16 - Planning Committee//Foley

"Mick," Deanney Lacombe said as she strode confidently into his home office.

She was wearing a green golfing polo and striped suit pants. Her short auburn hair was wrapped in a no-nonsense bun behind her. Everything about her gave away her job as a private investigator. The best in the whole province.

Going by her cocky attitude, she knew it too.

"It's Mr. Foley," Navy corrected. Mr. Foley smiled, Navy would never let anybody get away with such affronts to etiquette.

"Excuse me?" Deanney said, her eyes narrowing only the slightest amount to show how little interest she had in Mr. Foley's aide. But a young man standing in perfect posture dressed as a butler couldn't be ignored, and her face showed clear intrigue. "Who're you supposed to be?"

"I'm Navinder Dempsey, but you can call me Navy. I'm Mr. Foley's office aide and personal assistant," he explained.

"Your father and Mr. Foley have known each other for many years, decades even, but that same familiarity means Mr. Foley met you when you were still in wearing diapers. As such, you should show him some modicum of respect."

Deanney was clearly taken aback my Navy's long-winded and eloquent explanations, and Mr. Foley had been too. There was nothing inherently special about Navy, he had a normal upbringing in a low-income family.

He was just the son of a Calgary truck driver and an South Asian immigrant. But he'd worked hard to graduate from Paradox University with a degree in politics whilst nurturing a strong minor in hospitality.

His eloquence was the result of constant practice; Mr. Foley had even caught him reciting phrases from various etiquette books during his free time. Mr. Foley was lucky that Navy was so loyal; otherwise he'd have a real political adversary in the pipeline.

"Ms. Deanney Lacombe, sir," Navy introduced, even though Mr. Foley's god-daughter had already burst through the door. He was nothing if not strict with himself.

"Deanney," both Deanney and Mr. Foley corrected.

"D-N-A?" Navy repeated, confused.

"Exactly," Deanney confirmed, helping herself to a seat. "Doesn't rhyme with peony, matches deoxyribonucleic acid. I get that a lot. You should understand; having a color for a name."

"Navy is a perfectly normal nickname," he insisted vehemently.

"Enough chatter," Mr. Foley said. "Navy filled you in on the phone, correct?"

"About these masked kids?" Deanney asked. Mr. Foley was taken aback.

"Kids?" he asked.

"Exactly; I've been working this case for quite a while," she said. "I already have a bit of information about them, and I happened to hear something interesting the other day downtown."

"You know, the day my father insists he started this new red monster ad campaign," she said accusingly. Mr. Foley ground his teeth but relented.

"So you saw it," he said. "The monster."

"I was close enough to hear it, hear them," she explained. "And I happened to discover something that might just lead to their downfall, as long as you're willing to help."

"Of course," Mr. Foley agreed.

He smiled; this would be easier than he thought.