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Post by Porcu on Mar 16, 2007 22:08:21 GMT -5
I woke up to the smell of jasmine and soft sunlight filling my apartment. I opened my eyes and saw that the wonderful smell came from Susan's hair. Her back was to me and one of my arms was wrapped around her and if I remembered correctly this was the same position that I fell asleep in. "Strange...I never wake up in the same position. I guess I haven't stirred at all during the night, which would make that a first!" Susan, I could see, was still very much asleep even though it was already 9:35. I slowly got up, trying not to disturb Susan, and made my way to the kitchen.
After feeding my cat I began to think whether it was better to try and make breakfast or to go to Luigi's as I always have for the past 3 years. For some unknown reason I decided to cook, something which I did only as a necessity. Within 15 minutes the smell of eggs, mixed with cheese and bits of bacon, made its way throughout the entire apartment. Even though I couldn't see Susan from the kitchen I did believe I heard her stir and finally get up. Several seconds later I saw her beautiful face appear from the small hallway and she entered the kitchen.
"Good morning Susan...I trust you had a good night's sleep?", I said. "Oh, it was wonderful! Quite possibly the best to date...", she responded blushing a little.
I had already set out two plates with utensils and two glasses, which I would fill with tea. I asked Susan to sit while I served her. While not speaking at first, I believed that she enjoyed the eggs however within no time we were engaged in conversation. Nothing eventful was said until she mentioned, "You amaze me Arthur..."
"How so?", I responded. "You...you seem to know so much. Where did you learn to cook? And I won't even ask how you learned to do what you did yesterday night...", she said blushing a little again. "It's quite simple actually. I read. I read everything. From cooking to sex...I like to imagine that I've read almost every book in Riefort Metropolitan Library." Susan laughed, but that was the truth. She asked me what else I read and learned about...
"Oh, I have learned a great deal about the human anatomy. I know where every single pressure point is, I know where all the main arteries and veins are, I know what organs are responsible for what...I believe I really could become a doctor." "Well it certainly sounds like it! What else? You've sparked my curiosity..." "I have learned how to operate a fire arm, I've learned how to construct and dismantle a bomb, I've learned a few forms of martial arts...I've learned quite a few things in all my readings. You'll be amazed at what information is out there just waiting for someone to learn about!", I said exclaiming at the end, which startled Susan a little.
I could tell she had no idea I knew so much about things that most people who have no interest or idea of. We finished breakfast, making small talk every now and then, however I couldn't get that meeting with the detective out of my mind. It struck me as something very strange and probably something that I shouldn't have done. It was all in the past now and because today was Saturday I could pay my new client a visit, but how should I go about it?...
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Post by Ignatius on May 29, 2007 10:40:20 GMT -5
OOC- I'm a bit restless, so I'll just pop in my introduction of my character.
Sal's Eatery, Downtown Riefort
The scenery within Sal's Eatery was, as usual, quite hectic with all the customers and busboys walking about; something that has grown on me over the twelve years I have eaten breakfast alone at the small Italian restaurant. Of course, I hated damn near everyone who took to the restaurant, with Sal being no exception..
"Morning Sal," I muttered wearily, still shaking off the fingers of fatigue from last night's patrol, "I'll have the usual, thank you, with perhaps a dab of mustard in the middle.."
The overweight Italian man carefully twiddled his mustache with a feeling of overblown self-importance, obviously intrigued to have his 'most devoted' customer once again in front of his face.
"Ah.. Mister Smecker, I presume?" spoke the Italian, snapping his fingers comically, "One'a hotdog an' cranberry juice coming up.."
My order, a small glass of cranberry juice and a medium sized hotdog soon arrived to its respective position in front of my seat, emitting the scrumptious aroma of finely ground pork and seductively beckoning my hands to grasp the morsel of food.
Several small bites soon gave way to big tears of the meat by my teeth, and Sal himself could not help but stare at my rather... poor eating mannerisms..
"How long has that rice burner been parked outside the bank?" said I, glancing carefully at the Red 87' Honda waiting suspiciously at the front of Argossy State Bank. A solitary 'spic' was carefully placed at the wheel of the rice burner, apparently waiting about for something or someone with a twitchy demeanor.
"Dunno Mister Smecker," muttered Sal, "da spic's usually don'ta come down to dis place.. and that cheap-o piece of crap has been sitting there for quite some time. Damn foreign imports keep on clogging da streets of our fair city. Tell ya wat, I'll give ya da number of my cousin at Ford Automo-"
Already I had begun to shut out the noise raging all around me, once again ignoring the small little Italian I had been speaking to. Maneuvering through the crowded confines of the restaurant, I carefully reached for the six-inch Colt Python strapped to my side, munching away at the hotdog at my hand in the process.
The faint *ding* of the restaurant door bell announced my leaving the establishment, quickly bringing many eyes to bear on my slowly striding persona walking across the streets of Riefort, gun in hand.
"Hey, idiot!" I bellowed, waving at the little Hispanic man waiting at the wheel of the Honda, "I want to talk to you!"
Two loud *honks* quickly sounded, followed by a pair of gunshots in the nearby bank. A trio of oddly dressed Hispanic youths belted out of the presumably robbed bank, one struggling to carry a small bag while manipulating the handle of the Honda's doors.
"Jesus Christ.." I muttered, shoving the rest of the hotdog into my mouth. With unmatched speed and skill, I hoisted the Python from my side, bringing the front sight to bear at the nearest shotgun armed spic I could see. "Freeze, motherfuckers!"
A loud bang followed with a puff of smoke erupted from the barrel of the opposing robber's shotgun, tearing the nearby STOP sign near me to shreds.
Stupid kid.. Doesn't even know how to point a shotgun right.. How do you miss with a shotgun anyway?
A flame spat out from the long barrel of my Python, coupled with an enormous boom that was audible throughout the block. One carefully aimed 180 grain .357 slug (hollow point) soon found its mark, kicking up a clearly visible cloud of blood at the youth's chest. Two more well-aimed shots took out the windows of the 87' Honda, splattering the brains of the driver about the cabin before he had any time to react.
I could easily see the remaining pair of spic's panic at the sight of their dead comrades, fighting to escape the gore-splattered cabin of their car. The thief holding the sack of money wildly let off a pair of shots in my direction, giving me the excuse to drop the sucker with another round from my man-stopper.
Leveling the sight of my Python on the back of the fleeing thief, I finally emptied the rest of my gun's contents into the (funnily enough) ass of the the armed kid, forcing the punk to fall flat on his face..
"Damn..." I swore, speedily manipulating the chamber of my Python to eject the spent cases, popping a full-moon clip into the weapon.. In a few minutes, I soon saw myself standing over the wounded man, pitifully trying to reach for his (alas, a French-made) Walther PPK..
"Nope.." I whispered, grinning wolfishly at the wounded man, "I'm pretty sure both of us have seen Dirty Harry, so I'll cut to the point. Do you really want to try?"
The punk seemed to think for a minute, glancing at the sight of his dead comrades lying about the street, before foolishly attempting to point his PPK at my chest.
