Two old liars sat across from each other, cold coffee on the table between them. One was somber and wore a fedora that barely revealed the close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair beneath it. He was Joseph Gillen, detective for 22 years and miserably sauce-free for the past six. He needed pills to sleep and a job to get himself up again.
The other was older and relaxed. He was Archie Maxwell, and he looked a good decade and a half the junior of the younger man across from him. The only sign of graying on Archie were the flecks on the thick moustache curling up to the brown bird’s nest he didn’t bother to cut. Archie wasn’t in nearly as much trouble as both of them wanted him to be. He was there to play with Joseph’s head, Joseph wanted Archie behind bars.
The detective reached for the coffee. It was cold. That disappointed him. He made eye contact with the other man, “Toast?”
Archie smiled, “Toast, like the kind you put in a toaster.”
“You put bread in a toaster, Archie.”
“You’re still sharp.”
“Your damn right I am. Now cut the crap and give me answers.”
“I hope the pun was intentional, Joe.”
“It wasn’t, now give me some god-damned answers.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Why withhold information from me if you’re just a witness?”
“You work too much, Joe.”
“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings. You’ve never needed a job.”
“The devil got bored with me long ago.”
“So did the courts.”
“So did the jails. What good is trying to shut me away again, Joe? The price of good lawyers is worth your exasperation.”
Joe gritted his teeth. The clock angrily hacked away seconds on the wall. “The CFO of the third largest corporation in the world dies at a friend’s dinner party. The host, the man’s wife, you and one of your floozies watched him die. Twelve hours later, Maxwell Corporation buys half of the company’s devalued stock. And you’re saying toast killed him?”
“The CFO was allergic to wheat. Our forgetful host left a loaf of bread toasting in the oven for the rest of us. As the bread burned, the Triticeae glutens in the wheat went up in smoke and into his lungs. He died of anaphylactic shock.”
“He died of a heart attack Archie.”
“Caused by anaphylactic shock.”
“Nothing in the wine?”
“Nothing.”
“If you’re lying to me Archie…”
“Then I’m toast. I know the shtick Joe. I’ve given you to answers, so how much longer do I get to torment you?”
“We’re done here Archie. Get out.”
“What, no thank you between friends?”
“Get the hell out of here Archie.”
The older man left the room, pausing to give the detective a final thumbs-up. Joseph reached for the coffee, but it was still cold.