Just Business

One-Shot Two

As usual he found himself in the corner of the room, his eyes fixated upon the bar. The subject in question was downing his third Sambuka shot. Phil glanced down at his notebook:

White Wine = III

Fruity Kopparberg = IIIIIII

Jack Daniels, blue Wicked and Coke = II

Archers and Lemonade = IIIII

Sambuka shot = III

Sex on the Beach Cocktail = I

Sighing, he took a swig of his fresh orange juice.

He frowned. A young lady appeared by the suspect's side and leaned over the bar, ordering a drink no doubt as she handed over some money. Phil closed his notebook and watched, as the suspect spoke with her.

She scrunched her nose up in distaste, as the man leered. Phil rubbed his forehead, tightly shutting his eyes and willing the image away.

He would undoubtedly have his work cut out for him that evening.

He opened his eyes to find the pair arguing. The young lady snorted at something the man said and turned away from him. The man's eyes quickly drifted from the back of her head to her rather well-endowed backside.

Phil shook his head with disgust, though he himself could not help but take a quick glance. Her bottom was indeed pleasant. The white dress left little to the imagination and any man could see that her figure was well proportioned. She was not stick thin, no, but her curves were well placed and from the slight muscles peeking out in her unclothed arms and legs, she was clearly athletic as well. Overall, her body was a very lovely and somewhat rare sight to behold.

His brows furrowed, as he watched the bartender drop the lady's drink off. She did not turn to it immediately, attempting to shout to a friend whom stood by the door. The man, seeing this, dragged her glass towards him. Phil glared, unable to see what the man in question was doing with it. He had an idea though. He was no stranger to such actions. He had seen many of his suspects do similar things to their partners in crime, their victims and even their bosses on some occasions. He leaned back into the sofa, draping his arms over the back of it, watching.

The young lady's friend left. She turned to find her drink – most likely the last of the night by the unsteady sway of her hips, and took a hold of it. She practically inhaled it and flipped the man off, as he made a lewd comment. Phil's lips twitched with some pride, but it was short lived as her hand went to her head.

He watched on, as she clearly felt the immediate effects of the concoction. He was surprised to see her falling for it so quickly, but discarded the thought. Now was not the time to be wondering as to what drug was being used. She could sleep it off without a doubt – most people could if not overdosed. She obviously began to feel sleepy, as she leaned against the counter and held hard to the oak.

He got out of his chair and slowly made his way to the bar.

"You know," the man was saying, "A pretty thing like you shouldn't go home alone, darling. You don't look so good." He swallowed another shot of Sambuka, "Why don't I help you home?"

The lady shook her head viciously, her free hand reaching towards it again as the room began to spin, "Leave me alone." She incoherently mumbled, shaking a little.

The man took her shoulder within his hand and squeezed it, "Now sweethear-"

"Is there a problem here?" Phil inquired roughly, grabbing the man's hand and tearing it from the young lady.

"No!" The man told him firmly, ripping his hand from Phil's grasp, "I was just about to help my girlfriend home."

Phil chuckled, glancing at the lady, "Is this true miss, because from what I've seen tonight you've only just met this man," He turned to inspect the man, his cold eyes and broad grin peeling over the man's beard, wrinkled cheeks and scruffy clothing, "And you didn't seem to take to him kindly."

The young lady nodded, "No, I don't like him. I don't know him." She grasped Phil's arm, leaning away from the counter and into his side, "I want to go home. I don't feel well."

Phil nodded, "Very well miss. I'll escort you in a moment."

His gaze drifted over the remainder of the buildings occupants and three people lifted their drinks slightly in confirmation. He smiled a little, turning back to the man, "Good night sir."

The man sneered, "Whatever."

He muttered indignantly, shoving his empty shot glasses away and hobbling to the bathroom.

Phil jumped a little, as the young lady tripped over her high-heeled feet and bashed into him.

"Are you alright?" He asked, wildly attempting to grab her arms to steady her.

She nodded, more times than necessary and clutched his biceps. Her drowsy eyes widened slightly, "Oh," she exclaimed, her mouth falling open, "Wow." she blinked in surprise and looked up at him, "Wow… You are really well built!"

Phil laughed, "Come on," he said, "Let's get you home."

He rang his arm over her shoulders and pulled her to him, helping her walk to the door, "By the way, where do you live?"

She retorted with a cheeky remark about his taking advantage of her state and instead offered her phone number, but he politely declined.

"I live two blocks away, up Slewenth St." she slurred.

He almost groaned with great exasperation, murmuring, "Sure thing." He looked round at the lamp posts, hoping to spot a sign bathed in the orange light with 'Slewenth St.' marked upon it, but instead found 'Seventy St.'

He gritted his teeth together and hauled her in that direction, "You know this is sort of a team effort thing, right?" he complained, as she crumbled to her knees. Clearly she was a light weight or that drug was stronger than he assumed it to be.

"Nah," she moaned, "You're doing fine."