Apparently, the punk didn't see me reload, giving me the excuse to empty a pair of bullets into the man's chest.. Guy never had a chance..
By now, an entire crowd had been watching my 'Dirty Harry moment' with frightened fascination, and I could even see a middle-aged man (probably a professor by his look) with a young girl (most likely his whore) glancing down at me from a nearby apartment. Apparently, I had interrupted the couple's breakfast with my antics...
"Someone call the po-lice.." yelled a black woman from the streets, pointing at the dead thieves. "And maybe an abba-ulance.."
"I am the police.." I muttered, wearily reaching for my cell phone...
Come to think about it, the spic's PPK did look pretty nice, and I was sure that the Riefort Police Department wouldn't mind too much if I 'liberated' the weapon for my own use..
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Post by Porcu on May 29, 2007 17:42:18 GMT -5
OOC: Well written, I would never have thought of a better way to restart this thread Also, I am altering the occupation of my character so that he is a forensic psychiatrist instead of a physicist. The name and events surrounding him have not changed. Ignatius's character should be easy enough to picture and I hope that soon you will be able to envision who I modeled my character after... IC: I slowly concluded my conversation with Susan and subsequently my breakfast. As I took our plates to the sink and began to clean up Susan commented me on my culinary skills and then proceeded to leave my apartment. I did not have any plans for the day except for work on my client and so I took my time cleaning as Susan showered and dressed. I finished just as Susan exited the bedroom and she, with red cheeks, turned to be to give her goodbye. "I had a terrific time last night, Arthur. I want to thank you for everything and I was hoping that we could see each other soon...?", Susan said emphasizing the end of the sentence making it seem more like a question than a statement. "Yes, I also look forward to our next encounter. I don't wish to seem rude, Susan, but I have things to work on..." Susan seemed to understand as she gave me a little smile in return before turning and exiting my apartment. I stood in the hall just gazing at the door before I remembered that I was heading to my office, which was connected on the other side of my bedroom. I entered and then shut the door behind me, giving myself as much privacy as possible. Mr. Dale's file was sitting on the desk in front of me and I proceeded to open it. Ok...he lives approximately 10 minutes from here, making it...5 minutes from the university. Not a good part of town. Remote, but always the chance that someone will see me. How to blend?I sat pondering how to best disguise myself. A homeless man was a plausible solution and certainly no one would care if one less beggar was on the streets. I looked at my watch. 11:47 AM. Alright...Mr. Dale is in class by now and will have a 2 hour break in..., I thought as I checked my client's class schedule, 13 minutes...He will go back to class and then be available at 4:00. Excellent... I got out of my chair, closed the file, and set it aside. Not wishing to remain in my apartment as long as the weather continued to remain so beautiful outside I decided to dress and take a walk. Within the hour I was showered, dressed, and prepared. I turned back to my cat telling her that I would return to her soon and at the same time I slipped a surgical knife, which I had taken from the university's medical center, into my jacket. Sunglasses...check. Hat...check. Cell phone...check. Knife...checkAlas, I was ready for what I imagined was going to be an enjoyable walk. Exiting my apartment building I gazed a block down the street and saw that Luigi's Cafe was full of consumers. I could not be rude to my good friend and so I continued my daily visitation schedule by walking the one block and sitting at my usual spot, which miraculous enough was not taken. As soon as Luigi and I made eye contact I knew that my cup of wine was being fixed as well as the daily paper, which I hadn't been able to read. "Ah, Signore Watson! How are you this lovely morning?", Luigi asked setting down the wine and paper in front of me. "I am doing just well, thank you Luigi.", I replied as I pulled out my wallet from the inside pocket of my jacket. "No, no, no...You are my most loyal customer, Signore Watson! On the house!", he said backing away a little. "Luigi, I insist...What good is serving customers if you do not allow them to support your business in return for your hard work?", I said taking out more than enough to cover for the two items. Luigi thanked me and assured me that my next bill would be on the house. I simply smiled and held my laughter. Now...to the day's events...
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Post by Mr. Durandal on May 30, 2007 10:11:09 GMT -5
I had just witnessed Smecker's little escapade with little surprise. He had always been like that, not really caring for the deaths of criminals and handing down execution like a vigilante. I walked up to him, with my paper in hand, and just shook my head. These guys were probably in their late teens to early twenties. So young to die. I handed my coffee to him, me not having much of an appetite anymore. His tirades were never surprising but they still made me nervous. He could kill someone who could help us solve the case. I walked over to the car and looked at the mess. The poor kid was laying over the steering wheel, with two massive holes in his head. I walked to the bank and looked inside. There was blood and a hole in the window of the teller's booth. Everyone had run out when the shooting started so I walked over to the teller's booth. I looked inside and saw a young man, laying in a pool of blood. He was barely breathing. I ran out and yelled to Smecker to get a bus. Maybe we could save the guy...
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Post by Ignatius on May 30, 2007 16:39:16 GMT -5
10:30 A.M. In Front of Argossy State Bank
"Mrffh..." I grunted, spitting out the foul tasting coffee handed to me by a nearby detective. Already, I could see the swarms of reporters and police officers beginning to fill the street, followed quickly by a pair of screaming ambulances furiously blaring their horns.
".357 Magnum.." I muttered to myself, looking over the swath of destruction made by the recent robbery. The bodies of the now-defunct street toughs still littered the street, obviously being ignored by paramedics struggling to help still-moving victims.
"Never leave home without it..."
The press would undoubtedly have a field day after witnessing these events, and Captain 'Bob' Fraser, the Riefort Police Chief, would undoubtedly want an enormous self-typed report on the day's occurrences by me.. Stupid Fraser..
"Yo, Smecker!" bellowed a voice from behind, causing me to immediately flinch. I knew that voice, for I had heard it countless times before in furious arguments in the past. Captain Bob...
Captain Bob was once again clad in his usual overly dressed attire, this time sporting a down-right ugly purple tie on his silk shirt, and was practically reddening at the sight of my lean frame. Apparently the man didn't approve of my recent actions, and was now threatening to splatter his own brains onto the ground with his rapidly changing skin tone..
"What in God's name has gone on here!" swore 'Bob', angrily waving his fist at the carnage, "It looks like a fuckin' war zone has erupted in Riefort, man, and you know I don't want the Chief of D's on my back again!"
I carefully adjusted my frame less glasses, having just tinted (being transitions lenses) after being exposed to the morning sun. My contacts were at home, and I made a personal note to remember to put them on in the future.
"I don't care whether or not you've hailed from France, or served in the Foreign Legion!" bellowed Bob, "But in CLAMPARAPA, we don't go around blowing off the heads of robbers in broad daylight!"
"Tut, tut, tut, baas.." I muttered to the Captain, shaking my right finger at him while brushing away a lock of my blonde hair from my eye, "I've told before that I was born in Quebec, my friend, and that I joined the Legion for five years before moving to Clamparapa.. Get it right next time, dickwad!"
