18 May 2012
Brandy leaned up against the wall, one foot raised, the sole of his shoe pressed against the brick. He removed a silver lighter from the inside of his grey jacket, removed a packet of cigarettes from his trouser pocket and lit one. He took a long, deep draw, the end of the cigarette briefly glowing in the dark night.
He was standing under a bridge which carried cars, and either side there was road with streetlights, but under the bridge it was dark, and Brandy appreciated darkness, especially considering the recently demised body at his feet, concealed in shadow.
Brandy took another draw from his cigarette, and then let it hang at his side between two fingers. Brandy didn't really need to smoke, but after a killing it helped calm him, and shroud his conscience in smoke.
He could hear running coming from his right. He looked, without turning his head. Chances were he hadn't been seen, and moving could reveal his position. It was Benson, the new recruit at the office. Brandy gave a small shift of his hand, a sort of disinterested wave.
"Ah, Inspector Brandy, sir!" Benson said cheerfully. "Mr Pole was looking for you, Inspector." Brandy nodded. Benson looked down. He could see the body, that was clear. "Is he...dead?"
"Yes."
"Do you know who did it?"
"Me."
"Ah."
Benson stood awkwardly for a moment, not quite sure how to react, while Brandy took another calm draw of his cigarette. "I'll just tell Mr Pole you're coming, sir, shall I?"
Brandy nodded, then added "Probably best if you don't mention this to him," he said while pointing at the body. "Not yet."
Benson nodded. "Understood, Inspector." At this, Benson turned briskly around and jogged hastily back to the office.
Benson stood for a few moments in deep thought, then dropped his cigarette and stamped it out. He walked briskly in the direction Benson had gone, leaving the man with the bullet in his brain lying there, a little present for the police on the morning shift.
It took Brandy all of ten minutes to reach the office, a smart little building with the words 'The Independent Office of Legitimate Investigations' in large, highly-polished brass letters. Brandy opened the door, causing a little bell to ring, and stepped inside.
It was dark. It wasn't the cheeriest of places in day, with Mr Pole being the tightest man alive so the heating was never on and the lights almost always off. The dark green carpets and brown wallpaper didn't help the atmosphere.
Brandy trotted up a set of stairs and turned left, went to the end of the corridor and reached a wooden door with a brass plaque that read, in daylight, Chief Auditor of the Office. That was Mr Pole. Brandy knocked, waited, and a slow yet strong voice called "enter." Brandy did.
Inside was slightly lighter than the rest of the office, with a single lamp on the desk switched on. In the left hand corner was a bookshelf that covered off the left wall and a quarter of the back. Behind the desk sat an old, slightly portly man in an official suit befitting of his role. "Take a seat," Mr Pole ordered. Brandy did.
"Mr Benson has told me of the outcome of your little errand. I am well aware of your fiery temper, Donald, but I didn't expect you to kill the chap." So Benson had grassed on him after all. "However, it is, rather luckily for you, more convenient than I could have hoped. Mr Singh gave me telephone call not more than an hour ago, to insist that the subject of your investigation be executed. I informed him that we are investigators, not assassins, and that it would be a crime for me to order such an act. But, as you did it of your own accord, the only person to blame is you. From the evidence you presented in the report you put on my desk this morning, I'm sure we can wriggle you out of this one this time, thus doing everyone a favour."
Mr Pole sat there for a moment, looking carefully at Brandy through the circular spectacles on the end of his nose. "I have another mission for you, something a bit larger. However, it isn't usually your area of expertise. It's a social event. All you have to do is tell them you're there on my behalf, laugh at the hosts jokes, and eat their first class food. Think you can manage that?" Brandy grunted. He hated social parties. "Good. The details will be in your pigeon hole tomorrow morning. The lunch starts at one. Good luck. Goodnight, Donald."
Brandy stood. "Goodnight, sir." He turned around, left the office, and shut the door behind him.
BRANDY-Chapter One • Opuss № I