Free David Bishop - Matt Kile 04 - Find My Little Sister by David Bishop

out. Then she locked the door. After crossing the room she pulled down the blinds of the window which looked out over the street to the side of the hotel. The disadvantages of her life with Johnny Breeze included aliases for hotel rooms and keeping the shades drawn most of the time.
     
    * * *
     
    I started the next morning without specific plans to see Callie. I spent an hour or so clacking the keys on my typewriter while monkeying with the column I had roughed out yesterday. Then I left my bungalow in the Los Feliz area over near Griffith Park in the hilly Hollywood district of L.A. I had been asked to come to the office of Los Angeles District Attorney Buron Fitts, a polite way of being summoned. This stuff was the essence of writing a column. Without invites to sit down with the men in power, I was left listening for rumors and reporting what seemed straight.
    Before leaving my place I turned off the water that had been providing a pick-me-up for the Octopus and King Palm trees that grew in my front yard. Being a reporter and having the curiosity that goes with the job I wondered what the city’s top lawyer wanted. We had never talked one-on-one, although I had tossed questions his way and observed him and his doing while covering the city.
    I approached the receptionist, which took about twenty-five steps after I went through the door with the bright gold-leaf lettering that read, The Office of Los Angeles District Attorney, Buron Fitts.
    “My name ’s Matt Kile,” I said to a smartly dressed woman with a perfect hairdo and perfect makeup. “I was asked to meet with the D.A. at ten-thirty this morning.”
    “Yes, Mr. Kile. He is expecting you, right through those double doors.”
    She pointed , classy-like with her entire hand, not just a finger. Only the best work for the D.A.
    “ I recognized you,” she said, “and let Mr. Fitts know you had arrived. May I say I love your column and your radio show?”
    “As often as you’d like.”
    She lowered her long eyelashes which were also perfect, each separated with no clumping. Like most of the snappy women of the day, she wore perfume, a pleasant fragrance. Our eyes met. I smiled. Then, not wanting to keep the D.A. waiting, I walked away from Ms. Perfect.
    Proceeding toward what appeared to be hand-carved doors, I passed a dowdy, thickset woman dressed in a brown tweed suit buttoned up to her neck. I didn’t recall her name and had never met her, but I imagined her to be the politically sure-footed woman rumored to be the D.A.’s campaign brains.
    Just before entering the Fitts’s inner sanctum, I looked back at Miss Perfect. She had swiveled her chair around to face me from across the room, her legs crossed, her shoulders back. She had nice gams and, with her shoulders back a lot more that looked nice, a fine female package filling out the space below her perfect smile. If it were not for my optimism about Callie I would have asked Miss Perfect to accompany me somewhere in the not too distant future. She seemed quite personable, and the way she sat and smiled suggested she would accept such an invitation.
    When I stepped inside, t he district attorney immediately rose and headed toward me. His respectful treatment made me feel a little like, “Lunch has arrived,” and I was on the plate.
    “Mr. Kile, I’m pleased we’ve finally met one on one. I’ve admired your work in your column. You tell it like it is without punching below the belt. I also took the liberty of going through your file from when you were an L.A. detective. Access to anything in the city is one of the perks of being D.A. Your service was during a period when being an honest detective was rare. I suspect that played into your decision to become a columnist.
    “You say that like the days of crooked detectives are over. What about Eddie Kynette? Not to mention others.”
    “Now, let’s keep it nice, Mr. Kile. I wanted us to meet. I think there are a couple things we might talk