"These punks tried to shoot me for Christ's sake," I continued, spitting onto the street, "What do you expect me to do, bend over and hope they miss? Don't worry about it, bruh... The press'll hail Riefort Police Department as 'Heroes' for foiling his failed occurance.."
The chief grew silent at my little outburst, muttering several curse words before turning around to supervise the work taking place. You really grow to dislike 'la Anglais' after being around them for several years. That said, I did take the time to carefully look over the robbery scene and nudge a nearby cop with a forensic bag to 'make clear' my intentions with the 'liberated' Walther PPK.
"This'll be mine, bruh.." I spoke, flashing the nicest grin I had on at the moment, "Tell the people up at the department that after they are done with the evidence collected here, I'll pick up the pistol for my own use.. A souviner.."
"I'll let that other guy at the bank wrap things up here.." added I, nodding towards the over-sentimental Detective attempting to help the paramedics load a barely conscious man onto a nearby ambulance, "I've got things to handle downtown.."
"Yessir," nodded the cop, "But who exactly are you?"
"Smecker.." I spoke, adjusting my tinted glasses, "Inspector Paul Smecker, thank you.."
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Post by Porcu on May 30, 2007 18:20:05 GMT -5
What have we here?, I thought as I gazed down at the newspaper sitting in front of me. The article headline read: EAST FORT MURDERER CASE STILL UNSOLVED, NEW TEAM PUT IN PLACE. I simply couldn't hold my laughter. So they are so blind that they have to completely replace the team that is working to catch me! At this rate I could eliminate all the filth of this city in a matter of months!
My fit of laughter changed my mood slightly and I decided not to read the rest of the article, but rather decide to finish my wine and begin on my walk. It was such a lovely day. The sun shown brightly and the temperature was perfect, not too hot or cold and when it began to get hot a cool breeze would pass by. I emptied by glass without leaving a single drop of wine in the glass, to the amazement of a couple sitting next to me. I gathered my hat, which I had set down beside me, and left the cafe.
As much as I wanted to think of other things I couldn't get the headline in the paper out of my mind. I must find out more...Phillip should know something about this... The police station was only about 10 minutes away, but I wished to take a more scenic route and so I made my way to Riefort's main park; the same park where I had met that paranoid detective. The trees provided excellent shade as the midday sun burned brightly overhead. I was happy to see that a lot of other people were out, enjoying the day much as I was. Some rode their bicycles, while other ran however I was in no hurry and gladly took my time navigating the paths through the park. Eventually I heard a commotion through the trees ahead of me, seemingly out of the boundaries of the park, and as I approached I could faintly make out the shape of an ambulance. Others were standing by as well and so I asked an elderly woman about the situation.
"Well, I've heard that there was a robbery and when the crooks tried to escape this man, who supposedly is a cop, lit them all up!" "Nasty business I'm afraid...When did this all happen?" "I just came about 5 minutes ago, but it seems to have been earlier. Maybe around 10:00...10:30?"
I thanked the woman for the information and briefly my mind was distracted by this most intriguing event. I continued to make my way down the pathways of the enormous park thinking of three things: The headline, the robbery, and my next client...
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Post by Ignatius on May 30, 2007 22:00:54 GMT -5
Downtown 11:30 AM
The trip from the Bank back to central Riefort was relatively swift and uneventful, thanks to my black, unmarked Ford Crown Victoria whizzling through the lightly congested roads of Riefort City. Obviously, having had my somewhat short breakfast interrupted by a most unwelcome event, I needed somewhere to relax and cool down... and perhaps get some info on the recent street activity going on..
True, the East Fort Murder hadn't been solved yet, but as an Inspector working vice and narcotics on the streets, I was technically not attached to the so-called 'Team' assigned to catch the demented freak behind the grisly murders. A certain Detective Mark.. something... Was supposedly leading the new strike team with an exceptionally inept hand, foolishly interrogating some old man for no reason at all (in a fit of paranoia) and even shooting his partner in the leg by accident (mark of an amateur).
Carefully I maneuvered through downtown Riefort's streets, taking care to break for an old lady trying to cross a stop light walkway. I'd let Mark handle the 'East Fort' mess for as long as he wanted, seeing as I had more important matters to deal with..
After several more minutes of driving, I finally saw my destination and objective; a ratty black bum named Carl. True, the crack-addicted punk was the epitome of 'street scum', but Carl had proven useful to me as an informat on the streets; knowing all the latest news of crack deals, serial killers, and general acts of chaos going about the city.
Stepping out of the Crown Victoria, I immediately thumbed the leather flap of my wallet, carefully fishing out a twenty-note to.. temp the bum into speaking to me.
"Bonjour Carl," I spoke, nudging the sleeping vagant with one of my gumshoes, "it's me, Paulie.."
"Wassa' dis?" muttered the bum, wildly shaking about a rusty kitchen knife. Poor man, the old geezer did get raped on the streets several months back by a black gang, and had been increasingly shaky over the past few days. "I gotta' knife man, don't ya try anything on me.. I don't swing that way!"
"Hey, hey," I cooed, waving my hands in the air, "It's all right Carl.. It's just Smecker for some info on the street, carrying a premium for you this time.."
The black man paused for a moment, apparently calming down a bit before opening his mouth to speak. Indeed, the punk was beginning to carry protection throughout his travels around Riefort, and was certainly not a guy to mess with without proper 'pieces'.
"Ya.. Smecker.." nodded Carl, "Undoub'd'ly ya'd heard about da' crazy freak who'da been killing random bums lately.. It's bad stuff man, bad stuff.."
"Yeah, well, I don't really want to hear about that.. I'm working vice and narcotics, not East Fort.."
"Yeh, well, this guy," continued Carl, seeming not to notice my comment, "I've seen him once.. Well dressed kinda' dude.. I followed him two blocks once, 'nd he lika the fancy restaurants, bro'.."
"Hey!" I swore, shaking the bum, "I'm asking about the street, Carl.. Not about some demented punk that I'm not even assigned to.. Now, if you want the money, tell me what I want to hear.."
"ALL right, all right.." muttered the bum, dusting off his torn jean jacket with a sort of disapproving demeanor, "The Texacanos' have gotten a load of crack down south, man.. Rumored to having dealt with the Brazilian gangs that have done quite a bit of shit in the past.."
"This guy named Miguel.." continued Carl, "I hear he's got a deal being worked out with the Panthers, some black gang, concerning two hundred pounds of pure-grade smack.. About twenty grand worth.. Where he's gonna drop it off, I don't know.."
"Thank you Carl," I muttered, shelling out two twenty-notes to the pitiful creature. The Texacano's working with the Brazilians were certainly not uncommon within Clamparapa, but a deal of this size was certainly extremely rare anywhere in Clamparapa.
Walking briskly back to my Crown Victoria, I swiftly hopped back onto the seat of my vehicle, revving the engine back to life. After waving a good-bye wave to Carl, I took my leave from the trashy setting with haste, eager to begin 'solving' this particular "question".
