Short Story Fiction, Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #5

Precisely 1000-word Fiction Mystery-Adventures of Inspector Pascal

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
# 5 Two Kinds of Men  ©2016-2023 by T.K. Naliaka

“Inspector, there are two kinds of men in the world…”

Pascal stopped reviewing his notes to give him a dry glance. “I’ve heard it, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Braque pursed his lips and rocked on his heels as he watched the yellow elevator indicator blink- blink-blink at floors four-five-six. “… As I was saying, there are two kinds of men in the world - those who wear vests… and those who don’t.”

Pascal lowered his notepad to smooth the grey tone on grey tone paisley Indian silk under his grey wool suit. “You don’t like my vest?”

He curled his lip slightly. “For one of The Suits, it’s actually one of the better ones I’ve seen, I’ll give you that.”

“Well, I don’t actually own a three-piece, so I had to improvise.” Pascal considered him. ”I have to wear a suit.  It’s expected of me in my position. You think you are the only one who has to endure an inspection?  At least you know exactly what’s required, whereas I am always vulnerable to that fog called ‘subjective’ criticism.  I could be perfectly turned out, but if the boss woke up with a headache and his eyes couldn’t handle the shade of suit color I chose that day, I can’t argue with him.  You however, can point to every pin and badge, gig line and bar to demonstrate that you had everything the book said you should have.”  Pascal leaned over. “Are you wearing those striped trousers today?”

“That’s a stripe, not striped trousers. And yes.  That was orders today.”

“See?  Orders give you cover.  I show up and it’s ‘No! Change your tie!’  I keep five in my desk drawer for his every mood of the week, just in case.”

The indicator dinged. Braque looked up, “11th floor, sir.”

Pascal slipped his pad into his jacket pocket. “Ready?”

“Yes sir.”

The doors opened to a wide corridor.  They stepped out and spotted the pale frosted glass façade of the company offices.  Just at the glass doors, they froze.

Pascal turned warily and glanced at Braque. “What do you think that was?”

“It sounded like a scream, sir… over there.”

They crossed the corridor to the opposite office.  Pascal read the two over-sized letters on the polished cypress double doors, O on the left, K on the right, then pulled them open.

Pascal frowned as he looked around.  He glanced at his watch. “This sort of company always has someone at the front.”  He went around the desk.  The computer screen was in standby mode; there was a stack of pouches, a couple of books, the usual collection of office supplies - pens, paperclips.  He glanced over at Braque. “Sergeant, I don’t want to tip yet that we’re police.  Can you stand outside until I can get inside?  If I haven’t called you in three minutes, come in.”

Braque nodded and left.  Pascal grabbed two paperback books and slipped them into an empty zippered pouch.  He called all the extensions from the receptionist’s phone until someone answered. “Hello?  I’m in the front reception with the requested withdrawal funds delivery from Mechanicals Bank.  Because of the large size of the cash withdrawal, it requires a company officer’s signature.”

A minute later, two people arrived at the other side of the hallway door.  A young blonde woman in a slim-fitting sienna sleeveless sheath and black high heels, with a heavy man in a dark blue suit behind her, unlocked it.  She looked at him, then at her leather pouch tucked under his arm, then at him again and didn’t seem to know what to say.

He gestured with her receipt book and her pen. “Are you a company officer who can sign for these funds?”

She shook her head.  Behind her, the man demanded, “How much money?”

Pascal checked in the receipt book, “Thirty-six thousand dollars.”

Her eyes widened and she flushed.

The man indicated with a jerk of his head. “Come in!”

As Pascal stepped inside, he dropped a neon highlighter. “Excuse me.”  As he bent to pick it up, he discreetly propped an eraser against the door jam. He straightened and followed them down the hall and into a room.  Fifteen terrified people sat in chairs around a large conference table.

The woman cried out as the man shoved her, “Back in your chair!” He pushed his pistol muzzle against Pascal’s back. “Put the money over there, then sit down!”

They all watched him as he slowly placed the pouch on the table.  He turned slightly, “Where? There aren’t any more chairs.”

The man smirked and swept his pistol towards one of the men. “Roger won’t need his anymore!”

Pascal drew, but the man glimpsed the movement.  Their guns fired at the same time. Everyone screamed and ducked under the table.  The man staggered, but shot back.  

Pascal stumbled against the wall, but he kept his arm up and fired again.  The man fell to the floor, but he was moving, still clutching his gun.  Pascal watched him in woozy disbelief as the man raised it again. There was another shot, then the man flopped and lay un-moving.

Sergeant Braque holstered his pistol, rolled the body over and handcuffed it.  He grabbed the receptionist and almost threw her out the doorway, “Everybody OUT!”  The other fifteen employees scrambled on hands and knees then bolted for the hallway.  Grimly he went to Pascal, curled in the corner.  He eased him down carefully, “Sir!”

Pascal’s hazel eyes were squeezed shut.  He grimaced, “Sergeant Braque.”

Relieved, Braque reassured him. “The bullets didn’t penetrate, but they did give you a mule kick.  I think you’ve got a couple of busted ribs.”

Pascal gasped. “Sergeant, just so you know…  I actually pay attention to everything you say… there are two kinds of men in the world…”

Sergeant Braque sighed and nodded gratefully as he knelt beside him. “That’s right, Wyatt Earp… those who wear bullet-proof vests to a gunfight at the O.K. Corporation… and those who don’t.”  ©2016-2023 by T.K. Naliaka, All rights reserved TIPTOPduTOP