Flanagan's Office

Scarborough and I checked out a cruiser because we just might be bringing back a house guest if things didn't go the way I had planned.

Scarborough asked, "What are you up to, MacKenzie?"

"Bill, our old friend Detective Flanagan has messed up bad.  He messed with the love of my life."

"What are you talking about, Mac?'

I had built up a good steam by the time we reached the car.  "He's been leaning on my lady friend and I think I know why."

As we opened our doors, "The O'Hara girl?"

"You got it, Bill.  This guy's dead in the middle of it, and I'm going to find out what he knows."

Scarborough gave me a look, that somewhat concerned look when someone just might be out-of-control.  And my Irish, if I had any Irish blood in me, had been riled.  But then his eyes turned to the road in a silent agreement to follow along.

Bill was a by-the-book kind of guy, clean record, but he had been known to get business done when he had to.  He'd be more than willing to be the witness who didn't see a thing.

We pulled into a lot across the street from Flanagan's Office., an upstairs two room office over Ranier's Bookstore.  Flanagan had painted a gold-leaf sign on the bay windows that fronted the street and on the beat-up old door that gave access to the stairs from off the street. 

I told Bill to cover the back entrance while I went upstairs to make an appointment with Mr. Flanagan. At the top of the stairs, there was a better looking opaque glass door with Michael A. Flanagan Agency,  Please Ring.  So I rang the buzzer.  A feminine voice with a thick Yankee accent answered, "Who is it, please?"

"Lieutenant MacKenzie, BPD."

There was a pause, then a buzz signaling permission to open the door.  Apparently the Michael A. Flanagan Agency didn't believe in too much decor.  Besides a plain wooden desk, a coat rack and two wooden library chairs and a half-dead plant, there was not much else except for a Miss Jennifer Reid, and she too didn't come across as being much on the expensive side either.  I suspected that she supplemented her income with other business endeavors during evening hours.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Here to see Mr. Flanagan."

"Sorry, sir.  Mr. Flanagan just left."

"Are you sure, Miss .. Miss Reid?  Maybe, if you tell him it's urgent."

"Lieutenant, I would if he were here."

"When might he be back?"

"Hard to say, Lieutenant.  Would you like me to have him call you when he gets in?"

I pulled a card and nodded, "That'd be fine, ma'am."

A lot of good that would do, but I had a suspicion that Scarborough may have already located the elusive Mr. Flanagan. 

When I reached the street, I saw no sign of Bill, so I headed around back of the bookstore.  And there by the trashcans, at the foot of the metal fire escape, stood Mr. Flanagan in handcuffs, bleeding from his nose.  "Hey, Mac, good thing I was back here, Mr. Flanagan here took a bad fall down these stairs."

Flanagan was more embarrassed than hurt, but most of all he was p*ssed.  "What the h*ll are you doing?"

Bill gave him a little tightening of his grip on Flanagan's arm while I said my peace.  "Flanagan, you're under arrest for suspicion of murder."

"What!"

"For the murder of Mary Anne McCartney."

"Hey, MacKenzie, I never touched her."

"That's funny, Flanagan.  I have witnesses who say that you abducted the other night from her apartment."

"No way.  No way.  I was only keeping her under surveillance."

I thought, "This is too easy.  Flanagan was always a dumb mother." 

Bill knew the the perfect timing to pinch those cuffs a little tighter. "D*mn, Scarborough."

"Why were you tailing her?"

"Ouch!"  Flanagan began to realize that I had nothing, but he was also realizing that he best change sides for good.  He didn't stand a chance with the department if they were in the mood to get him.

"Flanagan, whose paying to intimidate the girl?"

I was expecting him to give up Blair or O'Hara.  I wasn't expecting ...

"Galloway."

Bill looked even more shocked than I was.  "Captain Galloway?  What?"

"Galloway knew Mary when she worked down at Checker Cab.  She used to deliver envelopes from O'Hara to him a few years back.   Apparently when he got wind that you and Mary were making friends and you were digging into the killing of the O'Hara girl, she might accidentally let a memory slip from that pretty little head of hers.  That's all.  I was just suppose to cool things off with you and the girl."

"Let 'em loose, Bill."

Bill did, but not before he accidentally knocked Flanagan in the back of the head.

"Look, Flanagan.  You leave her be and tell Galloway that things are off between us.  That should satisfy him for the time being."

"Flanagan, you keep getting dumber and dumber.  I could care less about what happens to you or Galloway."

With that, we left.  I had a phone call to make and a job to do.

 

 

 

 

 

The End

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