Mr. Grit is Easily Distracted...

I parked my car in the underground garage of my office building. I pulled out the folded-up piece of paper from my shirt pocket.  Written in red ink across the top, it said, “Here are some phone numbers and addresses I thought you might need,” signed Hank. There was a detective, Mike Garcia’s phone number with a notation next to his name, which read, “Was a close friend of the Chief’s!” Whatever that meant. Then I thought, how the hell does the Mayor know about this? The D.A. must have told him. They were good friends, and neither of them cared very much for the Chief.  I appreciated the help, but I wondered how the need for secrecy or lack thereof was going to compromise my investigation? And then I spotted Maggie O’Halloran’s name, phone number, and address! Now, that’s the information that got me excited. There were several other numbers and names, but Maggie O’Halloran’s info was all I could see at that moment.   

I was pumped when I entered my office with every intention of getting Maggie O’Halloran on the horn. My secretary Emma, a very attractive Latina, who stood not much over five feet tall and had a body that she kept absolutely chiseled from swimming and running at the YWCA, was bending over to file something in the file cabinet. She was wearing a lime green - snug fitting dress that hugged every curve she possessed, and she possessed multiple curves. I had the strongest urge to pat that fanny but restrained myself. Well! All thoughts of Maggie O’Halloran momentarily disappeared into the ether. 

I had hired Emma after helping to send her husband away for a lengthy period to the “Pen” for committing fraud on an elderly client of mine. I felt sorry for her after seeing her escorted from the courtroom for sobbing uncontrollably on multiple occasions. She had been working as an executive secretary. I heard she lost her job because of all the time off she had taken to make the court dates, and they also had to take a loan out against their home to pay for the attorney.  I felt a little guilty for helping to send her old man to jail. I said a little. She rejected my initial offer for a job, but when she couldn’t find one right away, she called me, and that was that.   

I had done all I could since her hire to be a gentleman. Although, we did have a little too much to drink one night when I had taken her out to dinner at Scoma’s on Fisherman’s Wharf for her birthday. All I remember is that I woke up beside her the next morning, and we were both naked. I recalled just staring at her while she slept. She was lying on her back, her long thick wavy black hair, completely covering the pillow. Had I actually made love to this delicious little number and not remember a thing? I did not want to believe it was true. It was just another legitimate reason to quit the booze. Sliding softly and as quietly as I could from the bed, I collected my things, and just before closing the door behind me, I took one last glimpse at the Latin goddess. I couldn’t remember shit about that night except for the lobster Thermador and the martinis. I cussed myself all the way to my car.  The next morning at the office, she acted as if nothing had happened, and I just followed suit, and we had not discussed the matter since - although I wanted to.   

Hearing the door close, Emma turned around to catch me staring at her derriere and said, “There’s a Mrs. O’Halloran in your office.” I detected just a bit of iciness with that announcement. The fact that Maggie O’Halloran was sitting in my office elbowed the thoughts of Emma’s demeanor from my mind. I stood there a moment, trying to digest everything. How weird was it that the person I wanted to see most and had every intention of trying to hunt down was sitting in my office! “Oh, and here’s something from the Coroner’s,” said Emma. I took the large manila envelope from her and placed it under my arm. I had been waiting to hear from the Coroner’s office and, in particular, Dr. Rich Ornellas. The Doc was a friend of mine and promised to get me the results before sharing it with the SFPD. I was sure the envelope held the results of that autopsy. I thought, Jackpot! I was really feeling pumped now.  

I was totally unprepared for what awaited me when I stepped into my office. Although I had never met Maggie O’Halloran, I had seen photographs of her in the newspapers, but let me tell you those photographs did not do her justice. She was a knockout with a capital K. I shit you not. I guessed she was in her late thirties or early forties. I had heard she’d been a Vegas dancer, and that’s where she had met the Chief. He must’ve been at least twenty years her senior. I tried to be cool and not show how friggin’ shocked I was. I smiled, but I’m sure I looked like a grinning idiot. I felt a bit of heat rising up the back of my neck. I stuck out my hand. “Hello, Mrs. O’Halloran, I’m Sam Grit.” When she took my hand, I couldn’t help but notice the size of the diamond in her ring. She probably had a strong wrist from lifting that thing every day I remember thinking. 

She was one magnificent looking broad. She had long wavy auburn hair that fell just past her shoulders. She had these amazing emerald green eyes, which seemed to be staring right through me. I was feeling just a little uncomfortable but tried to look the opposite. I loved her lips. They were plump and juicy looking and covered in dark red lipstick, and how I wanted to plant one on her believe me. She was dressed smartly in a charcoal-grey pinstriped two-piece pantsuit.  The jacket of the pantsuit had broad lapels, and underneath it was a white blouse, whose frilly collar peeked just above the collar of the jacket. Her blouse’s collar was open just wide enough to see a gold necklace with emeralds inset, and she smelled sinful! “I was told how handsome you are, Mr. Grit, but I wasn’t prepared for this,” she said, moving her hands in a large circular motion. I thought that’s not a bad way to begin a conversation, but for her to say, “she wasn’t prepared,” I almost laughed out loud at that one. (To be cont’d)

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