Bright City Deep Shadows by Graham Storrs

Author:Graham Storrs [Storrs, Graham]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canta Libre
Published: 2020-04-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

I had breakfast in a café in Rocklea, just across the Ipswich Motorway from the industrial wasteland of Archerfield. It had come as a surprise, although it shouldn’t have, that the gambling software company was named after the suburb that housed it and not the owner. It was hard to find much information about Archerfield online. Their website was minimal and they were rarely in the news. Fortunately, I remembered I could get information about a company from the Australian Securities and Investment Commission. From the ASIC site, I discovered that the owner and CEO was a bloke called Noah Lee.

I’d previously only known the area as a long row of retail outlets and engineering works on the main road and the small airfield tucked away behind them. Archerfield Enterprises Ltd., was a two-storey, white-painted building, with a dozen or so cars in the car park in front of it and a massive plastic archer logo that was way too big for the building. I drove past, slowly, telling myself I was doing reconnaissance, but, in reality, just stalling. There was a very nice Jaguar saloon parked near the entrance, as well as a couple of other expensive-looking European cars. Anning and Chelsea may have stinted themselves to build their businesses, but I had the strong impression that was not the case with Mr. Lee.

Telling myself to stop pratting about, I parked near the Jaguar and went into the building. Instead of the relaxed, open-plan office I was used to, I found myself in a small reception area with a desk, a gorgeous young receptionist, another outsize archer logo and, to my left, a solid, windowless door.

“I’d like to see Noah Lee,” I said, pleasantly.

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked, just as pleasantly.

“I’m afraid not. Could you ask him if he’ll see me anyway?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lee doesn’t see anybody without an appointment.”

“I’ve come a long way,” I lied. “Could you at least ask him?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lee is out at the moment.”

“Really? When will he be back?”

“If you would just make an appointment...”

“It’s all right, I’ll wait.” I looked around but there were no chairs in the little room.

The solid door clicked and opened. A young Asian man came through and closed the door behind him. He was dressed in a black suit and red tie but he did not look at all like a businessman. His brows were heavy, as was his build, and his nose seemed not just to have been broken but mashed repeatedly. If he’d had the word “Bouncer” tattooed on his low brows, he could not have been more obvious. He didn’t look at me but at the receptionist.

“This gentleman would like to see Mr. Lee,” she said, pertly. “I told him Mr. Lee was not available without an appointment.”

The bouncer turned to me, looked me up and down and said, “What’s your name, mate?”

“Alfred Whitehead.”

“You a cop?”

“No.”

“You press?”

“No, I just wanted to talk to—”

He stepped forward. “OK, you should go now.

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