Still, the info on the East Fort Murder was quite interesting indeed.. Maybe I ought to look into this after dealing with the Brazilians?
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Post by Ignatius on May 31, 2007 15:43:19 GMT -5
My House, East Riefort
The rest of my day was rather uninspiring by anybody's terms, with me spending nearly the entire afternoon constantly typing and revising a four page report of my actions at the Agossy Bank; that of which I promptly turned in to a man named 'Phillip' who held a desk job back at headquarters. Naturally, I also included a smaller report on my recent interview with the bums of Central Riefort, making sure to inform the rest of my Vice team of a supposed drug deal slated to take place sometime this week. The Texacanos (Hispanic gang) and the Panthers (black gang) were obviously planning to attempt another hand-off of prime Brazilian smack somewhere along the 'bad part' of Riefort's territory, most likely the docks or some place shady..
Still, knowing that the rest of the day's events were beyond my control, I cooly took my leave from Riefort Police Department at 4:00 p.m., speedily returning to my house to look over some items.
Being a single man, I had a fairly small little cottage down in the Bedford part of town, a very nice-looking four room that suited my style of living. Handpainted to perfection, the whitewashed house looked marvelous with a bit of green trim, and was exactly the kind of house to come home to after a long day on the streets.
Slowly, I strode through the red door of my dwelling, taking care to take my shoes of before I stepped onto the plush carpet of 'la Chateau de Smecker'. A small sofa sat invitingly on one side, nicely complimenting a nearby plasma TV hanging nearby. My bedroom, a small little area, was only several more steps away from the living room, allowing me to reach the cozy dwelling with minimal effort.
"Ah," I sighed, unstrapping the holster of my Colt Python from my belt, "Home, Sweet Home.." Bending over to undo my socks, I carefully yanked out a small S&W snub-nosed revolver from an ankle holster, placing it on its respective spot in front of my cabinet.
Despite its size, my room was exceptionally comfortable and interesting to a person's eye, filled of memorabilia from my past years as a 'Quebecois' serving in the Legion Etrangere'. An enormous French tricolor (I never flew the Clamparapan Flag anywhere in my house) decorated the space above my Queen-sized bed, located right next to a picture of me, in my early twenties, posing in full Legionnaire uniform in then-French Outremer.
There was a Kepi' Blanche' (white kepi) nicely placed on a pedestle near my mirror, and a signed portrait of Generale' Jules Francois Dettard Lemarque (General Jules Lemarque) could be seen hanging on another wall.
"Excellent," I muttered, taking my shirt off and falling into bed, "it seems the gents' back at Headquarters still haven't got a clue about that 'murder mystery' going on in East Fort... It's not surprising they've got so little done with that amateaur 'Mark' fellow working the case.."
Mark, some detective I vaguely knew, was a someone quite the opposite of my cold, precise, and machine-like methods, having rumored to have planted evidence on criminals before in the past.. Of course, the cur was most likely sent to working undercover now after falling out from the Chief's good graces, and asides from a small peak earlier this morning, I had not seen his face around for weeks.
Unlike Mark, I had very little passion for my job, seeing it rather as another normal and necessary duty (much like a garbage man) than a 'heroic' or 'romantic' occupation. There is little joy in being a policeman in an enormous city such as Riefort, having to deal with the corrupt and inept 'bigwigs' who blindly resorted to evidence-tampering to fulfill their arrest quota's. I did my job with a precise, direct manner.. To improve the quality of life on the streets..
A nearby gun cabinet stocked with my small 'collection' of law-enforcement tools stood quietly near a door leading to my only bathroom, causing me to slowly step towards the vault to examine my 'goods'. I would be going back onto patrol later that day, and I thought that it might be a good idea to "pop open" the old case for a 'reliable' sidekick (trunk gun).
Slowly, I punched in the code for the stainless steel vault, kindly being greated with the low *beep* of acceptance. Twisting the handle with one of my hands, I easily opened the door of the safe with minimal exertion, allowing me to glance upon my 'toys'.
Thumbing through the few rifles and pistols I had, I at last found what I was looking for; an excellently made (in France, naturally) FAMAS G2 assault rifle, one of the few automatic weapons I found comfortable (due to my time in the Foreign Legion). Yanking several mags from a cabinet shelf, I carefully swept my fingers over the reciever of my weapon, fondly reminiscing of the days I spent serving in French-controlled Outremer. Those were the good days..
After some thought, I carefully locked a magazine into the bullpup action of the FAMAS, taking one last peek through its tritium-insert sights before shoving it into a specially made plastic carry case. The FAMAS would, with the Remington 870 shotgun already in my trunk, accompany me to the docks later tonight for a late-shift patrol.. A late shift-patrol indeed.. For the moment, I would have to shower and change into a new suit..
Yes, indeed.. I did get kinda sweaty running after those punks... Nothing like a nice shower before heading towards the depths of hell..
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Post by Porcu on May 31, 2007 21:40:24 GMT -5
Eventually I would come to the end of my journey to the police station, as the street on which the station lay was to my right. I took the exit path and seemed to step into a different world. The serenity of the park was replaced with loud commotion. Cars and buses and people all rushing about without a moment's rest and how at this moment I missed the quiet atmosphere of the park. But alas, I was on a business trip and I hoped that Phillip would be able to be as helpful as the last time I visited.
Unlike my last visit, the police station this time was buzzing with activity. I assumed it was a combination between the day's incident at the Bank and the change of detectives to my case. I entered the building and was delighted to see that the same women who had denied me entrance before was again in front of me. I took off my hat and smiled as I approached the front desk.
"Ms. Diane, I presume?", I asked as I gazed into her eyes. She replied with a nod and when she lifted her head to see who addressed her I asked her if she recalled who I was. "Ya...you're that professor guy who's friends with Phillip..." "Doctor, actually...", I said trying not to show my growing impatience. "I would like to speak to my friend." "Sign in...", was her response as she lowered her head once again and busily continued her crossword puzzle, which she nearly had completed. I signed my name on the list of visitors and as I grabbed my hat I told her the last answer, which had eluded her to this point. "Wetware", I said as I left the counter and opened the door to the inside of the station. Not surprisingly all she could do was gawk.
I entered the station and slowly made my way to where, at least I hoped, Phillip's office was. My slight worrying of whether Phillip's office had been moved along with the latest changes were wiped away when I saw Phillip leaning over his head, seemingly reading the day's paper. I politely knocked and said that it was Doctor Watson. I could hear a ruffling of paper before Phillip gave me permission to enter. When I did I saw that he had sat down and the paper was neatly folded and set aside on his desk.
"What can I do for ya', Doc?" "Phillip, as you can imagine this latest murder case has gotten me thinking and has truely intrigued me. Do you remember our last conversation?" "Of course...You know you still owe me that cup of coffee. Don't you go thinking that I've gone and forgotten about that..." "I would never dream of it, Phillip...", I said with a smile looking to solidify my grasp on the conversation once again.
