In the last episode of The Crowded Streets, Rocky was bribed by a man calling himself Mr. Franklin while investigating the corrupt Congressman Howard Dixon. He trailed Franklin to a building on Parmenter Street, in the hopes that he might form a connection between Dixon and the companies he used to get government contracts.
Two tall palm trees stood guard on either side of the building where Franklin was hiding. They were taller than the building itself, a two-story job straight from old California, stucco with the red Spanish tile, as if it might have been part of an old mission. It was probably offices now, I thought to myself. Everything was an office of one sort or another in this part of town. Franklin had saved a whole lot of time by letting me know exactly where the Honorable Dixon chose to do his business. I smiled and got out of the car.
Four steps led up to a sturdy oak door that didn't look like it belonged. I yanked it open and was greeted by a secretary at a rounded desk. She was pretty in a way that made you uncomfortable enough to want to move on to whoever it was you wanted to see. Her dark hair was set in two sweeps that latched in the back and her chin came to a point, giving her head the illusion that it was heart-shaped. She had tight-set lips that didn't look like they ever expanded out of a pursed expression and large, blue eyes that opened to their full size as I wandered in. A plaque on her desk read: “Lauren Walters.”
“May I help you?” she said, in hopes that she wouldn't have to.
I smiled all friendly at her and stepped forward. “A man just came in. Green suit, little mustache. His name is...” I snapped my fingers a couple times to prompt her.
“Franklin?” said Miss Walters, pleased with herself that she knew the answer.
His name really was Franklin. I couldn't help but laugh a little at it. “Yes, that's him. His office is...” I snapped a couple more times.
“Not here,” she replied. “He's visiting Mr. Inglehoff on the second floor, number 215. Shall I announce you?”
“No, thank you. It would ruin the surprise.”
Lauren Walters directed me to a door around the corner which led to the stairwell. I hopped up the stairs and quickly found myself in front of a door marked with raised gold numbers, 2-1-5, and below that, a hand-painted sign reading “Inglehoff, by appointment only,” hanging from a nail. I snatched the sign up and opened the door.
Franklin was seated in a chair by the window, his eyes closed and his hand extended, palm up. My presence in the room didn't get the response I was hoping for; not, at least, from him. A man seated in a chair facing Franklin held his palm up. For the brief moment I went unnoticed, this man who I took to be Inglehoff himself seemed to be studying the lines in Franklin's hand. He was a man of early middle age, his hair thin and pushed around to cover bald spots and his eyes framed in thick glasses. When he saw me, his eyes flashed, but Franklin seemed lost in a dream world.
Inglehoff yelled. “What are you doing here? Get out!”
Franklin's eyes popped open and at last he saw me. Much to my surprise, he didn't look too concerned. In fact, he looked positively pleased.
“I have an appointment,” I said, and dropped the sign on the floor. “With your friend. Maybe if you look hard enough at that palm of his, you'll see the grease he's carrying around with him.”
He dropped Franklin's hand and got to his feet. Inglehoff was smaller than I gathered him to be at first, but he made up for it in fury. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about and you're letting all the positive spirits leave the room. It doesn't matter what my clients do outside of this room. In here,” he paused to reflect and gather himself, “there is peace.”
Just great. I busted in on him and his crackpot spiritualist guide. No wonder Franklin was smiling like there was no tomorrow.
How can Rocky make the connection between Franklin and Congressman Dixon? Or is there no connection at all? Find out the answer to these and many other questions in the next episode of The Adventures of Rocky Stone!
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