ext_20824 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
insaneladybug.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2012-05-20 09:31 am
insaneladybug.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-05-20 09:31 am
[May 20th] [Perry Mason] I Just Haven't Met You Yet
Title: I Just Haven't Met You Yet
Day/Theme: May 20th - A coat that would fit anyone
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Lieutenant Drumm, Lieutenant Anderson, Vern St. Cloud (from The Rockford Files)
Rating: K/G
Part of the "Missing Scenes from The Broken Ties" series.
Takes place probably during the break between chapters 7 and 8, but possibly earlier.
By Lucky_Ladybug
Steve Drumm glowered at the streets of Los Angeles as he wandered, his hands shoved in the pockets of his trenchcoat. No one paid him any heed; no one ever did, unless it was the sort of someone whose attention he did not want to attract. As a private detective in the city, he encountered the worst kind of scum day in and day out. And they detested each other all the time.
Right now he was beyond frustrated. He recognized something that the majority of the city seemed oblivious to—something was very wrong. Most channels of communication only worked within the county limits. Contacting the outside world was all but impossible. And he could not find anyone who believed him. They insisted it was just normal connectivity problems and would soon straighten out. After all, every now and then an email was successfully sent or a website was successfully accessed outside the county limits. Steve pointed out that no one had ever received replies to their emails, and that the websites went down soon after being accessed, but they all tuned him out.
He led a lonely life, the stereotypical life of the private eye who had a broken-down office that he all but lived in. Other than bad guys and clients, the people he saw the most of were the police and fellow P.I.s.
His relationship with the police was often a rocky one, as he knew it was for Paul Drake. Several times he knew that Tragg or Brice had put a tail on him, hoping he would lead them to someone involved in whatever murder they were currently investigating. It was an annoyance, but one he had to put up with.
He had recently tried to convince them that something was amiss, to no avail. Tragg was acting strange of late, though. He was always exhausted. The last time Steve had seen him, he wasn’t even sure that Tragg had heard half of what he had said.
When it came to other P.I.s, he saw the most of Vern St. Cloud, whose office was in the same building. He still hadn’t figured out how Vern had managed to be a detective for twenty-five years. Obviously he must have done some things right; dumb luck wouldn’t last that long and bread was getting put on his table somehow. Steve just had no idea what things Vern was doing right. He had never witnessed the phenomenon. And Vern, naturally, did not believe that something was wrong in town, either.
As he rounded the next corner he plowed into someone coming from the opposite direction. He backed up, his fedora now askew. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
The other man was a stranger. And yet, as he adjusted his own hat and smiled amiably, there was something eerily familiar about him. “It’s perfectly alright,” he said. “It was my fault; I wasn’t watching where I was going. I apologize.”
Steve nodded and started to walk past, but something made him pause. “. . . Have we met before?” he haltingly asked.
A surprised blink. “No . . . no, I don’t think so.” A hesitation. “What’s your name?”
“Steve Drumm. I’m a private investigator.”
“Andrew Anderson. I’m the principal of an elementary school in the Valley.” Andy held out a hand.
Steve shook it. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Anderson. Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”
“Maybe so,” Andy nodded.
But as they parted ways, Steve could not shake the feeling that, even though it was impossible, they knew each other. He glanced over his shoulder. Andy was getting into a car at the curb.
He turned away with a frown. He had to be mistaken.
Didn’t he?
****
He was still troubled about the encounter when he got back to the office building. As he headed up to the door he noticed Vern coming towards it from the opposite direction—chowing down on what seemed to be a giant sandwich.
Steve moved out of the way but then paused. Could Mr. Anderson have been one of Vern’s clients? Maybe Steve had seen him in the building somewhere. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, at least.
“Hello, Vern,” he greeted gruffly when the ravenous detective pushed open the door.
“Eh? Oh. Drumm.” Vern glanced in his direction. He was generally aloof and cool. Always speaking of the dog-eat-dog world of private eyes, he preferred to be a lone wolf and never team up with other P.I.s. Steve wondered what sorts of bad experiences he had gone through with them in the past. Obviously something had happened to make him so cynical, and Steve had the feeling it wasn’t just the crooks and the crime. But he also felt it wasn’t his business to ask. Vern probably wouldn’t tell him anything anyway.
