AN: I know the poor man doesnt get enough attention, but I freaking LOVE Pendergast! He is so awesome! I do not own, sadly, cuz if I did, I would be keeping him all to myself MUAHAHAHAHAHA! Enjoy!
Vincent D'agosta, all things considered, was having a great day. He had arrived in New Orleans three hours ago to visit his friend Pendergast and had ate a wonderful Cajun lunch with a glass of local beer (waiting an hour before driving, of course), and was now headed to Pendergast's house. Granted, his eccentric friend lived half out in the boonies, but that was forgivable since the scenery was beautiful. He was even an hour early. D'agosta took another quick look at the map Pendergast had emailed him and took another turn.
Pendergast's sure got it good out here, the lucky bastard, D'agosta thought with a smile. Soon the huge old-style mansion came into view. Proctor, Pendergast's butler, was talking to another man who seemed to be a gardener. The gardener excused himself when D'agosta pulled up.
"Hello Mr. D'agosta," Proctor bowed politely as D'agosta stepped out of his car. "Mr. Pendergast is inside, if you will follow me." D'agosta followed Proctor past the huge front doors and through the opulent manor. D'agosta found the manor was just as he imagined it - as fancy and eccentric as the FBI agent himself. Proctor stopped inside a tastefully sparse drawing room, where D'agosta saw Pendergast, black Italian suit and all (did the man own any other clothes?), doing something with a few filing boxes of what looked like paperwork (So he does do paperwork, D'agosta thought). Proctor politely ducked out of the room as Pendergast stood up, smoothing his suit.
"Ah, Vincent!' Pendergast smiled, "I'm so glad you could make it. I trust your trip was pleasant?"
"Yeah, great, actually. You live in a hell of a place, Pendergast; much more beautiful than New York."
"Thank you," Pendergast looked delighted.
"What's with the boxes?" D'agosta gestured to the large boxes on the floor. There were six of them, all full to bursting, with dividers to apparently separate the different types of paperwork.
"Ah, that's just old document's I've been re-filing. I meant to have this put away before you arrived, but I hadn't anticipated you being so early."
"Sorry about that. Need any help with it?"
"That's not necessary; the filing is finished." D'agosta insisted on at least helping put the boxes away. Pendergast smiled and thanked him as the each carried a box out of the room and down the hall. The boxes were heavy as hell, and from what D'agosta could tell, they contained everything Pendergast could possibly have documented; one chunk of the box he was carrying had copies of old case files, another had things like birth and death certificates, marriage licenses and the occasional divorce license, documents of legal insanity, and on and on and on. It took half an hour to move all six boxes. As they came back to the drawing room, D'agosta spotted something on the floor; a single envelope, slightly yellowed with age. D'agosta picked it up off the floor.
"Hey, Pendergast, I think something fell out of one of the boxes." He looked at the front. I was addressed to Pendergast, but had never been opened. "The date says 1997."
"Six years ago, a year after I got married…" Pendergast looked a bit perplexed. "But I've never seen this envelope before." D'agosta handed Pendergast the envelope, a bit sad for his friend, who had lost his dear wife to some sort of accident. Pendergast was about to open the envelope when Proctor alerted them that dinner was ready. Pendergast slipped the envelope in his suit's inner pocket.
"I shall read this later. For now, let's eat." D'agosta nodded and followed Pendergast out of the room, wondering what in the world could be in the strange, six-year-old envelope.
I wonder whats in the envelope DUN DUN DUN. Lol, review please!