The Final Case
An FF7 Detective Story
Chapter 1
Midgar, the pinnacle of society... and the armpit of the universe. That I called this place home was perhaps a cruel quirk of fate. Rent was obscene and the nightlife filled with the hostile gazes of criminals and lowlifes which paraded across the decrepit streets with universal contempt for their own surroundings. Yet in such a way it was the perfect place for one such as me. The ineffective police force and corrupt Shinra officials created a veritable Promised Land for the private investigator. Business was never slow, and yet it was still barely enough to pay the four-digit rent each month.
So it was until my big case. I can say that in the singular form since nothing else I ever did or am ever likely to do can come close to the gravity of the case. Like all such huge cases, this was one which reached its tentacles into that multi-pronged bureaucratic monstrosity of paper pushers we call the Shinra. The usual case of a cheating husband or industrial espionage was always accompanied by a "cheap." Cheaps were always easy to identify by their street vendor clothing, beaten down attitudes and resigned unhappiness. Such people were uncharacteristically common in Midgar, but then that came as no surprise, times were tough in the old pizza. In this case, however, the man who entered my office was definately not a Cheap. His suit was a custom job, the kind they make on some other continent where the populace is slightly more refined; it was skillfully tailored to fit every muscle of the man. Cheaps may have been low-pay, but they were always safe. Guys like this were always more trouble than they were worth... and they were usually worth quite a bit.
If I had difficulty paying for my studio apartment, I had even more difficulty paying for an office. One might say the small room had more in common with a coffin than an actual place of business. It barely held a desk, a coat stand topped with a long black trenchcoat and a waste basket filed with wadded up papers and the occasional bottle. The building itself stunk with a certain musty odor of decay that no amount of scrubbing or cheap paint could entirely remove from the ancient surfaces. The aged glass on the door held my name, minus a letter which had fallen off some months before, and which I had no occasion to replace. Vincent Valentine, Private Investigator, the letters read. The rusting air conditioner that hung from the window without a hint of life had been topped with a rattling box fan which drew barely cooler air in from the smog-filled reaches of the city.
So it was with mixed emotion that I stared up from my faded and stained wooden desk, strewn with various papers and one small fedora hat, at the well-dressed stranger who had just entered. The stranger, for his part, regarded the decaying surroundings with a degree of amusement, as if to say "so this is how the other half lives." His black suit was expertly tailored, and his left hand held a rather expensive looking briefcase with an even more impressive looking lock. The stilted way in which the man walked labeled him instantly as a bureaucrat, and an obviously successful one. Dealing with such men was always a risky business, especially if they were corrupt. And doing some quick math in my head, I could figure that the man didn't get his expensive suit by signing papers. Bribes were that always unspoken benefit for the Shinra flunkies which inhabited the upper reaches of administrative buildings. All this took only a second of thought, a silence which stretched out a few more moments before the man seated himself on the only other chair in the office.
"Mister Valentine, Private Investigator, correct?" The man said with a slight tinge of authority.
"That's what the sign says." I responded briskly.
"A simple answer in the affirmative will suit my purposes." The man quipped sharply. If I needed any more proof that this was a Shinra cronie, I just recieved it.
"Yes, that's me. Do you need to scan my ID? Did I forget to pay a parking ticket? Those things always slip my mind you know..." I added with a touch of dry humor. I was in no mood to be badgered by a bureaucrat.
"Humor won't get you anywhere with me mister Valentine. I have a case for you, if you feel your skills are up to the challenge of course." The bureaucrat responded.
"Business is business. Since you already know my name, perhaps I could have the courtesy of yours?" This comment brought just a tiny flicker of fear in the man's eyes. Bad idea, I thought, of course he doesn't want to be identified. Well at least I knew the man was definately trouble.
"You may call me mister Brown. You understand, of course, that in a line of work such as you and I partake in, there is a degree of confidentiality." He replied, the flicker of fear well hidden again.
"Very well, mister Brown. What's the trouble?" My voice tinged on sarcasm as I spoke his 'name.'
"An associate of mine is missing, I require his whereabouts." The Shinra cronie responded flatly. Of course I knew whoever this guy was looking for, he probably wasn't an associate. Shinra rarely went to such trouble to locate missing employees. Yes, you require his whereabouts all right... so you can free him from his mortal coil. I suppose if I were wiser, I would have booted the man out of my office immediately and moved my practice to a different continent.
"I would imagine a man of your obvious means would have other resources to call upon?" I replied, burying any hint of disdain that would have otherwise crept into my voice. For his part, the man understood what I was really asking. Any Shinra cronie who took bribes as often as he probably did understood the subtle request for payment. It was a polite reminder that I knew why he was here, why anyone would come to me. No one like him hired a Private Investigator out of choice, it was always a last resort when your business was too shady to stand up to the light of day. The metal briefcase slid across my desk, its lock opened and the contents displayed for my scrutiny. For once, genuine fear gripped my mind as I estimated the sum of Gil displayed before me. There was more money in that case than I had made in the last several years of "honest" work.
"There will be more upon completion of your task. That is mere pittance compared to the reward you will recieve. Let us say ten times that sum when you find... Sephiroth." The name hung in the air like a bad stench. Of course I knew of Sephiroth. Only an incompetent fool living under a rock for the last twenty years wouldn't recognize the name. But I had a much more personal grudge against the man and his vile "creator," and it was obvious that this man knew it. At least I knew why he had come to me and not some other old fool buried deep in the old pizza. The man shifted uncomfortably for a moment, and I knew I had no choice but to take the case. The moment Sephiroth's name had been dropped, I had been bound to the job. Take the money... or take a bullet; those were my only real options at this juncture. Certainly the cronie wouldn't simply allow me to walk away from the case knowing what it was he wanted. Or was it even him? Sephiroth was a subject Shinra would much rather the world forgot about, and if he still lived, they would likely do anything to keep it under wraps. I had assumed he was dead, the incident at Nibelheim five years before had been confirmed by multiple sources... but the pile of money sitting on my desk seemed to indicate otherwise.
"What information can you give me?" I asked, hoping my tone of voice betrayed none of the anxiety which had gripped me.
"Everything I can tell you is in the bottom of that case. Good day, mister Valentine." The man turned and headed for the door, glancing back for a moment. "I expect that we shall not meet again, but if you must reach me, come to the restaurant in Wall Market and ask for Cait Sith. You have one month, and I will be watching." The door closed behind him with an echo of finality as my eyes turned back to the impressive wad of cash. I reached into the briefcase and felt a thin stack of folded papers underneath the pile of Gil. As I began to read, all the blood drained from my face and terror crept into the darkest reaches of my mind. All I could think... was that I should have asked for a lot more money.