The door opened before he had a chance to knock, because butlers enjoy letting private eyes know that they've been watching them. This butler was the platonic ideal of "manservant." If you took every butler ever and pureed them, then simmered them over medium heat for two hours to get a butler reduction to pour over your flapjacks, it would taste like this guy.
"Senator Crountain is waiting in the south wing office," said the ur-butler. "He requests that you leave your firearm here in the entryway."
"Is he planning on pissing me off so severely that I might pistol-whip him?"
Jeeves/Alfred let out a brief sigh that carried a metric ton of weary condescension. "Senator Crountain abhors violence and the knowledge that someone is armed makes it difficult for him to focus on the business at hand."
"And what business does the senator have his hands in tonight?" José enjoyed irritating butlers the way some people enjoy popping zits. Just, irritating butlers was far easier to understand the appeal of.
The butler started down a long hall off of the entryway. The walls were hung with dead animals of all sorts; sad deer, morose moose, former pheasants had been stuffed and mounted everywhere. Definitely someone who hated violence.
After more twists and turns than an episode of Guiding Light, the hallway eventually lead to a cavernous office. At the far side, at a giant oak desk flanked by two stuffed grizzly bears, sat the Senator. He was a large man. He had the look of a man who might have a turkey drumstick in his hand at any time, even outside of a Ren Faire.
As José got closer, he realized the two stuffed grizzly bears were actually two bodyguards so beefy you could cook a bourguignon with them. José wondered if the Senator had hired them so he'd feel svelte.
"Mr. Amador," said the senator, sounding for all the world like a walrus had learned to speak, "I know my home is somewhat remote. Thank you for making the trip."
"Why, a trip is my favorite thing to make, Senator," José replied. "Much easier than a baked Alaska."
"I'm not a man who likes wasting time, so I'll get right to business," spake the Walrus.
"Sounds good," José answered. "I don't like wasting time, either. But I do like a good egg salad."
The senator opened an envelope in front of him, pulled out a picture and slid it across the desk to José. "This is my grandson."
The image was of a slight young man, the sort one wouldn't be surprised to find hung up in a gym locker or with his head being shoved into a toilet or with his underwear jerked up to his shoulders. If this kid had any of the senator's genes in him, they were doing a great job of hiding.
José figured he knew where this was going. "Is he missing?"
"No, Mr. Amador. I know exactly where he is. He's taking classes at a school for mimes."
José was unsure of the importance of this knowledge. "Congratulations?" he managed.
"Bah!" spat the senator. He actually used the word, "bah." His guard-bears recognized that their trainer was upset and made the smallest of moves toward the person who had done the upsetting. The senator gave a casual wave with his hand and the guards resumed their quiet hulking. The senator elaborated on his bah, saying, "Mr. Amador, Crountains do not make a career of pretending to be trapped in a box. The men in my family do men's work. Important work. Work that builds empires. Work that amasses fortunes. Work that is worthy of the Crountain name."
"So, no belly-dancers, then?" José enjoyed pissing off butlers and old rich white guys.
The look on the senator's face told José he'd hit his mark. "When I was referred to you, Mr. Amador, by an associate of mine, he mentioned your irreverent streak. He also said that, in spite of that, you could be trusted to be effective and discreet."
José put his irreverent streak on hold and said, "What is it you are hiring me to do, Senator?"
The senator leaned forward, with a look on his face so serious, it would make Nixon look like Ruth Buzzi. "I want you to convince my grandson to give up this ridiculous career and go to law school. If that proves impossible, I want you to kill him."
Happy Birthday, Beigey!