“Do you have a minute?” Steve took up pace alongside him.
Vern shrugged. “A minute,” he agreed. “Then I’ve got an appointment with a client.”
“Alright, I’ll make it brief. Do you know someone named Andrew Anderson?” Steve watched him closely. “He’s an elementary school principal in the Valley.”
Vern blinked in surprise. “The Valley? What’ve you got to do with somebody out there? Is this for a new case?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Steve frowned. “Do you know him or not?”
“No,” Vern growled. He pulled out his keyring with one hand and pressed the button to unlock the doors. “The only Anderson I know is a kid on the police force. Officer James Anderson.”
“I see,” Steve nodded. He stepped back. “Thanks, Vern.”
“Whatever.” Vern hauled open the door and eased himself into the driver’s seat. But before he was fully in, he paused. “I think I did hear him mention something about a cousin of his named Andy,” he said.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Really?” Was it a coincidence? There were probably a lot of Andersons in the county.
. . . Then again, was it really that common for someone to have a given name similar in many respects to their surname? He had heard of such strange phenomena as people even having the exact same first and last name, but he hoped it wasn’t that widespread.
“Yeah, really.” Vern set the sandwich on the passenger seat and stuck the key in the ignition. “What do you want this guy for?”
“I just wondered who he is,” Steve answered. “Thanks again. Good luck with your case,” he added, a bit of irony slipping into his tone.
If Vern caught it he did not respond. Instead he simply pulled the car door shut and drove off.
Sighing, Steve headed inside the building. He had never met Officer James Anderson, but maybe while at the police station sometime he had caught a glimpse of Andrew Anderson coming to see his cousin. It was a logical enough possibility.
Anyway, there were other things to worry about now. Such as how to get everyone to recognize that something was wrong in the county. That was a big enough task without throwing in the mystery of why a school principal seemed so familiar to him.
Even when he returned to his office and the task at hand, the Anderson encounter continued to bother him in the back of his mind. He did his best to ignore it, however. It could be dealt with after he solved the case of the lack of communication and the disinterested public.
Day/Theme: May 20th - A coat that would fit anyone
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Lieutenant Drumm, Lieutenant Anderson, Vern St. Cloud (from The Rockford Files)
Rating: K/G
Part of the "Missing Scenes from The Broken Ties" series.
Takes place probably during the break between chapters 7 and 8, but possibly earlier.
Steve Drumm glowered at the streets of Los Angeles as he wandered, his hands shoved in the pockets of his trenchcoat. No one paid him any heed; no one ever did, unless it was the sort of someone whose attention he did not want to attract. As a private detective in the city, he encountered the worst kind of scum day in and day out. And they detested each other all the time.
Right now he was beyond frustrated. He recognized something that the majority of the city seemed oblivious to—something was very wrong. Most channels of communication only worked within the county limits. Contacting the outside world was all but impossible. And he could not find anyone who believed him. They insisted it was just normal connectivity problems and would soon straighten out. After all, every now and then an email was successfully sent or a website was successfully accessed outside the county limits. Steve pointed out that no one had ever received replies to their emails, and that the websites went down soon after being accessed, but they all tuned him out.
He led a lonely life, the stereotypical life of the private eye who had a broken-down office that he all but lived in. Other than bad guys and clients, the people he saw the most of were the police and fellow P.I.s.
His relationship with the police was often a rocky one, as he knew it was for Paul Drake. Several times he knew that Tragg or Brice had put a tail on him, hoping he would lead them to someone involved in whatever murder they were currently investigating. It was an annoyance, but one he had to put up with.
He had recently tried to convince them that something was amiss, to no avail. Tragg was acting strange of late, though. He was always exhausted. The last time Steve had seen him, he wasn’t even sure that Tragg had heard half of what he had said.
