Honey West grew impatient.
She hated waiting for anything. That included a table at her favorite Hollywood bistro, at the cinema, or at police headquarters on those rare instances where she needed some information. It didn’t matter where or when, if there was one part of her job that she hated, it was the waiting. So, naturally, the profession she chose was one where sitting around waiting for someone outside of her control to do anything. It frustrated her no end, but she was learning to cope with it.
Or at least she was trying to learn.
Honey West was a private detective and a good one at that. Even though she had only been in charge of H. West Investigations for a short time, already she had begun to make a name for herself as the p.i. to the stars. It was a misnomer, of course. While it was true that she had a couple of clients in her files who might be considered Hollywood royalty, she also had just as many files, if not more, from small businessmen, families, and local politicians. Honey got results. She worked fast and was discreet, the latter of which was usually of the utmost concern of her clients. No one liked having their dirty laundry aired publicly.
It was a sentiment that Honey understood all too well. Her father’s death had brought about all kinds of unwanted attention from the press and those who had known Hank West. At first it had been well-wishes and condolences, but once she made her plans to take the reigns and run H. West Investigations, it turned to questions of competence, threats, intimidation, and condescension. While those tactics might have scared off another her age, Honey West was made of sterner stuff.
Not only did she continue her father’s business, but she thrived in it. Now there were cases around the block, sometimes more than she could handle alone. For that reason, she kept a few freelancers on call for the odd job.
Tonight, she was flying solo.
Should be a fun time.