Phil barked out a whine, as her eyes closed and her breathing deepened, "Every time," He droned with irritation, "Every god damn time." He checked her small gold frilly purse for some keys and popped them between his teeth, curling an arm beneath her legs and lifting her up with a huff.

Once he had reached the street he dropped her feet to the pavement, hearing an awful crunch as her heels clacked against the cement. He cringed slightly, but discarded the issue, pulling the keys from his lips and looking at them.

He had to pull out his phone for some extra light, but he successfully found that the one of her keys portrayed white tape, reading: 110 A.

His eyes rose up and scanned the closest buildings. The darkness would only allow a few to be spied and whispered them to himself, "102, 104, 106…" all of which resided upon on one side of the street. The lamp posts towering nearby gleamed upon him and the un-named lady. He tightened his grip on her and returned his phone and the keys to their previous locations.

The keys jingled, as he moved, his teeth tightening their hold when the metal clashed with each step he took. The young lady grumbled in her unconscious state and shuffled round in his arms a little. Phil rolled his eyes, as he spotted 110. The front door was protected by a large accumulation of steep steps.

"Oh joy." He groaned behind the singing keys, his tongue hitting the cold metal ring that held them together.

He clambered up each step, the lady's head tucked into his neck. Her warm breath tickled him slightly. Light shined through the keyhole of the front door and Phil slowly lowered the young lady onto the top platform, leaning her back against the stone doorframe. As her bottom scrubbed against the freezing platform and the stones chilled her back, her eyes flickered beneath their lids.

Phil pried the keys from his mouth and forcibly jammed one into the door. It struggled to open and he had to smack his shoulder against the wood, but entry was gained. He flew past the threshold and into a hallway streaming with light. His eyes closed and he squinted up at the bright bulbs above, sighing with annoyance as he found more stairs waiting.

"A," he stated, "Surely it's not above."

The lady shuffled, her form falling against the platform with a thud. He looked down at her, "You really must have drank loads." He told her sleeping figure.

He tightened his expression and picked her up again.

He passed the first door and cringed as he noticed the letter 'F'. He found a sign by the elaborate staircase and bit his lips, as he found apartment A to be on the top floor. It was just as he feared and worse still there was no sign of a lift. He would have to cart her up three flights.

"No, no way." He dropped her legs again and pushed her into the wall, "I'm not paid for this."

He tapped her cheek, commanding her to, "Wake up."

She grunted and smacked his hand away, but he insisted, shaking her a little, "Wake up!" He demanded more forcefully, "I am not carrying you up three flights lady. I may be a gentleman, but I'm not about to risk dropping you or accidently flinging myself over the railings."

She groaned again and her green eyes finally began to open a little, "I want to go to bed," she moaned, "I don't feel very well."

He grumbled as she hiccupped and swallowed deeply and for a moment he stood stock still, wondering if she was about to throw up on him. He hoped not, he was wearing his best suit.

When she raked her eyes over to the front door that still remained wide open she glared at it. He sighed, letting her go and walking towards it. He had to restrain himself from slamming it and merely tapped it shut with a quiet 'click'.

He turned back to her to find her sprawled on the floor again, snoring.

Phil took out his phone, some headphones and began scribing through a collection of ring tones, as he made his way back to her. He found one particularly loud one and fixed the headphones upon her small rounded ears.

She jumped! He eyes wide and mouth squawking. Her hands bashed at the sides of her head and pulled the cords of the headphones, "What are you doing?" She shouted at him, "Are you insane?"

He grinned, "Who really knows for sure?" He grabbed her hands and pulled her up onto unsure feet, "Now come along. You need to get to bed and I have to get back to work."

She gave him an odd look, "Work… you were in a bar."

He nodded, "Yeah, working."

She blinked at him, staring with confused eyes. Her dark brows were crossed and her nose twitched. He did not give her a chance to retort though and dragged her up the first couple of steps. She tumbled up them, but eventually they made it to her flat.

"A." Phil declared gleefully, dropping her wrist and inserting the key. He left the set in the door, as it opened.

He turned to her, "Now, can I trust that you can find your way to bed safely?"

She glanced up at him with dazed eyes, "Yeah, I suppose…" she bowed her head, emerald eyes attempting to focus on the patterned carpet beneath her heels, "Thank you." She quietly said, looking back up at him.

Phil gulped as her glittering sockets peered up at him. He prayed she was not about to cry on him. He could not handle a depressed drugged drunk above everything else.

She stepped forwards, towards him and he edged back against the wall, "Really," she insisted, "Thank you."

He turned his head away, as she leaned up and kissed his cheek, "I don't even know your name." she said.

He turned to her, shifting his head back slightly when he found her nose scraping against his own, "You never will." He blurted out, gently pushing her back. "Go to bed." He told her strictly, putting his hands into his pockets and stepping around her.

She turned to watch him traipse down the staircase with greater ease than he had all night.

He felt a lot lighter without her.