Without Remorse

Chapter 2

As quiet as two gnats having sex I didn’t hear him enter nor did he announce himself.  Yet, there he was standing in the doorway of my inner office.  A man so large he engulfed the entire door frame.

“You Purvis?” He asked.

I stood up from behind my desk.  I was surprised by his being there.  Not that he was so big, well, maybe that too, but here he was in my inner office.  Was I asleep?  Were my senses so dead not to recognize the presence of another?  Apparently so.

“Yeah, I’m Purvis.  Who are you?” I asked.

The man didn’t answer my query.  He walked across the room toward me.  His pace was steady.  No rush.  He stopped behind a stuffed-leather chair and looked me dead in the eye.  About this time I’m wondering if I had recently offended anyone.

“You the private eye?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

Seeing this guy, hearing the question he asked, I gave thought to immediately retiring from the business.  This guy was huge.  Had to be six-six, three hundred pounds plus.  Muscular.  No neck.  Perfect size for playing defensive end for the Green Bay Packers.  This is the kind of guy that works out with weights, the kind of guy that has biceps on top of biceps, the kind of guy that pulls eighteen wheelers with his teeth.  I’m sure you get the picture. 

“Got a moment?” He asked.

He motioned with his hand to sit.  I didn’t know if he meant for me to sit or was asking permission to seat himself.  

“Yeah,” I answered in as deep a controlled voice I could muster.  “I have a moment.  Grab a seat.”

The man wore a grayish-blue tailored suit.  An expensive garment I was quite sure to be Armani, Versace, or Brutini.  Sharp.  Three piece.  Tailored perfectly.  If one could fit this man’s body, someone did a fine job.  White shirt, cuff links, tie, all the fine accessories.  However, the expensive clothes didn’t match the man.  Or was it vice versa?  The man didn’t match the expensive clothes.

He unbuttoned his suit coat and sat.  His heavy weight landing on the over-stuffed-leather chair let out a rush of air I likened to a long-drawn-out fart.

I smiled.  He didn’t.  I watched as he gathered himself and got comfortable.  

“We need your expertise,” he said.

“Oh?” I answered as I sat down.

He said we.  I distinctly heard him say we?  There isn’t anyone else here.  So who is we?  Was his expression just a general connotation or is there really a we?   

I watched as he crossed his legs.  Right leg atop the left’s knee.  I noted the shoes.  Italian crafted for sure. 

So I asked.  “Who’s we?”

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