the dishes and quietly took a seat at the top of the stairs to the basement. Henry noticed, but let her think she was being sneaky. The curls of cedar peeled out of the hand plane. The shop smelled wonderful. Henry was just about satisfied that his mind was at rest when he heard a pop come from the closet.

  Luna gasped. Henry looked at her. Neither of them said a word. She eased down the stairs and stood behind him.

  Luna whispered, “Did something just appear?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Should we look inside?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  Neither of them moved.

  CHAPTER 90

  The moment their feet hit the sidewalk, an almost giddy 3 said, “It’s good to be home.”

  “Home?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I was having my doubts that we’d ever make things right with the director.”

  “It’s a relief, that’s for sure. Now, let’s find a cab.”

  “It isn’t that far. We could walk.”

  “I’d rather get it in the director’s hands as soon as possible.”

  “Fair enough,” 3 said. He gave an ear-piercing whistle that brought a checker to the curb in front of them.

  2 said to the cabby, “Straight ahead six blocks and turn right, then two more.”

  The cabbie shrugged. “That’s all? You could walk.”

  2 handed him a ten and said, “We’re in a hurry.”

  The cabbie hit the gas, cut off a bread truck, and yelled something akin to an apology. The bread truck driver yelled something that fell short of acceptance.

  The yellow-checkered cab wov
e between two sedans, darted past a motorcycle, and drove through two consecutive green lights. The third light was red well before he arrived, but a bus driver was a little slow on the gas. It gave him an opportunity, and he gunned it.

  3, impressed, said, “Nice move, fella.”

  2 looked at 3 with an expression of concern.

  3 laughed “What? You said you wanted to get there quickly.”

  The next couple of blocks were relatively free of near-death moments, and the cabbie gunned it around the corner, only hinting at having brakes. 2 only took another breath after the car slammed to a stop.

  “Is this where you wanted to be, Mac?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  The cabbie nodded. “Fast enough for you?”

  3 handed him another five. “If you’d care to get this speedster turned around and wait for us, we’d love a ride back in a few minutes.”

  “Will do. I’ll keep the engine running.”

  The address was clear and neither of them questioned why they were walking into a women’s lingerie shop with the sign in the window, Stockings and Brassieres for the Upscale Lady.

  A woman talking with the sales lady, a brunette, looked at them with suspicion, but they ignored her. The brunette smiled. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

  2 and 3 spent the next five minutes knee deep in a pool of awkward silence. The brunette was movie star pretty, so it was rude to look at her too much, but the shop didn’t have too many places where they could focus their attention without coming off like creepy, old men. At least, that’s what 2 thought. 3 was less prone to consider such things and tried to lob a smile at the sales lady. She caught it and sent one right back. 3 was having much more fun than 2.

  The woman was still browsing and gave them another concerned look as the brunette joined them and asked, “How may I help you, gentlemen? Looking for something for the wife or girlfriend?” She smiled at 3.

  3 said, “Oh, I’m single, so no girlfriend or wife, but..”

  2 saw where the conversation was going. “Miss, we were given a message to speak with a woman named Jenny. We were told she would be expecting us.”