Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise. One requirement: story length to be 6 sentences.

Prompt Word:

EVEN

“So why the sudden hard-on for intel from my organized crime task force?”

Detective Lieutenant Ed Pierce’s office lacked: a window, seating for more than one guest and adequate overhead lighting; it did have: a grey metal conference table piled with banker’s boxes of case files, a calendar extolling the desirability of a Caribbean vacation suspended by a yellow push-pin from the room’s mahogany paneling and a free-standing ashtray of bronze and amber glass; despite the solar eclipse circle of sterile light from the Tensor lamp on his desk, the office smelled of ambition and fear, the heart notes of most law enforcement establishments.

“I don’t know why the Department is suddenly interested in a twenty-something woman showing up in your town after bouncing around private schools in Europe for the last half of her teen years, but here I am, so help me out so I don’t have to have one of our quieter three-letter agencies tap your...everything,” FBI Special Agent Blake Carter always enjoyed invoking the real power in the Age of Information.

Ed Pierce, deciding that although his guest had the credentials to ask the questions, nothing said he had to make it easy, after lighting his own, he shook a staggered row of cigarettes from his pack of Marlboros and offered his guest one, the cloud of exhaled smoke obscures his smile at the look of revulsion on the young FBI agent’s face, and in a tone meant to imply capitulation,

“The girl is interesting, you’ll get no argument from me on that; fact of the matter is the first thing we hear is that Lou has her accepting a job at a local, off-the-wall nightspot,” holding up his hand towards his guest, “I know what you’re gonna say, “No shit, ain’t no business in this town that ain’t gonna say no when the owner of the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club & Lounge asks for a favor; don’t get me wrong, these people at this Café joint ain’t exactly Chamber of Commerce types, a real motley crew.”

“Don’t even get me started…you want to hear how weird this thing is, my boss told me to brush up on my German; and to expect a call from Interpol; that’s a lot of bandwidth for a twenty-something and a …a bunch of, whad’ja say they call themselves, Proprietors?”

“Well I’m just a local cop, but everything points to the girl being the key to bringing down Caesare and his organization.”