Two weeks after confronting Eddie outside the bar, Grissom contacted a
sleazy private detective. One who would do almost anything for the right
amount of cash and wouldn't ask too many questions. He called him from a
pay phone to set up a meeting at a deserted warehouse parking lot. He even
stole license plates from a Mercedes similar to his own in a mall parking
lot that had no security cameras so the guy couldn't trace him.
Moe Williams, a not too successful private detective, pulled his beat-up car into a deserted warehouse parking lot at 2 AM. He saw a black Mercedes parked in a dimly lit area. He pulled up to the car and rolled down his window. The window of the Mercedes whirred down.
"Mr. Black?" He inquired. He studied his surroundings. This guy was smart. He had forced Williams to park such that a light was shining directly in his eyes. He could only see shadows in the Mercedes.
"I need information. I think you can acquire it for me." The soft voice that issued from the interior of the Mercedes was slightly muffled.
"He's making it hard for me to recognize his voice. He did that on the phone too." Moe realized. He figured this guy was dangerous, probably a professional. His survival instincts kicked in and told him to flee but he seldom got opportunities like this. Greed won out. There could be some top money involved in this exchange. He had no further interest in "Mr. Black's" true identity.
"I'm your man. Tell me what you want to know, who you want to know it about and how quick you want to know it." Moe's reply was all business.
A leather glove-clad hand delivered an 8x12 plain envelope to his window. Moe opened it. There was a sizeable wad of cash, a mug shot, and a printed page that detailed the information required as well as the home address of one Edward Willows. Moe knew the drill. "You can contact me again in two weeks. I'll have all the information you want by then." Moe started his car and pulled away. He never looked back at the Mercedes.
He tailed Edward Willows the following day. After a few days, he had a pretty good idea of his habits and routine. He went to the club where Mr. Willows' latest musical prodigy and lover, Candeece, was performing. He eased up on a barstool next to Willows and struck up a conversation. He bought a couple of rounds and pretty soon he was on a first name basis with Eddie Willows. Eddie told him all about the gal with the pink hair currently bellowing out something that Moe supposed could be considered music. Eddie told his newfound drink buying friend a lot. Moe detailed all of the information he had gathered into a report, continued his surveillance of Eddie and waited for "Mr. Black" to call.
The phone registered to Williams' detective agency rang at 9PM, exactly two weeks after the late night meeting. "Williams." Moe grunted, speaking around the cigarette dangling from his lips. He inhaled deeply, placed the cigarette in an ashtray then exhaled a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. As he expected, it was "Mr. Black".
"Are you ready to meet?" The voice on the phone inquired.
"Yep, report's all typed up. You wanta meet at the same time, same place?" Moe asked, relieving his caller of a lengthy conversation.
"Yes." With that, the line went dead.
At 2 AM, Moe pulled into the warehouse parking lot. As he pulled around the Mercedes, he noticed that the plates on the car were different. He thought. "Ah, you are one smart cookie, "Mr. Black". I doubt either set of those plates belongs to that car, not that I care. I don't think I would want to be in the shoes of one Eddie Willows right now." Willows had seemed small time, fairly innocuous but he must've stepped on some big toes.
He rolled the window of his car down and handed the same envelope he had received back to "Mr. Black". He stared across the parking lot of the warehouse, being obvious not to look in the Mercedes while he waited to find out if the report was satisfactory.
"Very good. Thank you, Mr. Williams." A second envelope was passed from the Mercedes to Moe's hand. Moe didn't look in it, nor did he look at the Mercedes again. He knew there would be another sizeable sum of cash in it. He started his car and left immediately. His business with "Mr. Black" was finished. He hoped to never hear from him again.
Grissom disposed of the second set of stolen plates. This time he stopped at a small park on his circuitous route back to his townhouse. Once he was safely ensconced in his home, he removed the material from the envelope and began to study it. Moe Williams was thorough. He had even returned the mug shot of Eddie and the printed instructions. Grissom would have to burn all of this stuff once the deed was done. He supposed it was worth $50,000.
The money was irrelevant to Grissom. He had won it playing poker while living in San Francisco a few years ago. The games were somewhat illicit so he had never deposited the money. He had kept it in a safe deposit box. He absently wondered if Moe Williams had noticed that all of the bills were nearly ten years old and what he made of that fact. Did he even care? That was doubtful, Moe Williams had been the right choice.