"Phillip, I'm sure you've heard of it by now, but is there anything not included in the paper that you know about...concerning this new team put on the case?" "Naw, not really...I mean there really isn't much else to say or know. Those three guys that I gave you before, remember the names? Well, one of those guys is pretty much toast and the others have been reassigned as of now, but I think that they'll be put back on the case as soon as they wrap up there current one...They were relying on this East Fort Murderer to strike again soon so that they could at least make it seem like they were doing something. There was no way that they were going to find anything..." "How do you know that?" "Well, first off they really didn't get along well between themselves and especially the chief. Then you have to see how disorganized they were, it's just that they were...were...a complete mess. I swear doc, I'm glad I wasn't put on that case because right now it's leading us nowhere. No one can seem to find a break and what's worse is all the clues don't lead anywhere...Hell, there may only be two people I know of that could stand a chance and possibly get this guy..." "Yes...and who would those extraordinary gentlemen be?" "Of course you would be one and this other detective I know would be the other." "You've peaked my interest, Phillip. Who is this other man?" "I don't know him as well as you, for example, but his name is Paul Smecker, one of the guys that was originally put on the East Fort case. French from what I know and even though the chief and him hate each other with a passion he's a damn fine cop, possibly the best on the force." "This man intrigues me...Later on I should want to know more about him, but because you have given me the answer I was looking for I will take my leave. Thank you again for your time, Phillip. I can understand how busy you must be..." "No...no problem at all, Doc. Like I said before, you're welcome here anytime, pending that I'm on duty though."
We shared a laugh before I once again gathered my things, chiefly my hat, and proceeded to leave the rather small and cramped office. I asked Phillip what he thought of this rather small office, seeing how other officers were better equipped. I suggested that I talk to his chief and see if I could better his work environment. Naturally, he declined, however I wanted to make sure that he felt obligated next time we talked to pass along information that I knew he knew. With that I left the station, making sure to bid Ms. Diane a good day or rather good night, as the sun had already begun to set.
I decided that tonight would be the night I would pay Mr. Dale a visit, however the fact that Susan was expecting us to dine together again complicated things a little, but certainly not enough to knock around my plans. I hastily returned back to my apartment and changed clothing, obviously something much less formal than my present attire of shirt, jacket, dress pants, hat, and dress shoes. I believed that a simple pair of jeans, a short sleeved shirt, and a windbreaker would be sufficient for my trip to the Dale residence. In a matter of 10 minutes I was once again ready to leave and by now the sun had quickly set into the horizon, leaving a beautiful pick/orange trail. I exited my apartment and as I walked down the streets, which became narrower and narrower as I got closer to the slums, I called Susan and told her that if she was willing to make it to my apartment later that night she could expect to find an excellent home cooked meal waiting for her. She playfully talked to me on the phone for several minutes before agreeing to my proposal while I navigated the streets towards Mr. Dale's house. I told her to arrive at my apartment complex two hours from now and as I hung up the phone I saw that Mr. Dale's street was immediately to my left. I took it and began to think of all the people I had seen on my way here. There was an elderly couple, a group of teenage hooligans, and a homeless man, who seemed to recognize me. Could it be that I didn't recognize him? Was he the same man that followed me those two blocks?
My thoughts were interrupted as I noticed that I had passed Dale's apartment or shack from the look of most of the apartments in the area. Although very old, his building was equipped with an intercom system and so I pressed the button to his apartment quickly getting a response. "Hello?" "Yes...", I said with as best a yeoman accent I could. I wished to appear as a simpleton, for some of these intercom systems had recording devices and I didn't wish to take any chances. "This is the deliveryman from East Fort Pizzeria. I have the pizza that you ordered..." "I didn't order a pizza. Dude, I think you have the wrong address..." "Wait, but ain't you a Mr. Dale? I got a pizza for's a Mr. Dale." "I don't know what to tell you man...I didn't order a goddamn pizza." "Are you fucking kidding me? I drove all this way for nothing, fuck man! How am I supposed to make a living? You know what? Fuck this...do you want this pizza free? I can't get in trouble anyways because you are a 'Dale' as well...Fuck knows how many of you guys live in this city..." "No charge?" "None, man...I'm tired and I want to get back..." "Alright, bring it up..."
I heard the buzz of the heavily rusted gate and I preceded to enter the old complex. Dale's apartment was on the fifth floor and I took my time getting there. No one else was wandering the hallways and when I finally arrived to Mr. Dale's apartment I gave a slow knock and lowered my head, making it so my face was covered by the ball cap I was wearing. Poor young Dale had no chance as he opened the door and was immediately butted in the face,dazing him. Dale took a few steps back, obviously in shock, and didn't recover from the initial blow very quickly. I took out a cloth, small bottle of chloroform, and black gloves, which I had kept in my pocket. Dale was out in seconds and didn't put up much of a fight. Pity...I was hoping for a little challenge this time around
I looked at my watch and saw that I had little less than an hour and a half to finish Mr. Dale. I looked around the apartment for some type of rope, but all I managed to find was an extension cord. Setting Mr. Dale in a chair on the balcony, overlooking the city and even part of the park, I finished my work. Tying the cord like a hangman's noose I made sure it fit snugly around Dale's neck before I tied it to a column, which was comfortably situated in the center of the apartment, perfectly in line with the balcony. This process of getting Dale ready took a little bit of time but the timing of his awakening was perfect. Just as I had finalized everything he regained consciousness and tried to emit some kind of cry for help but was muffled by the sock I had stuffed into his mouth and handicapped, as his hands and feet were held firmly in place by duct tape. I calmly stepped in front of him and removed my cap reveling myself. He curled back in fear and confusion, but it was too late for him to do anything.
I began to talk to him and noticing that I was running out of time told him why this was happening to him. I explained that I could not longer stand his rudeness and disrespect and that those where things that truely unnerved me. Mr. Dale had tried to make me look like a fool. Mr. Dale even looked to actively defy me and this I couldn't stand for. I had him stand on the chair, albeit some difficulty, and then asked him,
"Bowels in or out?" Dale cried now unable to hold his fear and so I said that I would choose for him. With a quick movement, starting from the end of his sternum to the beginning of the groin region, the knife that I had brought along cut straight through his clothing and skin. Before Dale could collapse on the balcony I hurled him over and when the extension cord tightened the force of gravity ripped his bowels out of him, spattering all over the alley five stories below. I looked over the balcony edge and saw his limp body dangling from the cord. Excellent...
I returned inside his apartment and gazed around not wishing to leave anything behind. I checked and had accounted for everything that I had brought along and before I took off my gloves I headed to the refrigerator and peaked inside. I wasn't surprised to find old and expired food, however a large and fresh steak caught my eye and I quickly grabbed it, putting it in a bag that I'm sure Mr. Dale wouldn't notice was gone from his apartment. With that I left the apartment very content at not having run into any obstacles and with a fresh steak at my side I began to make my way home...
