Investigation Report.

INVESTIGATION REPORT

POI: Chad Bronski.

Personal Details:
Age: ...
...

Target's Movements:
Target resides at 13, Kilber Street...

Persons in Contact: (Photographs attached)

-Martha Bronski, 56, mother of target, residing in 2990, Helgar Nook Road...

-Sasha Teller, 23, possible love interest, residing...in...

-Jenny Kasht....works in..

Possible CONTACT: (Photo attached)
Contact was tracked to the neighboring town of Bellow Hills, to address 62, Bell Tower road...

Events:
Target, after 2 days of surveillance, broke his schedule heading towards...

Buck raised his eyebrows as he looked at my investigation report, clearly impressed. For me, it was standard procedure when I was in MP. I still follow it, just because it's neat habit and easy to organise.

"Fancy, Mr. Whittaker," Buck said, giving me a little smirk. "Such a detailed report, my emplo-yuh will be happy." He had a funny accent, that's for sure.

"Glad to hear it." I said, sighing. I just wanted to be done. The job had gone a little longer than I would've liked. This it wasn't the wait but the person of interest that irritated me. I had had enough of Chad Bronski. "Now, my expenses and fees, Buck." I placed another paper on the desk.

He leaned and looked at it. His eyebrows shot into his hairline. He glanced at me, "Come now, 2400 dollars? My boss is got money, but this?" He shook his head. Again that accent.

Country accent? Hmm. Ranch hand? Possibly.

"Plus you wouldn't wanna lose future business, eh?" He said, waving the report around. This definitely was him going off script. There weren't many negotiations in my work when you hired a middleman and the job was discreet. I set a reasonable price and they agreed.

I took a deep breath and released it. And pinned him with a stare I used back in the days when I was a Marine. An MP.

"Mr. Buck, as you know, my rates were clearly on my website, as aware to your boss, non-negotiable unless special circumstances. And considering the troubles they're going through, they wouldn't turn now," I leaned, placing my hands on the desk, "And I really don't want meet Hal Jameson Sr. and tell him his ranch-hand is skimming money, now do I, Buck?"

I watched as his face turned red. A flush working it's way up his neck. He huffed, stood up and placed a roll of cash on the table. As he turned to leave, I stopped him.

"Come now, Buck," I sighed, "Place the remaining cash here. Really don't want to play this game." He stopped, his face now working towards purple.

He slipped his hand in pocket of his jeans, made a fist, slammed the wad of cash on my desk and stomped out of my office, cursing under his breath.

I shook my head at the antics, carefully counted the money, updated the spreadsheets. Doctored the job description to something...legal. Had to keep the appearances when jobs like this came along. Though, I never went past that. Paid my taxes. Partnering and consulting for local PD and attorneys also led to a bit of scrutiny on me...and I was never much of a criminal anyways.

I powered off the laptop and electronics. Packed my backpack, locked the doors, turned the alarm system on, checked the windows and all my case document safes.

Finally, below a frame depicting a horse riding knight, on the wall, a 6×18 cm sticker. A ward. All the signs were still inked, no drying and redness. Paper was still fresh and dry. It would hold.

I turned off the lights, ignored the slight light coming from behind the frame with knight, casting a red glow.