I quickly start lock-picking it. I don’t have a search warrant, but I can’t waste my time asking for one back at the station...having no car makes me do stuff like this.
The door opens. Silence, obviously. I step inside...it smells like cigarettes and alcohol. It’s messy...the apartment is quite tiny, and it even looks smaller due to the sheer amount of trash all over the place. Poor woman.
I move over to the kitchenette. Empty bottles of cheap beer and burnt cigarette butts sleeping on the ashtray. The small window that barely lets in any air is open, letting me breathe fresher air if I stand right in front of it.
Bedroom. The bed’s unmade, sheets tangled...probably since the day she moved in. The closet is slightly ajar, clothes spilling out...a mixture of casual wear and work outfits.
I notice something peculiar. High-end dresses, more expensive than what her paycheck should allow.
Gifts, maybe? Or something she bought for herself with extra jobs?
I go into the living room again and check for documents. Among bills and other things, there is indeed work-related content...but it’s all connected to the club. No extra job...unless it was something illegal.
Maybe she got in trouble with a dangerous job and got kidnapped at the parking lot of her legal workplace.
No...they would have followed her at home, whoever they are.
They must be linked to the club...it must be something the staff is involved with, as I said earlier. Her home is safe...nothing is out of place.
I look at the small table in the living room and, among other beer bottles, is a paper bag with a logo on it. I pick it up and examine it…it’s a bar.
“Momi’s tavern.”
I check the contents. An empty paper coffee cup, napkins, and a receipt. I read the receipt’s content. 9:34 AM, two days ago...the day she disappeared.
There is a “daily streak” discount, 24 days. 10%.
How nice of “Momi”. With this discount, they made me discover another habitual place for the girl. Next stop.
I slide the receipt into my pocket, since it has the bar’s address and leave.
I make sure the door clicks shut behind me as I check my watch, 9:45…
I raise my head instantly as I notice someone walking past me. A man as tall as me, bald, trimmed beard. Good physique, casual but practical clothes.
I gulp down the shot of intense caffeine and stand up, clearing my throat. Another man stands up too and leaves...he hasn’t finished his pricey whiskey glass. He leaves through the front door, while I delve deeper into the club.
He’s him. He’s passing through me, his eyes not daring to look at me, despite mine being glued to him.
He’s following me. And the reason why must be because I said I was a PI out loud at the club.
Is he involved? The manager mentioned only him and his son as the present staff...and he was acting as a customer. If I follow the staff theory, he shouldn’t be interested in me.
I take a deep breath and walk to the stairs.
I’m getting tailed...this is bad.
I carefully reached Momi’s tavern. The guy probably decided to keep his distance...since I haven’t spotted him following me anymore after that encounter at the apartment.
I step inside, the ambience is comforting. There’s a smell of baked goods and relaxing jazz music is being played at the jukebox.
There are mothers with kids, old fellows...a place where ugly looking people like me seem out of place.
I shake off the eyes of concerned parents and lean at the counter. A middle-aged woman smiles at me with a comforting look.
“Good morning, good sir. What can I get you?” Her voice is warm, calming. I miss being like this.
I clear my throat, “I’m here for work. I’m a private investigator, ma’am,” I slide the receipt towards her, “does Marie Berthier ring a bell?”
Her eyes widen as she checks the receipt, “oh, yes! She’s regular, Marie...what happened?”
I swallow hard and look around, lowering my voice, “she disappeared two days ago.”
“Oh...poor girl…” she shakes her head.
A customer is trying to get her attention as she reacts to the news. She taps on the shoulder of an assistant and whispers to her something before beckoning me towards the back door behind the counter, “come...I’m guessing you need to ask me questions, right?”
“Yes.”
We stood in a cold corridor, the yellow paint mixed with the dim lighting made me feel slightly anxious.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am,” I nod respectfully, “so, first of all...what can you tell me about Marie Berthier?”
“She wasn’t much of a talker. Sometimes she came and stayed at the table, some other times she rushed out with her donut and coffee cup in a bag,” she explains, “she always tipped us a few dollars and often said our breakfast was the best,” she adds fondly.
“I see. Was she seen with someone lately? Or has she always eaten alone?”
