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[h2][color=0054a6]Richard Barker[/color][/h2][/center]

It was a welcomed change of appearance to see the young lady, still unnamed, give Richard a smile that hadn't involved sarcastic remarks of sensually-dripping seduction. Clearly his relationship with the bottle of imported Canadian whiskey had resonnated with her, though the private detective couldn't help but notice her smelling it. It was faint, but it was the type of reaction when unsure of what you had just smelled. Well unlike January, who's name she had now given, Richard didn't drink because he liked the taste. 

Richard puffed another breath of smoke as January finally began answering his questions, giving her another good look up and down. The detective looked as if he was thinking hard and methodically to place her face, smoke idly drifting out of his half-closed mouth. [color=0054a6]"Not frequently at least, Miss Endicott..."[/color]

The private detective continued to look at the lady as she produced a bundle of cash and a newspaper. He elected to ignore her overly-priviliged jab at his lack of qualifications for high society. If she payed him well, he wasn't going to jab back at her. For now. Instead Richard accepted the newspaper she handed him, for the moment reading over the top story alongside January's job-description. So, so original; Who done it and why? 

[color=0054a6]"First of all, Miss Endicott, I'm sorry about the loss of your father. His reputation and standing proceeded him, even to low-cultured gumshoes like me..."[/color] Richard said to January, both hands holding the newspaper before him as the cigarette continued to smoke in his pursed lips, eyes scanning the front-page for any information of value. To the wealthy socialite of a lady, it was clear that Richard had done this many times before. He may have looked shabby and rough around the edges, but he was not lazy. [color=0054a6]"Secondly, why do you suspect he was murdered for specific reason?"[/color]

Richard leaned off his desk and grabbed a chair beside January, holding out the newspaper in front of her and pointing at various parts of the article. When he looked back and forth between her and the photograps, he saw the resemblance in their hair. Other than that, she looked as distant an Endicott as Richard could have been himself, but she sure was not bad to behold. [color=0054a6]"According to the article he was killed during a robbery of the museum, an accident. Why are you suspicious?"[/color] He asked her, pulling out his cigarette and looking frankly at her, a hint of a devious smile found on his lips. [color=0054a6]"Because I am so myself. You could say a lot about the New York Times and their milking of news, but this? No suspects, no mention of where or when he was found, and most importantly..."[/color]

Richard rose up from the chair and wandered over to the window, looking out of it as if in deep thought. The neon lights of the street cast a glowy sillouette around the hard-boiled detective. [color=0054a6]"What where a bunch of murderous brutes trying to steal during a packed exhibition-season, and why hasn't the cops found them? Miss Endicott, did your father have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt him? I may not have known your father personally, but from what I gathered, he wasn't the type of man to get into trouble."[/color] 

The detective let the smoke cast a colourful aura around him as he asked those questions, turning around to look back at January with a sincere look on his face. He was a hard-boiled gumshoe, but something in the man spoke of understanding what she was going through, even if she was coping with it well. [color=0054a6]"You can consider your offer accepted, Miss. I'll find the dagos who killed your father, or you can count the drinks on the house."[/color]