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Post by Ignatius on Jun 1, 2007 20:56:06 GMT -5
Later That Night
After taking a brisk shower and changing into another well-tailored suit, I promptly spent the rest of my free time taking a well-deserved bite of dinner before strapping my Python back onto my belt and heading back into my Crown Victoria to conduct my usual late-night patrol. Undoubtedly, a certain "Phillip" person at Headquarters would have some more information for me and my "Vice" team, perhaps leading to an exceptionally fruitful bust that could finally lift me into a higher position in "the business". True, I had been on the force for quite a bit of time, but for some odd reason (most likely 'Captain' Bob's dislike towards me), I never seemed to rise past the quasi-low rank of 'Inspector'; much to my frustration.
For a person of my intelligence and practicality, I knew that I could most definitely create drastic change within the over-burdened Riefort Police Force if given the proper rank, and perhaps even 'do away' with the ineffective methods Mark and many other officers used in their day-to-day duties. While I myself had used occasional acts of force (all completely legal, per say) in several instances, outright brutality, evidence tampering, and wanton searches without warrents were never my sort of thing.. Ah well... The day'll come someday..
Scarcely before I drove two blocks away from my house, however, a most interesting and welcome sound stopped my motions, bringing my black Ford Crown Victoria to a screeching halt on the asphalt road.
Pressure! Pushing down on me, pressing down on you.. No man ask for..
Fumbling my hands around, I clumsily popped open my phone, discovering (to my amazement) that Jean-Claude, another Francophone in my Vice Squad, had gotten several tip-offs on the whereabouts of the supposed Texacano drug exchange, and requested an immediate rendevouz with the rest of the "Peloton Vice Francais" at Riefort Docks immediately.. My phone calls with my fellow Vice comrades were always done in French due to my Quebecois origins, and the particular strike team I led was unofficially dubbed "The French One" by many of the non-French speakers back at HQ.
"Oui, oui... Vraiment? Bien.... I'll soit la bientot." I muttered, clapping the cellphone shut. Pressing my foot hard on the pedal of my Crown Victoria, I immediately began rocketing down the asphault road near my house, determined to reach the Riefort Docks with all haste.
Backup would most likely not be leaded for this particular drug bust, but I knew that should I require help, the rest of the so-called "Riefort's Finest" would arrive at the scene of the crime within minutes.. That is, of course, considering we were still alive..
After a good three minutes drive through Riefort, I finally made it to my destination, taking care to slow down my vehicle to a more casual speed. Little extensive searching was needed to locate my fellow Francophone comrades in the vicinity, as I could clearly see all twelve of the gentlemen, dressed finely, parked outside of the entrance to the docks. Jean-Claude, a muscular man clad in an impressive set of Chinos and donning a magnificent navy blue blazer, waved to me from a black SUV, already clutching a MP5 submachine gun in his right hand.
"Bonjour Inspecteur.." spoke Jean-Claude, strapping a flashlight onto his submachine gun, "Or is it 'Le Inspecteur Smecker'? I forget sometimes with all these stupid 'Anglais' dwelling in this god-forsaken nation.. What a pity we aren't in 'La Belle de France', Inspecteur.. I hear Sarkozy's making life there quite comfortable indeed.."
"Oui, frere'.. This 'Anglais' always screw things up back at HQ.." I muttered, fondly remembering my brief stay in Verseilles, "What we'd give to get a decent glass of wine in this nation.. Anyway.. What is the situation?"
"Ah," muttered Jean-Claude, "la' porc's have been at it again, mon ami.. We got a tip from one of my informats working the Red Light District that a LARGE deal is supposed to take place today on the docks. Judging by a pair of black SUV's I saw moving in, I'd say that our anonymous bordello contact is right.."
"Indeed.." I muttered, popping open the trunk of my Crown Victoria. Carefully, with the skilled hands of a Quebecois, I cooly folded my brown blazer into a designated area in my trunk, strapping on a well-fitted bullet-proof vest to cover my white longsleeve. Running my hands around a certain Remington 870 shotgun, I calmly lifted the plastic-stocked weapon from its prospective gun rack, cycling the slide to bring a 12 gauge shell into its chamber.
"Hey, Pierre!" yelled I, beckoning to a nearby Quebec-born detective I had in my strike team, "There's a FAMAS in my Victoria's trunk, and should make for a more comfortable weapon than that crappy English-made CAR-15 you have in your trunk.. Don't drop it though, I had it imported from France by my own methods.."
While it may seem quite odd to some, the members of my twelve-man Vice Strike Team (that I commanded) were the only friends I had outside of Quebec and France, and it was very rare to see me without their company on my few days off. Much like the 'blacks' or the 'hispanics', we Francophones watch out for our own, developing extraordinary bonds that heighten our working capability.
"All right comrades.." I muttered, bringing my friends into a circle, "Obviously the stupid Hispanics are attempting once again to further fuck up an already bad area in the world, one of which has committed the unspeakable crime of being a primarily English-speaking area.."
My comrades chuckled at this comment, obviously happy to make a joke at the expense of (and consequentially bringing around the hatred of most of the police force) the non-French speaking citizens of Riefort.
"We'll have to do this quick, with minimal injuries on either side.. Jules and four of you gentlemen will sweep into that warehouse over there..." I pointed towards to the sole structure in the docks those lights were one, "while Mick, Lemenowsky, and Francois fire through the windows.."
"Jacques and Brian.." I continued, beckoning towards the SUV's, "I want you to keep watch over the front entrance of that warehouse.. Don't let the spics get out.."
"As for Michael, Petain, and me," I continued, looking around, "We'll put ourselves wherever we can.. Remember that regardless of the numbers, we have the fuckin' tear gas on us..."
"Gas first, maybe a flashbang, and then you go in.. Minimum casualties are essential! I want some prisoners here..."
"Wait for my signal before loosing the spring, lads," I muttered, "We'll get these stupid Hispanics down tonight!"
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Jun 2, 2007 14:19:10 GMT -5
OOC: I have talked to Porcu about this, and he said its all good. I hope you guys dont mind me jumping in.
IC: Evening of the Same Night
Well, the day started well and went well, until this evening. I got a call. I was told this was my big break, and that if I could give clues to lead to the murderer running loose, I may get promoted or get a large raise. I doubted that...
As I listened to the voice mail, I didn't believe what it said, so I listened to it again.
Hello, Mr. Metz, its your boss of course. I want to inform you that you are now being assigned to a new task. This is very important. You job is to stop the East Fort Murderer, by examining his victims of course. This last one, was a mess, split open and thrown over a balcony. Everything spilled out. You got to come in quick and get on this.
Well, I couldn't believe the horror I was imagining. I have seen some pretty fucked up stuff, but nothing that sounded like this. I would have to go and see this one for myself tonight. That conclusion was what lead to the bad day. I got into my car, and put in a CD. It was calming to listen too. Something that I would probably need.
After passing the docks, and seeing a lot unusual men there, I finally came to the spot for the examination 10 Minutes later. I walked through the parked cars, listening to the traffic drive by. The sun was setting, placing a orange and purple steak across the sky. I looked at it while I walked, and entered the building 30 seconds later.