“Well,” the woman bites her lips, “I can remember seeing her with a young man lately...three mornings in a row or so.”
“Young man? What did he look like?”
“Well...he was a bit short, shorter than her. He had blonde hair...and he was wearing expensive clothes and a golden watch. A boyfriend, perhaps. I saw him trying to hold her hand once...but she refused it.”
I note everything down in my note block.
Could be related to her disappearance. I should ask the bouncer what “the man in the suit” reported to the station looked like. Might have a match.
“Alright...anything else?”
“Sorry...not really,” she shakes her head, “is Marie alright? I hope nothing happened to her.”
“I hope so too, Miss Momi. I’m gonna do all I can to let her have another breakfast here.”
“Is the police doing anything…?” She asks me.
“The police gave me permission to deal with the case. Main suspects and witnesses have bad blood with Other Ones.”
She scoffs, “ugh...racism. After so many years, we still can’t seem to be happy. Do you hate Other Ones too, detective?”
I put my note block back in my pocket and clear my throat.
I do hate them. They took away what was most important from me.
“It’s not really a topic I’d like to discuss,” I briefly say, heading towards the public area of the bar, “I’ll take my leave now. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Don’t you want a cup of coffee before you go?” She asks.
“I got a case to solve, ma’am.”
I hit the streets once more. I look left and right. Looks like I managed to get rid of that guy. He may have noticed I was getting too suspicious when he passed through me at the apartment.
“What’s next…?” I mutter, lighting up another cigarette.
I got nothing to go knocking on doors yet.
My best bet is the bouncer. His name is Viktor Kaskoj. He is thirty-four and has been working as a bouncer for five years at the HoHole.
I need a description from him so that I can cross-check the man in the suit and the young man who was dating Marie. If the two descriptions don’t match, I may be looking at multiple suspects.
I found the closest phone booth and dialed the HoHole’s club number.
“HoHole club, how may I help you?” Oliver’s voice comes through.
“It’s detective D’arbie. I need to know the address of the bouncer who witnessed Marie and the man in the suit. I need to question him as soon as possible.”
“Oh? You got something?”
“Not yet, but he did see who brought her to the car, the man in the suit. I think I know who he is. I’m closing in.”
Silence. He doesn’t respond immediately. Did he hear me?
“Right…” he mutters, “I have uh...give me a sec.”
I suddenly turn around, grabbing the booth’s door handle and pulling it towards myself.
The man who was tailing me. He’s got a knife in his right hand.
He tries to pull harder on the booth, trying to open the door. I shift all my weight backwards and let the receiver fall and hang onto its cable.
My revolver’s hammer clicks as soon as I take it out of my coat, I kick the door suddenly and send him stumbling backwards, aiming down his head.
“May I help you?”
The man slowly stands up, raising his hands and dropping the knife.
He’s not running though. Odd.
“Start talking,” I demand.
“Look, man,” the guy chuckled, “I was told to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t dig too deep.”
“By who?”
“Not getting paid for ratting,” he shakes his head, “think you got a good idea anyways, right?”
I sigh through my nose, “turn around. I wonder how you’ll keep that smug face back to the station.”
He complies, turning around slowly and putting his hands behind his back.
“You’re in arrest for attempted assault on an officer of the NTPD,” I say, pulling out my handcuffs.
“You’re not even an officer,” he chuckles, “don’t make me laugh.”
“I know. On the paper, I’m not,” I reply, “I can still arrest you and call dispatch. Stay still please.”
He suddenly turns around and lunges at me. I pull the trigger with my gun point blank against his stomach, a mist of blood shoots off, his eyes widen right in front of me.
He falls against me, I push him off and he topples over the sidewalk, a last groan before he dies.
I get back into the booth and grab the phone, “Oliver?”
“What the fuck just happened?”
“Got the address?”
“Uh, yeah. Victoria Jaelliar Street 254, number 13.”
“Good.”
“B-But wait, are you okay man? I heard-”
I slam the phone against the booth, my breathing still ragged. I pick up again after dialing a new number.
“Nochtarn’s south-end police station, how may I help you?”
