Flanagan sat behind his desk at his office and looked at his notes. The jacket had

stopped four bullets without taking a scratch. He had felt the impacts, but had

received no damage as far as he could tell. The small soreness he felt could be from

the actual fight later instead of getting shot.

He wondered how he would have felt if he had worn the shirt under the jacket. Would

that have spread the impact even more after the initial hit? He couldn’t expect it to

stop heavier weapon slugs, but it had been a good field test.

He wished it had been something he had come up with and not because someone had

tried to kill him.

“Mr. Coutri and Mr. Westwood are here,” reported Miss Rich from the outer office.

“Send them in,” said Flanagan.

Coutri, a serious man in a good suit and grave demeanor, and Westwood, smiling too

much and wearing a suit pulled off a rack somewhere, came in. Flanagan waved them

to padded visitor chairs. He hoped they could help him out.

“Thank you for coming,” said Flanagan. “I need your help with some problems that

have come up.”

“What kind of problems?,” asked Coutri.

“A man named Arnold Courtland has persistently asked me to sell my interest, or the

whole company, to him,” said Flanagan. “The answer has been no, but he won’t go

away. I need you to dig into him, Mr. Coutri. I need to know everything you can find

out about his financial status, and if anyone is behind him. I need a way to attack him,

and possibly buy his company, and interests out from under him if I can. In any case,

I want the offers to stop, as well as any offers to the board he might be making.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Coutri. “It might take some time depending on how he

has arranged his businesses to protect his holdings.”

“Do what you can as fast as you can,” said Flanagan. “I need ammunition for the next

board meeting.”

Coutri nodded. He wrote the name down on a card and put it back in his suit pocket.

“Mr. Westwood,” said Flanagan. He looked at a note on his desk. “Mr. Coutri has

recommended you as an investigator. I need you to get me everything you can on a

man named Ian Shanks. I need you to find him, and keep an eye on him. I need to

know everyone he talks to, and everything he does until I figure out how he fits in to

things.”

He handed over the license he had taken from the gunman the night before.

“I took this from him last night,” said Flanagan. “He tried to shoot me.”

“Do the police know?,” asked Coutri.

“The New Jersey State Police know about the attempt, and they have his gun,” said

Flanagan. “I don’t know if they can trace it back to him, or if it belonged to someone

else. They don’t know I took the license, or that I know who he is.”

“That could lead to trouble down the road,” warned Coutri.

“I’m not interested in the police catching him,” said Flanagan. “That would be nice,

but it won’t solve my problem. I have someone trying to take over my company, and

an attempted bombing of my main factory, and an attempted shooting of me. I doubt

that Shanks decided on his own let’s kill Frank Flanagan. I need to know if he is

working for Courtland, or someone else. If he is, then I can think about what I can do

about it.”

“I’ll put out some feelers,” said Westwood. “If he has a record, he might have some

known associates I can use to find him. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to start at this address

and work my way outward.”

“Do whatever you have to do,” said Flanagan. “Only a few people know about this.

A detective named Dern is looking into the bombing. He spoke to me at the hospital.

The state police said they were going to hand the pistol over to a detective to chase

down. He hasn’t called yet.”

“It might take a while,” said Westwood. “I assume if we find this Shanks, you’ll want

to turn him in.”

“I’m more interested in finding his boss,” said Flanagan. “If you see him committing

some other crime, turn him in. I’ll be on the look out for his replacement.”

“He missed,” said Westwood. “A new guy might already be out there. We won’t

know until he takes a shot at you. I’ll get you a bodyguard to try to keep you safe.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Flanagan. “I have some things to do at my factory, but

I don’t plan to be out in the open except for transit between here and there.”

“How do you want to proceed after we complete these tasks?,” asked Coutri.

“I don’t know,” said Flanagan. “I don’t know if they are connected. If we can prove

that they are connected, we can take them both out by proving they’re a conspiracy.

If they are separate efforts, then we can take one, then the other.”

“All right,” said Coutri. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Leave everything with Miss Rich if I am not here,” said Flanagan. “She’s the only

one I trust.”

“Got it,” said Westwood. “Where is this factory, and does it have a phone?”

Flanagan pulled a card from a tray on his desk. He wrote down the number of the lab

phone on the back and handed it over.

That struck him for a second. He paused at the thought.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Courtland called me on my private line at the factory,” said Flanagan. “Only four

people other than you have that number, and I just gave you the number.”

“So one of them must have talked to Courtland and handed him the number to call

you,” said Westwood. “Names?”

“Miss Rich, Frank Saxon, Jim Rydell, Larry Rutherford,” said Flanagan. “Saxon runs

our West Coast operation. Rydell is on the board. Rutherford is my Treasurer and

Financial Officer.”

“There is a small chance that he didn’t get the number directly from any of these

people,” said Westwood, taking notes. “He could have stolen it somehow, or hired

someone to steal it for him.”

“Find out,” said Flanagan. “I would stake my life on Miss Rich, but Saxon could get

a promotion out of a change of ownership, Rydell would get some money if he was

able to sell his shares, or get more shares in the new company, and Rutherford could

want a bigger seat at the table.”

“All right,” said Westwood. “I’ll put some men on them and see where they go. If

Saxon is out west, I’ll call some people out there and subcontract the work.”

“That’s fine,” said Flanagan. “Miss Rich, could you come in, please?”

The secretary opened the door and stepped inside. She closed the door behind her.

“Miss Rich, Mr. Westwood is going to need personnel files and so forth from us,”

said Flanagan. “Also he will have someone guarding you until this is over. You’re the

only one I trust, and I don’t want any problems for you.”

“So you think someone will throw a bomb at me?,” said Miss Rich.

“Not really,” said Westwood. “I like to be thorough. Mr. Flanagan said Arnold

Courtland called him at his lab, but only a few people have the number. Is there any

way he could have gotten the number from you.”

