Learning about a number, the quick way, is a fairly straightforward affair. Break into their house, hack the computer and copy their files, rifle through the mail, look under the mattress and the back of the underwear drawer, dig through all the neatly hung things in the front of the closet to find the neatly hidden things on the upper shelves.
Reese had a pretty good idea of what he’d find in this number’s closet as soon as he jimmied the lock and entered the high-rise condo. “Finch, did you dig anything else up on our Harding Weber?” Reese asked as he stole into the quiet of deep plush carpet and thickly upholstered furniture. Burgundy and gold and dark wood bookcases where most people might store leather bound first editions, but not Weber.
“Nothing beyond what I gave you earlier. It seems Mr. Weber has lived a quiet life on his inheritance. No society page listings, no scandals, not even a traffic ticket.”
Reese listened as he continued past the bookcases and through the condo to what should have been a den or entertainment room, but, to Weber’s custom instruction, had been reimagined as an elaborate dressing room with a grand three way mirror and several outfits, some hanging, still freshly bagged from the dry cleaners, others, in various states of composition laid out across a low divan.
“I don’t think Weber is much for the high society set. “ Reese murmured into the earpiece as he read the cleaning tag. “See if your machine can find anything on ‘Montana Cherrybomb’.”
(A Year’s Worth of Cocktails, Reese, Finch, crossdressing, casefic, squinty pre-slash)