When I got to the Victim by walking down the hall, I almost puked. The smell was rampant. Upon opening the door, you could smell everything, the mess. I didn't want to know how they got him here, but obviously this couldn't stay out in the public eye for long. The name of the man was Dale something, or something Dale. I forgot upon seeing him. It was too horrific.
Minutes later I recovered from the site, I regathered myself and removed the white sheet again. I decided to start to check for fingerprints. After about 30 Min. nothing was found at all. The only thing I knew was that a knife was used to make the cut. Why the hell do I have to do this? This is impossible...
After failing with various tests and wasting time, I grabbed my things and began to go home. I replaced the white sheet, covering the poor man. I walked out, turned around and took once last glace to make sure things were right, and hastily made my way to the car to go home to my apartment
After 15 minutes I arrived back to my house. My wife was there, with dinner set out to eat. I wasn't hungry. I told her what happened, with out specific details to save her from the thoughts, and went straight to bed. I would have to do more tomorrow, and I needed a great sleep to get me to go back to what I saw...
OOC: I hope that works lol you guys are really good at this.
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Post by Porcu on Jun 2, 2007 16:59:43 GMT -5
With business between my pupil and I being concluded I comfortably began to make my way back home. I had calculated everything ahead of time so that I would not need to take a bus or taxi to return to my apartment. It was essential that I run into as little people as possible, obviously to reduce people recognizing me. Even with a disguise it was entirely possible that someone might recognize me; after all I was considered Riefort's best psychiatrist and one of the best in all of Clamparapa.
I continued back the way I came for the most part, taking one or two different streets just as a precaution. However and once again to my surprise, I ran into the same black bum that I saw on my way towards my pupil's apartment, literally. As I rounded the corner to the street where my apartment complex was the bum was sitting down right at the corner. His figure was hidden by the darkness and because the street lights didn't illuminate him I tripped over him, sending the bag, with the steak inside, flying. The black bum cried out, more out of fear and surprise than pain, however I landed hard, bracing my fall with my knees and arms.
"Man! What da fuck do ya tink ya doing?!? Get away from me, I've got a knife!" "I beg your pardon..." was all I could get out at first needing to recover from the initial shock of the entire situation. "No need to bring out your knife. I wish to apologize for this..."
I quickly picked myself up and then hastened off, making sure to pick up the bag. In all the commotion I didn't notice that my ball cap had fell off until I was halfway down the street. I turned around and was relieved to see that the bum was still there at the corner, however my cap was no where to be seen. I walked back down the dimly lit street to the bum and the corner and without waiting for him to see who it was I inquired as to where my cap had gone. The bum looked up and although I didn't wish for him to see my face I couldn't help it at this point.
"Ya man...it's right here...” he said pulling my cap from under his huge but raged jacket. However, as I reached to grab it the bum pulled it out from my reach. "Ah, ah...it's going to cost ya man. I just can’t give dis to ya…” “And why can you not just give it back as an act of kindness?” “How much are you willin’ to pay for dis hat?” “This is outrageous! I demand that you return my hat into my possession!” “No”, was the bum’s simple reply as he began to put my cap back into his jacket, but before he could I had taken out my surgical knife and jammed it into his neck, slicing his internal jugular vein and rendering him helpless. As I took out the knife blood spurted out, much like water out of a high powered hose, onto my windbreaker, pants, and tennis shoes. Blood also managed to reach the first floor window of the building that the bum was sitting against and in the light of the moon the blood was so dark and mysterious.
With blood still spurting all over the street and building side I turned the bum over and began to carve pieces of tissue and muscle from his body. This certainly was not my first cannibalistic act; however it was the first that was unplanned. The thought of the oysters of chickens, the round pieces of dark meat on the back of a bird near the thigh, regarded by some to be the best part of the bird, entered my mind and within seconds I had two pieces of thick human flesh in my hands, which thank god were still in my black gloves..
I rose and stood for a moment, staring at the bloody body before me. Well, at least this man’s rudeness will no longer taint this city and society… Placing the knife in my windbreaker pockets and my gloves in the bag along with the oyster pieces of the bum I took off from the scene, quite grateful that my apartment complex was only one and a half blocks away. When I arrived at the gate I took out my keys and opened it, rushing to the door. Time was against me. Susan was due any moment and I still needed to get ready. I tore up the stairs to my floor and quickly proceeded to open my apartment. When I got inside I set the bag on the kitchen counter and ran to my bedroom. Shower, dress, and then proceed with dinner… I took a brief look at my watch; I had 5 minutes...
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Post by Porcu on Jun 3, 2007 17:17:59 GMT -5
Timing was perfect because as I exited my room, all dressed and ready for Susan’s arrival I heard a knock at the door. Before answering I took 30 seconds to throw all of my bloodied clothing into a trash bag and then stash the bag at the very back of my closet. While wrapping up the buttoning on my shirt I answered the door and found Susan standing in the hallway. She was quite stunning, her dress outlining her hourglass figure and spectacular curves. Not wishing to seem rude I beckoned that she enter.
“Susan, you are quite stunning this evening.” She blushed in response and then leaned over to give me a kiss. I naturally accepted and we stood there kissing for a moment or two before I shut the door. I took her little silk shawl and hung it on the coat hanger right next to the door. Susan wandered into my apartment gazing around; possibly to see if anything had changed from the previous night. She walked past the counter where the bag I had taken from Mr. Dale lay and went straight to my work room. Susan was fascinating, but I became a little frightened when she walked past the kitchen counter. I walked quickly over to it and took out the steak, while keeping in the other contents and placing everything in the refrigerator.
While Susan was gazing through my books, many of them in different languages, I began to prepare our meal. We engaged in a normal conversation, discussing things such as how our days were and how we felt. As a psychiatrist I am naturally interested in the thinking of a person; how they view the world. So I began to question her on her childhood and life experiences and very slowly began to paint of picture of exactly who Susan was. For the most part this was how I passed the time. Seeing as I one grabbed only one piece of steak from Mr. Dale’s refrigerator I rummaged around my kitchen and managed to make a salad, in order to make up for the small amount of the main course. Susan would obviously take note of the small portions so I thought it would be better to cook it in an exotic manner. Susan had shifted from my office and library to the couch and so I proceeded to my library full of medical books, journals, and manuals to get my gastronomy book.
Inside the French written book I had made small notes here and there, highlighting my favorite recipes. I took the book back to the kitchen and finalized the steak. Within 10 minutes Susan and I were enjoying dinner peacefully…
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Jun 4, 2007 16:21:42 GMT -5
The Next Morning
I awoke to my wife rolling over at about 6 A.M. to tell me to wake up. My alarm was going off, and she wanted me to hit the "Off" button. I pushed the silk sheets off of me, and rolled out of bed. I hit the alarm clock to turn it off, and began to stretch. I then hesitated to continue with my morning ritual, as I did not want to go back to work today. I quivered at the thought, and a shiver came upon me from the cold of the air conditioning of the house. I really wanted to get back into the clean sheets, but I got into the shower instead.
