Back in the Game

Chapter One: Dennis Booker P.I.

'Dennis, Mr. Stirling wants to see you again this morning about this month's budget, Miss Rudd wants you to attend some charity event later on tonight; 'wear a suit', that's what it says here, and there's a client waiting for you in your office,' Elaine's verbal rampage went uninterrupted as Booker gingerly crossed the busy workplace towards his own office. He nodded to her to acknowledge that he had heard her, then continued in the general direction of his office. He stopped at the door, his hand on the handle and turned to her.

'Client?' He asked, his eyebrow rising in mild surprise. 'Like a real one?' When he turned around Elaine had gotten a good look at his face; he had new bruises on the ones from the other night and his eyes had even larger bags. He was obviously hung-over; the way he carried himself and squinted his eyes attested to that. And the noticeable lack of reaction to this ordinarily exciting news, gave him almost entirely away.

'Real… and rich, as far as I can tell. He looks really angry though, so watch yourself. Do you think you're feeling well enough for this? You don't look so hot,' Elaine answered his questions with one of her own. They couldn't afford to blow this, they had hardly been proving themselves capable of handling outside clients so far. Most of their outside cases had ended in financial loss, which, if you asked Chick, was worse than death. And their success rate, though high, was hardly drawing enough, well any, attention.

'What… sure, I'm fine, man. I feel great. I'm just tired. It's no problem. He'll just be in, tell me his problem and out again. And then... I can sleep.' He attempted to smile at her, though Elaine thought he only managed a slight grimace and turned the handle, letting himself into his office. Sitting in the chair in front of his desk was a tall man, with only slightly greying hair, and bigger bags under his eyes than the one observing him. He turned around quickly when he heard the door open and stood as Booker entered the room.

'Dennis Booker?' He enquired as he offered his hand to him. 'How do you do? I'm Russell Watson.' Booker reluctantly shook his hand, before swiftly sitting down behind the desk and indicating Mr. Watson to do the same. He resisted the urge to rest his head on the table, settling instead for holding his head up with his hand and turned bleary eyes on the older man.

'So, what can I do you for?' The question sounded cool and collected but his insides were a mess, his body rebelling from the excessive amount of alcohol forced into it. His head reeled and he had to blink several times to clear his vision, though the man sitting across from him hadn't moved an inch since he sat down.

'What, no small talk? No 'how are you doing?' Straight to the point, I can respect that. They told me you were the one to come to, though you really closed the deal by looking about fifteen.' The man managed a small smile at his joke; though his companion remained unimpressed. Mr. Watson's face turned to an impatient glare.

'I can see that I've come to you at a bad time; which is apparently during business hours.' Booker half-heartedly raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement. 'Look Elvis, I'm not here to screw around. I need your help. The cops don't give a shit and I'm out of people to turn to.'

'Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but the sooner you tell me what the problem is, the sooner I can go about fixing it.' Booker managed to slur, his face not managing to feign compassion.

'Either that or sleep,' Mr. Watson said, his eyes furious. He was not used to being spoken to like that, especially by this young punk. Booker sat up guilty.

'Alright, I'm listening. Wait...' He fumbled with his phone eventually finding the intercom button. 'Elaine, I'm going to need a serious amount of coffee in here.'

'Roger,' came the answer. Booker blinked his heavy eyelids a few times in an attempt to wake himself up somewhat, but soon gave up.

'So... your problem?'

'It's my son...'

'Let me guess, he's been busted by the cops for drug trafficking and you want me to use my considerable influence with the police department,' here he inserted a raspberry sound and pointed his thumb down. 'To try and get him off.'

'No, he's dead.' His face was impassive but Booker saw the pain in his eyes. His own face softened and he leaned closer.

'I'm sorry. But... I don't understand what you want from me.'

'The cops say that he died from a drug overdose; they did the autopsy and everything. They say it's an 'open and shut' case. They're not performing an investigation.'

'And...' Booker was losing his patience. His coffee still hadn't arrived and though he felt bad for the man, there was nothing he could do; like the cops had said it was an 'open and shut' case.

'But he didn't do drugs. He didn't have anything to do with them. And yes, I am well aware that every parent says that about their child and that you've probably heard it all a million times before, being a cop yourself... well ex-cop. But I need... I need closure. I need you to find out what happened to him. I know you've had experience with this sort of thing. I know all about the Jump Street program...' Booker sat up even straighter, ready to deny everything.

'Don't bother, I've read your file. It was a noble thing you did for that other cop; prematurely ending your career for him. That was the other reason I chose you. Contrary to popular belief, you're selfless enough to do the right thing. Look, I just need you to go in, just for a couple of weeks, find out who sold him the drugs and come back and tell me, so that I can deal with them.'

'Listen sir, I'm not about to help you 'deal with' anyone. And what, am I supposed to just leave my job here for weeks. Somehow, I don't think Chick will be all that accepting of that. I'm really sorry but I can't help...'

'I can pay you sixty million dollars.' Mr. Watson interrupted him with a sentence that left his ordinarily smart mouth speechless. 'I think Chick will be willing to part with you for that sum. And tell Miss Rudd that I will donate five hundred thousand to her charity benefit tonight if she can function without you. I need you to start straight away. Please Mr. Booker, if you can help me I'd be willing to pay you extra for your services as well, just give me time to retrieve it from the bank. Money's no object.'

'I can see that.' Booker's mind was still reeling from the sums that this Mr. Watson was throwing around. He held up his hands to stop the flow of words from the other man's mouth. 'Listen, Mr. Watson, I want to help you. I really do. But I'm not going to be the one responsible for helping you 'deal with' this person, if there even is one.'

'Fine, when you find out you don't have to tell me who it is. We can go to the police if that would make you happy. Anything... please.' Booker had to look away, the pleading look in this grown man's eyes almost breaking his heart. This man's heart was broken, he had lost a child. The only thing he had left was the thought of an explanation that the cops couldn't give him. Booker smiled slightly to himself; he was going soft spending so much time around Elaine.

'Alright, I'll do it. Just let me let Chick and Alicia know and give me a chance to pull a few favours to get me enrolled. I'm going to the name of the school obviously, your son's name...' He stopped talking as Mr. Watson handed him a brown manila folder, packed with seemingly more papers than it should hold.

'I took the liberty of getting most of that stuff for you. If there's anything else you need, here's my card, with my business and home numbers on it. And please, don't call the house unless it's absolutely necessary. I have a daughter as well, and she's pretty distraught after the loss of her brother. Any sort of mention of him and she breaks down. If she knew I was digging into it...'

'I understand. Don't worry I can be discrete.' He took both the folder and the card. 'Does she go to the school?'

'Yes. She's... she was a senior too. We enrolled her early because of her birthday. And like I said, they were close; she probably would have followed him to school anyway, so we figured it would be easier if they went together. Anyway...it's all in there. I won't keep you any longer; I need to get back to the office too.' He stood and extended his hand. 'Thank you, Mr Booker. Thank you so very much.'

'You're welcome sir, and please call me Dennis. I'm going to try my best to find out what happened to...' He shook Mr Watson's hand and paused waiting for him to fill in the blank.

'Rich, Richard. He was Rich Watson. And no, I wasn't when we named him. Rich, I mean.' He managed a slight smile before turning and striding out of the room, nodding to Elaine as he passed her in the doorway, almost causing her to spill the coffee she was carrying. She looked questioningly at Booker while handing the coffee off to him. He took a long drink from the styrofoam cup and met her eyes.

'Well?' she questioned apprehensively. He indicated to the manila folder, confirming her question.

'We have a case.'