“Yes,” said Miss Rich. “Depending.”

“I don’t understand,” said Westwood.

“I have a list of people I have to call on my desk,” said Miss Rich. “Mr. Courtland has

come here to talk to Mr. Flanagan. All he would have to do is look at the number for

Mr. Flanagan’s lab on that list if he had time to read it between my notifying Mr.

Flanagan he was here for his appointment and showing him to the office door.”

“Do you know of anyone else who might know the number?,” asked Westwood.

“Mr. Rydell,” said Miss Rich. “He likes to call if there is a slightest hiccup, and Mr.

Rutherford, who calls when there’s some problems with our cash flow, or numbers.

They call my office first, and then generally say they will call the factory looking for

Mr. Flanagan. I assume they both have the lab number.”

“Anybody else?,” said Westwood.

“I don’t think so,” said Miss Rich. “Usually people call me, I call Mr. Flanagan, and

he calls them back, or tells me to act on whatever I was asked.”

“Can you give me an example?,” said Westwood.

“When Mr. Flanagan came back to work after the bombing, I took a call from Mr.

Rydell. He wanted to talk to Mr. Flanagan about what happened. I talked to Mr.

Flanagan. Mr. Flanagan told me he didn’t want to be bothered while he was going

over some of our production contracts. I told Mr. Rydell that Mr. Flanagan was busy

and would call him back when he was done. He became a little huffy on the phone.

I told him that Mr. Flanagan was busy, and it was fine to come down, but I was sure

that Mr. Flanagan would throw him out of the building. It was better to leave a

message.”

“You told a member of the board I would throw him out of the building?,” said

Flanagan.

“Yes, sir,” said Miss Rich. “Mr. Rydell is too haughty for my liking.”

“Thank you, Miss Rich,” said Westwood. “I am going to need the personnel files for

a Frank Saxon, Rydell, and Rutherford for a start. Can you get them for me?”

“Yes,” said the secretary. She left the office.

“I like her,” said Westwood. “I wish my secretary would threaten some of my clients

like that.”

“I’m surprised Rydell didn’t demand I fire her,” said Flanagan.

“Do you think this Courtland and the attacks are connected?,” asked Coutri. “They

look that way to me.”

“There are only so many options,” said Flanagan. “Either Courtland wants the

company so bad that killing me is on the table so he can get it, or I have two enemies

acting at the same time. Either way, I have to know what’s going on, and deal with

it in some way.”

“Don’t worry,” said Westwood. “If Shanks is connected to Courtland, it will take a

bit to dig it up, but we will. He isn’t going to work for free.”

“Shanks might have a helper,” said Flanagan. “I hit him on the head pretty good. It

took a bit for the State Police to arrive, but he was gone. I am leaning on someone

else being there and driving him away while I was calling the law, but his skull could

be that thick.”

“When we find him, we can see if he has someone who helps him out,” said

Westwood.

“Go ahead and get started,” said Flanagan. “As soon as I hear from Courtland again,

I’ll call you so you know where he is.”

“Be careful,” said Westwood. “I want to get paid.”

“I’ll set up a fund with Miss Rich to pay even if I die,” said Flanagan. “I’ll sign the

paperwork before I leave today.”

“Have it filed at the courthouse before close of business,” said Coutri. “Otherwise,

if you die tonight, we won’t get paid.”

“I’m not going to die unless I blow up my lab,” said Flanagan. “If that happens,

Courtland will be able to buy everything for a song.”

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Flanagan,” said Westwood as he stood. “I don’t think

I have ever met someone so cool about someone wanting to kill him.”

“This isn’t the first time something dangerous has happened to me,” said Flanagan.

“I’ll call you in the next few days to check in. If something happens to me, Miss Rich

will pay you to keep digging.”

“You can call to check in, but it will probably be close to next week before I have

something for you,” said Westwood. He looked at Coutri.

“I don’t know how long it will take to dig into Courtland,” said Coutri. “We’ll have

to do a ton of searches for his licenses and records just to get a handle on things if he

is an honest businessman. If he isn’t, we’ll have to track him through any associates.”

“See if he is connected in some way to Rydell,” said Flanagan. “The man owns a

quarter of the company’s stock. He might want the rest.”

“Makes sense,” said Coutri. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”

He stood up and straightened his suit before joining Westwood at the door.

They stepped out to talk to Miss Rich. Flanagan sat back in his chair. He needed

information. If they could get him something, that would help him settle things so he

could get back to work.

He didn’t like the fact that he was a target, but he wasn’t a social butterfly. If

someone wanted to get him, they would have to come at him at one of three places.

He spent the most time at his lab, then his office, then his townhouse across the city.

He idly considered what would happen if he went home.

He wondered what would happen if he had protective gear.

No one would be watching his house. He hadn’t been home since everything started.

Any watcher would be bored out of their mind by now.

He needed information. The townhouse was probably safe. If it was watched, would

anybody be stupid enough to come after him? Could he grab one of his attackers? Did

he want to be bait?

Maybe he could use a tougher set of armor for protection just in case.

Flanagan leaned back in his chair. It was too bad he couldn’t rule Saxon out of this.

It would be nice not to have to worry about something while trying to get to the

bottom of things.

“Miss Rich,” he said into the intercom. “Could you come in here, please?”

She appeared with pad and pen in hand. Her eyebrows knitted together as she

wondered what he wanted.

“Please sit, Miss Rich,” Flanagan said. He gestured at the visitor chair. “I would like

to talk to you for a moment.”

Miss Rich took a chair.

“Do you have a boyfriend, a fiancé, Miss Rich?,” asked Flanagan.

“Excuse me?,” said Miss Rich.

“I need a date,” said Flanagan.