Give ’Em the Ax

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As I got off the elevator and started down the corridor, the old familiar surroundings took me back to that first day when I’d made that same journey, looking for a job.

At that time, the sign on the door had read, B. COOL, CONFIDENTIAL INVESTIGATIONS. Now it read COOL & LAM, with the name B. COOL in one corner, and DONALD LAM down in the other. There was something reassuring about seeing my name on the door. It was as though I really had something to come back to.

I pushed open the door.

Elsie Brand was pounding the keyboard of the typewriter. She turned and looked up over her shoulder, her face automatically assuming the welcoming smile with which one reassures the nervous clients who call to see a private detective.

I saw the expression jerk off her face. Her eyes widened.

“Donald!”

“Hello, Elsie.”

“Donald! My, I’m glad to see you. Where did you come from?”

“South Seas, and various places.”

“How long are you... When do you have to go back?”

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