America, it truly was the New World. After the Great War had ended it had entered a period of prosperity and somewhat of a 'boom' as they called it; homes and lodgings were built, families able to grow without much worry, jobs plentiful for all. Perhaps the only thing making his walk through the Chicago cityscape was the weather – torrential downpours like this always reminded him of death; bodies hanging on barbed wire, the feeling of a corpse beneath your feet...you could never get dry, never.
There it was! The headquarters of the Chicago Police Department, not much to look at if truth be told, but this was where he had been heading and this is where his already weary feet had bought him.
He took the steps into the building in pairs, brushing the rain off of him as thoroughly as possible when he entered the foyer of the station; behind the central desk was a quite bored officer, his brown eyes looking up from his paper only briefly enough for William to grimace at him in return.
Well, it was not how he would have been greeted in Britain, but he was not in Britain. Mores the pity.
“Yes, well,” he managed to cough, removing his sopping beige trench-coat to reveal a pinstriped suit that fit his form quite finely, a tie done neatly about his neck and his pocket square slightly dampened by the sheet volume of rain. As he took another step forward he felt a weight upon his brow, one hand reaching up and removing his fedora; it was only when a puddle seemingly appeared from thin air and splashed all over the floor that he realised just what the weight had been.
“Now why did you have to go and do that, pal?” Questioned the officer, finally paying the veteran some actual attention, “as I said, what do you want?” His question was more emphasised now, every syllable dripping with an unspoken curse on the man who had just wetted his tiled floor.
“Um, my apologies. I would like to speak with a Detective Stone if I may, I heard he was investigating a case of much interest to me. He was a friend of mine, you see?”
“One moment,” instructed the officer, a telephone in his hand and his eyes never leaving the newcomer even when he spoke, “damn limeys.”
“Hello...yes...there's a man here who'd like to speak with Stone. Uh-huh...uh-huh...yes...alright then.”
After instructing William to 'hang tight and dry off' it as a matter of moments before a woman appeared, once more asking him what he wanted and receiving the same answer as he had given the desk Sergeant. The woman certainly was snippy, but not altogether bad to look at, as far as older women went.
“I will go and see if the Detective will see you, please wait here.”
Subdued voices could be heard, discussion no doubt, and his eyes moved over the unpicturesque interior of the station as he waited for time to pass. Boy was he glad he'd never joined the police force, although the army had gotten him shot.
More moments followed as he was ushered into the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him, and he was finally allowed a moment to look upon the Detective. A nondescript gentleman in his middling years, of classical Irish stock by the looks of him and his facial features, closer to Ireland than America in his bloodline. Oh yes, there was certainly something to Stone, possibly the way he held himself like a fighter?
“Detective Stone, thank you for seeing me.” It always helped to be amicable to a new person, and the smoothest tone he could muster rolled off of Williams tongue, a hint of aristocratic enunciation presenting itself as he finished his words, “I was a friend of the late Alois Goldman and recently heard of his demise, although the details are still concealed from me. I would be awfully obliged if you might clear a little of that shade away, that I might discover what you know and maybe help in turn?”
It was only after he had finished speaking with the seated Detective that he realised they were not alone, not having bothered to peer anywhere else in the room, his eyes falling on a much lovelier creature than the one he presently addressed.
“My apologies,” he began to say by way of both greeting and excuse for not seeing her earlier, “William, William Cavendish-Blake, at your service.” He glanced briefly back to Stone, “at both your services.”
Yes, she really was lovely, that face...that fiery hair, shame about the bun...
It was so easy to get distracted in the presence of a beautiful woman.@Penny