Grissom stood up and stretched. He surveyed his quiet townhouse for a moment then headed to the kitchen. He poured himself a tumbler of scotch. He went to the window, opened the blind and gazed out at the darkness. The street was quiet. Most of the people living here were sleeping soundly. They had no inkling that one of their quiet, unassuming neighbors was plotting a murder. He realized he couldn't hear a thing.
Moe Williams, a not too successful private detective, pulled his beat-up car into a deserted warehouse parking lot at 2 AM. He saw a black Mercedes parked in a dimly lit area. He pulled up to the car and rolled down his window. The window of the Mercedes whirred down.
"Mr. Black?" He inquired. He studied his surroundings. This guy was smart. He had forced Williams to park such that a light was shining directly in his eyes. He could only see shadows in the Mercedes.
"I need information. I think you can acquire it for me." The soft voice that issued from the interior of the Mercedes was slightly muffled.
"He's making it hard for me to recognize his voice. He did that on the phone too." Moe realized. He figured this guy was dangerous, probably a professional. His survival instincts kicked in and told him to flee but he seldom got opportunities like this. Greed won out. There could be some top money involved in this exchange. He had no further interest in "Mr. Black's" true identity.
"I'm your man. Tell me what you want to know, who you want to know it about and how quick you want to know it." Moe's reply was all business.
A leather glove-clad hand delivered an 8x12 plain envelope to his window. Moe opened it. There was a sizeable wad of cash, a mug shot, and a printed page that detailed the information required as well as the home address of one Edward Willows. Moe knew the drill. "You can contact me again in two weeks. I'll have all the information you want by then." Moe started his car and pulled away. He never looked back at the Mercedes.
He tailed Edward Willows the following day. After a few days, he had a pretty good idea of his habits and routine. He went to the club where Mr. Willows' latest musical prodigy and lover, Candeece, was performing. He eased up on a barstool next to Willows and struck up a conversation. He bought a couple of rounds and pretty soon he was on a first name basis with Eddie Willows. Eddie told him all about the gal with the pink hair currently bellowing out something that Moe supposed could be considered music. Eddie told his newfound drink buying friend a lot. Moe detailed all of the information he had gathered into a report, continued his surveillance of Eddie and waited for "Mr. Black" to call.
The phone registered to Williams' detective agency rang at 9PM, exactly two weeks after the late night meeting. "Williams." Moe grunted, speaking around the cigarette dangling from his lips. He inhaled deeply, placed the cigarette in an ashtray then exhaled a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. As he expected, it was "Mr. Black".
"Are you ready to meet?" The voice on the phone inquired.
"Yep, report's all typed up. You wanta meet at the same time, same place?" Moe asked, relieving his caller of a lengthy conversation.
"Yes." With that, the line went dead.
At 2 AM, Moe pulled into the warehouse parking lot. As he pulled around the Mercedes, he noticed that the plates on the car were different. He thought. "Ah, you are one smart cookie, "Mr. Black". I doubt either set of those plates belongs to that car, not that I care. I don't think I would want to be in the shoes of one Eddie Willows right now." Willows had seemed small time, fairly innocuous but he must've stepped on some big toes.
He rolled the window of his car down and handed the same envelope he had received back to "Mr. Black". He stared across the parking lot of the warehouse, being obvious not to look in the Mercedes while he waited to find out if the report was satisfactory.
"Very good. Thank you, Mr. Williams." A second envelope was passed from the Mercedes to Moe's hand. Moe didn't look in it, nor did he look at the Mercedes again. He knew there would be another sizeable sum of cash in it. He started his car and left immediately. His business with "Mr. Black" was finished. He hoped to never hear from him again.
Grissom disposed of the second set of stolen plates. This time he stopped at a small park on his circuitous route back to his townhouse. Once he was safely ensconced in his home, he removed the material from the envelope and began to study it. Moe Williams was thorough. He had even returned the mug shot of Eddie and the printed instructions. Grissom would have to burn all of this stuff once the deed was done. He supposed it was worth $50,000.
The money was irrelevant to Grissom. He had won it playing poker while living in San Francisco a few years ago. The games were somewhat illicit so he had never deposited the money. He had kept it in a safe deposit box. He absently wondered if Moe Williams had noticed that all of the bills were nearly ten years old and what he made of that fact. Did he even care? That was doubtful, Moe Williams had been the right choice.
Grissom stood up and stretched. He surveyed his quiet townhouse for a moment then headed to the kitchen. He poured himself a tumbler of scotch. He went to the window, opened the blind and gazed out at the darkness. The street was quiet. Most of the people living here were sleeping soundly. They had no inkling that one of their quiet, unassuming neighbors was plotting a murder. He realized he couldn't hear a thing.