Staines flopped his ID folder on the bar and smiled.

"Hello, Marty."

"I uh- I'm not Marty. He's been off sick for a while now."

"And who are you then?"

"Jim. I'm Jim . . . the other bartender."

"So you're the guy that gave a message to the man Gunther Morse sent."

Clearly rattled, Jim wiped his hands continually on the bar rag and stuttered out his explanation, emphasizing that it was as a friendly favour to Marty.

"Who was the guy that gave you the message?"

"Gunther called and said to expect-"

"Not the phone message, the one you gave Harold Pope."

"Who?"

"Pope! The guy you passed the message to."

"No, Pope was the target . . . at least that's what the message said."

Staine's face knotted. "Listen, pal, I sat right over there and watched you pass something to Pope at the bar and then he left right away."

"I'm telling you the message said this Pope guy was the target. I never saw the man I gave it to before. I was just told - actually Marty was told but then he was sick and-"

Staines frowned and waved aside the explanation. "Who gave you the message then . . . the one you passed on."

"I don't want to get in any trouble, mister. I was just doing a favour-"

"Then do me a favour before I cart your ass off to jail for conspiring to commit murder."

"Braxton! He works across the road at Kirkland. He's a manager or something. He comes in a lot with the other people that work there. They are all-"

"Alright! Enough. Braxton, eh? Got a first name?"

Jim just shook his head and Staines had to assume he meant no, he was shaking so badly. Jim bit back the part about the man that arrived afterwards.

********

George beckoned the bartender down to where he was sitting and further traumatized him with a grilling about the man who just left. He made a call and reported all the latest news to his employer, listening intently to his instructions.

********

Harold leaned against the back of the elevator cab, rocking his mail cart thoughtfully. He almost wished he had been contracted to hit Tony Renesto, the guy was royal pain. And Staines too! The elevator stopped at the main floor and Staines got in.

"Harold! How the hell are you? Missed you at the big party," he said pointedly.

Of all the rotten luck. Harold gritted his teeth. "Wasn't invited."

"No? I thought sure I saw you talking up some of those young beauties."

"Nope."

"Hmm . . ."

They both stood quietly.

"You didn't push a button." Harold said.

"Going to the same floor as you."

The elevator stopped and Staines got out, winking goodbye. Harold lagged well behind, wondering what the heck was up. If he's investigating me you wouldn't know it. He handed out mail as he watched Staines stop at Della's desk and have what appeared to be a bit of an argument then Staines waved her off and headed for Peter's office.

Della looked about and disappeared back into her cubicle. Harold rolled up and rapped on the wall, holding out her mail.

"Oh, you! Oh- thank you." She tried to cover her anxiety.

"You okay, Miss Walker? I saw that guy speaking to you, you seem frightened."

She stared at Harold, uncertain what to say. "He uh- he just barged past me and into Peter's- Mr. Braxton's office. I told him he had someone in there but he just pushed on by."

There was a yell and a loud crash from Peter's office and Della stood up, grasping Harold's arm.

"My God, what's happened?"

"Who else was in there?"

"Tony Renesto." She suddenly realized she was gripping the man they had accidentally arranged to have killed.

Harold paused. If I go in I might find myself right in the middle of a nasty situation. Instead, he said he would get another manager to check, and moved quickly down the row of offices, rapping on doors. Three puzzled men appeared and were directed to Peter's office. Della followed cautiously.

Harold stayed well back.

"Say, is everything alrig-?" The first man's question was met with a potted aloe vera plant square in the head. The second man in stumbled over him and, flailing unbalanced, crashed into Peter who was throttling Tony over the broad window sill. Staines was kneeling on the floor by the desk, blood splashing from his nose onto the mint coloured broadloom.

Della pushed the third man inside so she could see and then let out an ear-splitting scream. Soon the entire floor was crowding in the hallway to see what was going on. People were pushing their way into the office, bumping into one another and struggling to break up the fighting.

Staines was helped out to a cubicle and seated with a roll of paper towel to blot his nose. Tony was dragged out by his armpits, swearing and threatening Peter with a colourful spate of vituperation. Peter, meanwhile, was wrestled into his desk chair and pinned by several workers, his own invective echoing down the hall.

Harold withdrew unnoticed to the elevator and down to the mail room.

********

"What was all the fuss upstairs?"

"How do you know there was a fuss?" Harold parked the cart and began filing signature slips.

"Ain't too much that's secret around this place after thirty years." Syd winked but didn't smile and Harold paused, the statement pulling his chest tight. "So, gonna tell me?"

"Thought you knew already."

"You have a problem, son?"

"Aah, sorry, Syd. Just some personal stuff." He smiled apologetically. "Peter Braxton and Tony Renesto sounded like they were trying to kill each other and some other guy - told me once on the elevator he worked in procurement - he was in on it too."

"Who was that?"

"Some guy named, Bill Staines." Harold didn't let on he knew who Staines really was.

Syd pulled at his ear, shuffling back to his own desk. "Must be new, don't know that name." The rest of Harold's story didn't seem important.

********

"Was Pope involved in the altercation?"

"No. Not directly anyway." George heard the intake of breath over the phone. "He did have a short meeting in a local diner with Renesto prior to though. Gave the woman that runs it a large tip not to mention he was there."

"You didn't-!"

"No, no, sir. She was most forthcoming with an even larger tip." George chuckled.

"Do you know what was said?"

"No, but my guess would be Pope told him about the picture and that he was the real target of Braxton's rage. Hence the set to in Braxton's office."

George waited through the silence patiently. He could visualize his employer contemplating his cigar while he thought.

"And you say this Staines was involved as well?"

"Yes but I think he was just a victim of a bit of bad timing."

"Maybe, but why was he there? Stick closer to both Pope and Staines, George. I don't like where this might be heading."

********

Della patiently applied an antiseptic to the gash above Peter's nose and taped a gauze pad from the office first aid kit over the wound.

"That bastard broke in here to attack me!"

"Did he say anything? Why he might behave that way?" She poured them both a drink from his private stash.

"He just started screaming about me wanting to have him killed!"

Della started. "He knew? How?"

"I don't know but that other guy - who the hell was he anyway?"

"He didn't say, he just barged in."

"He barged in alright. Said something about knowing Gunther and a message for Pope . . . that's when I punched him."

"You don't think he was the-?" Della's hand went to her mouth.

Peter stared up at her, his complexion fading quickly from outrage red to, oh my God, white.

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