Flawless - The Epitome Of Perfection

[maithree]

Thank You! Thank You!

Well here is the next....It's kinda slow, but it has a good ending I think.

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The Cocktail Alley looked just as bad on the inside as it did on the outside. Dull jazz music played from a far off corner and a fog of cigarette smoke burned my eyes. I walked around an overturned table towards the bar where a burned out bum sat on a stool napping. His head rested on the counter and a small puddle of drool collected near his mouth. I took a seat next to him and looked around for anyone else. Except for us, the bar was empty. A plate clattered in the back and a man wearing an apron walked out. He saw me and took his place behind the counter.
“What can I get you?” he asked with a half smile.
“Some information.” The smile disappeared.
“Are you a Cop?”
“I'm not a cop. I just want to ask about a guy who might have came by recently.”
“Well in that case I didn't see them. So you're out of luck aren't you?” he replied with a smirk. A snort came from the bum next to us. I pulled a hundred from my pocket and laid it down on the counter. His eyes dropped to the bill. “Hmm. Maybe I did. What'd he look like?”
“Short guy, well built. Perhaps he had a friend.” The bum raised his head off the counter.
"Eh...I saw someone like that. He-he was short right? Sunglasses?" I glanced at the Bartender.
“Keep talking.”
“Wasn't he with uh-that doctor who always comes by? D-donald. No that wasn't it. Uh-“ He looked up at the ceiling for a minute.
"David. There you go. Don't know his last name though."
"David Wells. I know him. Regular here. Like this guy." The bartender cut back in, eager not to be left out on the hundred.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"Yeah. Comes by on Wednesdays." The bum forgot about the conversation and put his head back on the counter.
"Know where he lives?"
"I don't know, do I?" He replied, letting his eyes dip once at the money. I pulled out another hundred and slapped it down.
"I think you do."
"Hold on." He bent down beneath the counter and came back up with a black booklet. After a minute of flipping pages he stopped and copied down an address on a napkin. I didn't ask how he had it. How did he have it? I have no idea.
"Here it is." He handed it to me. Then he bent down to put the book away. I left the two bills on the counter and walked out of The Cocktail Alley. As the door slammed behind me again I walked to the street and stood on the Sidewalk for a few minutes wondering where I might find a Cab. Two busses and three cars drove by. A blue sports car, silver station wagon, and a black Sedan. I spotted a yellow Taxi about a block away. “TAXI!!” I yelled and the driver looked out of his window.

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The place was on the other side of the city on Church St. I drove past drugstores, restaurants, and the crooked street -- after awhile I found myself in Noe Valley. David Wells wasn’t very far away now. His office was on the second story of a quiet four way street. It was traditional San Francisco, with a Victorian touch to it. I guessed it was built almost a hundred years ago. There were no plaques or anything to identify it as an office. Maybe the address he gave me was fake. Maybe I'd have to go back and show him the barrel. The stairs leading up were on the side in the alley between it and the neighboring house. I sprinted up them and slowed when I got to the door. Then I was in a small room. To my left was a desk cluttered with papers and a woman whom I’d take for being in her mid thirties sat tapping at a typewriter. The walls were covered in pictures; some in color, some in black and white. Across from me was a black leather couch. A magazine rested on it. Next to the couch was a door with a small glass window at chest level. The woman looked up.
"May I help you sir?" she asked.
"Here for Dr. Wells." I replied.
"Appointment?"
"No."
"He's out right now. He won't be back till the afternoon." I looked through the small glass window. Nobody was there.
“Afternoon huh? That’s another hour and a half, to two hours.” I said with a frown.
“Yes, it is.” She smiled and nodded. “May I know what this is concerning?”
“I’m an old friend of his….um….I’d like to see him today because..um…I’m only in town for a couple of days.” I said.
“Oh..Okay, What is you’re name?” She asked.
“Um….Carl Watson.” I blurted the name of the Limo Driver. She jotted it down on a notepad and looked up at me.
“I’ll let him know that you were here.” She said. I nodded and walked out. I went down the stairs and looked around. The cold breeze ran through my body. I took a deep breath and looked around. There was a black Buick Sedan parked about a half a block from where I was standing. I took another breath and walked towards a Coffee shop about a block away on the opposite side. Friscan Café. I ordered a cup of Coffee but didn’t drink any, sat by the window and waited for Dr. Wells to come back to his Office.

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At quarter to One a silver Mercedes pulled inside the parking lot and a middle aged man with fuzzy balding red hair got out and adjusted his black suit. Was it Dr. Wells? He pulled a silver briefcase out of the Mercedes and went up the stairs to Well’s Office. It was. I put a Five Dollar bill on the table and went to meet him.

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"I'm going to ask you to leave sir."
"Well thanks for asking, but I think I'll just wait in his office if you don't mind." The direct approach. She stood up.
"Hey! You can't go in there!" She said as I pushed the door open. David Wells was a short man with fuzzy red hair. He could pass for mid thirties but I sensed he was a little older. His office was big with a large bay window looking out over the street. You could see the Golden Gate Bridge. The walls and his desk were crowded with pictures and marketing bippies. He sat reading a paper in a tall swivel chair. Opposite from him in the corner was a big leather recliner. It matched the couch. I turned around and closed the door. The secretary rapped her palm against the window.
"Dr. Wells! I'm sorry but I couldn't get him to leave! I'm going to call the police!" Dr.Wells looked Confused.
"Laura, I don't think that's necessary. Just continue with what you were doing." He called back. Laura watched me through the window as she backed up to her desk. I gave her a quick wave goodbye and strode over to Dr. Well's desk. He shrunk back from me like I was the boogeyman.
"Hello Dr. Wells."
"Hello..M-may I help you?" His hand was frantically shaking and his lips trembled.
"I think you can." I pulled the ID card I got from the chaffuir and slapped in on the desk. He flinched at the sound. He was scared and he knew.
“I’m not quite sure…” he said looking at the picture.
“Why did I find this on a man who tried to kill me at the airport? And why was he seen speaking to you at the Cocktail Alley?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I’m talking about the guy who pump 6 bullets into my chest!” I put my palms on his desk and brought my face closer to his. “A guy I think you know very well." He shook his head a few times. His eyes looked like a deer's in the headlights of a car. "Better give me something..." I said looking deep into his eyes. He paused, took a deep breath, and composed himself.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you're here. The chances that he would have succeeded were minimal." He said while staring down at the desk. Then he looked back up. "I sent that man to kill you Mr. Parker."

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