After showering, I read the morning paper and ate my cereal, and found that a homeless man was murdered. I figured it was probably gang violence or something, as it said he was cut in the neck. I got out of my chair, and prepared to go to work as it was about 645 now.
I began my usual commute to work. Traffic was congested as usual, but not too bad. I listened to the radio, slowly waking up with each song that passed. I was kind of happy that there was traffic, so I could delay the inevitable.
When arriving at work at 730, I was welcomed by the normal people there. Everyone was still tired, so it was just the 'nod of the head' hello. I found my way back to the victim, and began to study him with a fresh mind.
I took a look at where the incision was, and then realized, that some of his organs were missing, one or two of them. They were not in the cooler or anything either, so the killer must have taken them, but why??
I took a seat, and told someone to look up any recent murders that had the victim with missing organs, and the homeless man was one of them. I was amazed, and knew this had to be something. Perhaps it was the lead to the killer, but it seemed so irrelevant, as I had no explanation for why.
I ordered the homeless man to be brought to me, and waited for him to arrive. I took a break while on the job, and drank some black coffee during the wait, and thought about the latest discovery...
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Post by Ignatius on Jun 5, 2007 16:27:19 GMT -5
The Docks 10:00 A.M.
I stood casually over the load of 'contraband' stashed away in the SUV's of the Hispanic gang members, obviously happy with the way events turned out in last night's drug bust. Thanks to the efforts of my exclusively Francophone Vice Team, three hundred pounds of pure Brazilian cocaine (worth nearly 50 Grand on the street), several illegal weapons, a large quantity of water bongs, and a total of twenty-four 'street punks' were confiscated with remarkably few casualties on either sides.
"Ah, Mon Dieu..." I muttered, smiling at a tattooed Hispanic nursing his broken nose, "Don't worry, 'Pedro', the gentlemen in prison'll take you with or without your nose."
Looking around, I could clearly see several of my fellow police brethren taking account of the day's work, already beginning to load the mixture of Brazilian and Hispanic gangsters onto a large SWAT bus called for reinforcement last night. A few officers from the Riefort Narcotics Team could be seen from a distance calmly sweeping the rest of the dock with "Drug Dogs", making sure to leave no warehouses untouched with their searches.
Coolly, I sat on a rather large sack of cocaine, surveying the area with a careful eye. These supposed "hardcore" gangsters surrendered without a fight at the sight of flash/gas grenades hurled into the warehouse earlier, practically begging for mercy in a humorous mix of Portuguese, Spanish, and broken English.. In the frenzy of the adrenaline-pumped situation, I "accidentally" smacked several 'spics's' heads with the butt of my shotgun, breaking the nose of "Pedro" in the raid.
Undoubtedly, 'Captain Bob' would be slightly alarmed by the way affairs were managed in last night's raid, but would (in his typical indecisive fashion) most likely do little more than cuss me out for "unwarranted roughness"..
"Smecker!!!!!" bellowed a voice from the distance, causing me to leap from the sack of narcotics I had been sitting on.. As if on cue, Captain Bob, accompanied by several important members of the Riefort Police Department, arrived on scene with his trademark red face, huffing and puffing as he walked up to me.
"You.... You.... You..." gasped the Captain, frantically trying to catch his breath. A certain "Chief" Edward Exley looked oddly at the short, red-faced man, offering Bob a handkerchief while beckoning the others to silence themselves.
"Good Morning, Inspector," spoke the Chief calmly, reaching to shake my hand, "What the good Captain wishes to say is that you've done a tremendous job last night, and that the Riefort Police Department is truly proud of having you in our folds."
Upon hearing this rare compliment, I nearly froze upon the spot, unable to find any crass reply to the Chief's comment. True, I had done excellent work over the past few years, but for some odd reason, the prospect of a promotion frequently escaped my grasp.
"Well, Paul..." spoke the Chief, "It seems that you've finally succeeded in making us recognize your worth, and I'm happy to say that we, on the behalf of the Riefort Police Department, are promoting you to the office of Lieutenant, effective immediately.."
"Ah..." I muttered, looking over the Chief with my eyes, "Of course, there's got to be a catch right? Why promote me now, when you've ignored me and sent me on the dirtiest jobs in the past? Why now, of all times, would you promote a man you yourselves don't even like, to a rank that demands extreme responsibility?"
The trio of men glanced at themselves slowly, obviously unwilling to reveal their motives for lifting me to a Lieutenant's position. Chief Exley's face morphed into a forced smile, and I could plainly the disdain he was hiding behind his mask of a face.
"The reason, dear Paulie.." whispered Exley quietly, looking around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping onto the conversation, "Is that despite the fact that Riefort Police Department is the absolute 'best' in the world, we seem to be having a problem with incompetent detectives and police officers, and greatly need some 'change of faces' within our system."
"You undoubtedly know of that debacle the old leader of the original East Fort Murder team created," growled Exley, "right? And perhaps you've heard of a certain 'Detective Mark' illegally planting evidence to obtain arrest warrants in the past?"
"Last I've heard," I replied, cockily grinning at the furious Chief, "was that Marko-boy shot his own partner while illegally interrogating some old geezer.. Humiliating himself and the force in the process.. Right?"
"Indeed," continued Exley, "the RPD needs major reform, laddie, and obviously old-fashioned brutes like Mark cannot be allowed to further tarnish Riefort's name. Good-looking, clean-cut gentlemen who foil robberies and drug busts while working smoothly without any impulsive tendencies are what the RPD needs, Paul, and I know of your steadfast devotion to 'upholding civilization within Riefort'."
"Should you choose to accept the rank of Lieutenant," added Exley, repositioning his hat with a gloved hand, "you will be assigned to lead the 'new' Riefort Murder Case, and shall help me 'root out' the loose cannons from the reliables. If not, well, I expect your resignation on my desk tomorrow morning. Your precious 'French Vice Team' will be dissolved, my friend, and I will make sure that Pierre and Jean-Claude (as well as the rest of your team) will be assigned to other... less desirable jobs in Riefort.."
"The choice is ultimately yours, and I know that regardless of what you feel towards me, you also want to see major reform in the RPD.. A man with little remorse, passion, and possessing much intelligence is needed, my friend, and I daresay you fit that description quite well..
It took me a while to fully comprehend the words Exley was saying, and I myself found the man's empty threat of 'forced resignation' quite interesting. No threat of Exley's or Bob's could possibly force me into doing anything I had no wish for, but for the matter of finally reforming a corrupt, incompetent, and inefficient police system.. I daresay that I was greatly intrigued by the offer..
"All right, gentlemen," I spoke, smiling broadly, "I'll accept your flattering offer out of my own free will, and will attend extra early tomorrow to 'relocate' into a far nicer office.. Perhaps that 'Phillip' fellow's room.."
Seeing that old 'Phillip' doesn't seem to be doing much these days, I'm sure he wouldn't mind 'giving' a newly-promoted Lieutenant his spacious and neatly furnished office space. Anything would be better than that pitiful excuse of a room Captain Bob assigned to me years ago...
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