When it came to other P.I.s, he saw the most of Vern St. Cloud, whose office was in the same building. He still hadn’t figured out how Vern had managed to be a detective for twenty-five years. Obviously he must have done some things right; dumb luck wouldn’t last that long and bread was getting put on his table somehow. Steve just had no idea what things Vern was doing right. He had never witnessed the phenomenon. And Vern, naturally, did not believe that something was wrong in town, either.
As he rounded the next corner he plowed into someone coming from the opposite direction. He backed up, his fedora now askew. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
The other man was a stranger. And yet, as he adjusted his own hat and smiled amiably, there was something eerily familiar about him. “It’s perfectly alright,” he said. “It was my fault; I wasn’t watching where I was going. I apologize.”
Steve nodded and started to walk past, but something made him pause. “. . . Have we met before?” he haltingly asked.
A surprised blink. “No . . . no, I don’t think so.” A hesitation. “What’s your name?”
“Steve Drumm. I’m a private investigator.”
“Andrew Anderson. I’m the principal of an elementary school in the Valley.” Andy held out a hand.
Steve shook it. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Anderson. Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”
“Maybe so,” Andy nodded.
But as they parted ways, Steve could not shake the feeling that, even though it was impossible, they knew each other. He glanced over his shoulder. Andy was getting into a car at the curb.
He turned away with a frown. He had to be mistaken.
Didn’t he?
He was still troubled about the encounter when he got back to the office building. As he headed up to the door he noticed Vern coming towards it from the opposite direction—chowing down on what seemed to be a giant sandwich.
Steve moved out of the way but then paused. Could Mr. Anderson have been one of Vern’s clients? Maybe Steve had seen him in the building somewhere. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, at least.
“Hello, Vern,” he greeted gruffly when the ravenous detective pushed open the door.
“Eh? Oh. Drumm.” Vern glanced in his direction. He was generally aloof and cool. Always speaking of the dog-eat-dog world of private eyes, he preferred to be a lone wolf and never team up with other P.I.s. Steve wondered what sorts of bad experiences he had gone through with them in the past. Obviously something had happened to make him so cynical, and Steve had the feeling it wasn’t just the crooks and the crime. But he also felt it wasn’t his business to ask. Vern probably wouldn’t tell him anything anyway.
“Do you have a minute?” Steve took up pace alongside him.
Vern shrugged. “A minute,” he agreed. “Then I’ve got an appointment with a client.”
“Alright, I’ll make it brief. Do you know someone named Andrew Anderson?” Steve watched him closely. “He’s an elementary school principal in the Valley.”
Vern blinked in surprise. “The Valley? What’ve you got to do with somebody out there? Is this for a new case?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Steve frowned. “Do you know him or not?”
“No,” Vern growled. He pulled out his keyring with one hand and pressed the button to unlock the doors. “The only Anderson I know is a kid on the police force. Officer James Anderson.”
“I see,” Steve nodded. He stepped back. “Thanks, Vern.”
“Whatever.” Vern hauled open the door and eased himself into the driver’s seat. But before he was fully in, he paused. “I think I did hear him mention something about a cousin of his named Andy,” he said.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Really?” Was it a coincidence? There were probably a lot of Andersons in the county.
. . . Then again, was it really that common for someone to have a given name similar in many respects to their surname? He had heard of such strange phenomena as people even having the exact same first and last name, but he hoped it wasn’t that widespread.
“Yeah, really.” Vern set the sandwich on the passenger seat and stuck the key in the ignition. “What do you want this guy for?”
“I just wondered who he is,” Steve answered. “Thanks again. Good luck with your case,” he added, a bit of irony slipping into his tone.
If Vern caught it he did not respond. Instead he simply pulled the car door shut and drove off.
Sighing, Steve headed inside the building. He had never met Officer James Anderson, but maybe while at the police station sometime he had caught a glimpse of Andrew Anderson coming to see his cousin. It was a logical enough possibility.
Anyway, there were other things to worry about now. Such as how to get everyone to recognize that something was wrong in the county. That was a big enough task without throwing in the mystery of why a school principal seemed so familiar to him.
Even when he returned to his office and the task at hand, the Anderson encounter continued to bother him in the back of his mind. He did his best to ignore it, however. It could be dealt with after he solved the case of the lack of communication and the disinterested public.