“I’m Detective D’arbie. I just killed a suspect who assaulted me.”
“Where?” The responding officer asks, his voice stern.
“Satori Harper Street 45, in front of a phone booth.”
“Do you need medical attention?”
“No. I’m fine,” I look at the guy, the blood beneath him pooling quickly across the cracks of the sidewalk, “you need a bodybag though.”
“Understood. We’ll send a unit, hold tight.”
The line goes dead. I put back the receiver and sigh, leaning against trying to dispel the adrenaline spike. People walk around the dead man, staring at it with curiosity while covering their kids’ eyes.
Another morning in Noctharn.
Back at the station, Detective Lowe asked me to give her an explanation. We’re in the interrogation room now...and she looks pissed off.
“This morning, I sent you to take a look on a disappearing whore, and you come back with a fucking shot civilian,” she says right off the bat, sitting on her chair with her cup of coffee. Probably her fifth this morning.
“I don’t know, uhm...maybe I was just fucking defending myself? He had a knife?” I reply with sarcasm.
“Forensic analysis said that you shot him after he dropped the weapon. Care to explain that?”
“I was trying to arrest him, he lunged at me without his weapon right after I was pulling out my handcuffs. He changed his mind and thought fists could win over gun, I guess.”
She scoffs, facepalming, “you know you gotta convince internal affairs with that, right? Not me. Changed his mind?! What were you doing on the other side of the district anyways? The club wasn't around where you shot the suspect.”
“What do you think? Doing what you all can’t do, investigating!” I slam my hand on the table, “the more you waste my time here, the lesser the chances I figure this out. They sent that guy because they know I’m sniffing around, do you want them to close up shop before we bust them? Why are you trying to find excuses to get mad at me? Is there any need for this?”
Lowe stares at me over the rim of her coffee cup, eyes tired but sharp. She doesn’t flinch at my outburst, just exhales and sets the cup down with a slow, deliberate movement.
“I can’t fucking have you dropping bodies for nothing,” she says, setting down her cup in a brief violent moment, “now, because of you, I have to do a lot of paperwork and make sure the press doesn’t catch wind of this. I also have to get internal affairs off your ass too, since I’m your supervisor.”
“If you were a proper partner and supervisor you’d be with me around investigating, instead of leaving me alone. We could have handled it together, that guy. I wouldn’t have had to kill him.”
“And be found cooperating with a human? I can’t let that happen to my image, you know that,” she scoffs.
“Alright then,” I stand up, “if you wanna play like this, fuck you and let me do my job.”
“Can you...just try not to pull the trigger if you don’t have to? Knock ‘em out or...whatever,” she notices my behavior and tries to calm me down with a softer voice, “you might not have a badge anymore, and you can wash your hands off our business at any time...but you’re still dragging my ass into the fire when you collaborate with us like this. If you want this extra money, you gotta work with me here.”
“And you gotta cut me some slack. Did you read the report? My gun was pointblank. He was too close, I just reacted like a human would. Trust my words, Lowe...I didn’t shoot him for nothing.”
Lowe lets out a sharp, quick sigh and shakes her head, “well, internal affairs isn’t made of humans. Just hope that they understand why you killed him.”
“Right, yeah,” I nod.
“Anyways...how do things look? You said that guy was related to your investigation earlier. What do you mean?”
“He was tailing me since I left the club. I thought I lost him, so I didn’t call for backup. Before attacking me, he told me he was told to make sure I didn’t dig too deep. He was in on it,” I cross my arms, “he was there when I got to the club, as a customer.”
“Whoever’s behind Marie’s disappearance is organized,” Lowe sighs through her nose, “I should probably check if there were other recent disappearances. We could be looking at something serial.”
“Marie was hanging out with this blonde boy, rich and well dressed. I was going to get to his house and ask the bouncer who testified for a description of the man.”
“If you cross check and both descriptions are right, we might have our guy's sketch,” Lowe says, “good. Go back out there, and come back with everything but another body.”
I step out of the interrogation room, rubbing the back of my neck in displeasure. Lowe’s right, internal affairs is going to be on my ass for this...they hate it when PIs make useless shootings.
Whatever, that can wait.
I got a missing girl to find.