She breezed into my office like the cold wind that was washing across Diamond City that rainy night. She walked across my dim office in that shimmering black dress like she owned the place, finding a seat on the other side of my desk as I was closing up for the night. I could feel those eyes piercing right through my synthetic skin, and she crossed those legs that seemed to go on for miles. I leaned back in my chair, acknowledging her presence.
"What can I help you with, darling?" I asked as I tipped the brim of my hat up.
"I heard you solve problems Mr. Valentine…" her voice was the definition of sultry.
"Please, call me Nick."
"Well, Nick. I've got a problem I'd like you to fix." She produced a pack of cigarettes before continuing. She pulled a slender smoke from the pack and offered me one, I obliged. "Do you have a light?" she asked in that mesmerizing voice, brushing that golden hair off her face. After fumbling through my tattered trench coat's numerous pockets I produced an old flip lighter. "Someone dear to me was killed." Her ruby red lips took a puff on the cigarette, "I want you to find out who did it."
"Alright, I'm going to need more details than that if you want my help. Perhaps some names to start?" my voice was smooth yet assertive.
"You can call me Charlotte, Charlotte Kingsman. The victim was my brother, Charlie…"
"Seems your mother wasn't too inventive." She only rolled her eyes as she tapped her cigarette over an ashtray,
"He was found dead south of Goodneighbor. Bullet through the chest." Not the most original way someone could get offed in the Commonwealth.
"Misses, sounds like your brother just ran into the wrong group of Gunners. You don't even have to pay me for that guess."
"I know he wasn't ambushed by raiders or bandits, Nicky."
"Alright," my robotic fingers relieved the imaginary stress in my mechanical temple, "Did your brother have any enemies?"
"Don't we all." Smoke billowed from her mouth with that statement and disappeared into the darkness surrounding my desk.
"That doesn't answer my question, Ms. Charlotte." I didn't care to wax philosophy with this vixen at 11 o'clock at night.
"It happened near Goodneighbor. You know as well as I do, it's a mob town. I think you know where to start snooping, detective." She said the line with such casual assurance. I watched her face as I tapped my fingers together. Apparently I took too long as she snubbed out the smoke and started to rise, "Let me know what you find out, Nicky." There was that sultry voice again.
"I never said I'd take the case." I reminded her as she walked towards the door. She didn't turn around as she delivered this line,
"Of course you will… Mr. Valentine." As she sauntered to the door it wasn't hard for those curves to inspire some human feelings in this 'robot'. It was after she had returned to the rain outside I had noticed a small purse she left on the chair. Throwing down my barely smoked cigarette, I got up and took the purse in my 'human' hand. Opening it up revealed a hefty store of caps, looks like I was investigating this murder, in the morning.
The sun had risen over the Commonwealth, but it was hidden behind the clouds. The rainstorm from last night never let up it seems. Moving across the Commonwealth will be a chore slopping through the mud, but I had to make it out to Goodneighbor. Diamond City's market was pretty empty thanks to the inclement weather. Myrna was at her storefront peddling her usual junk.
"Any oil cans for sale today Myrna?" I already knew the answer.
"I'm not selling you anything, synth." She replied with a paranoid sneer.
"Wouldn't have it any other way." I accompanied that line with a chuckle. No matter how much I did for the folks of Diamond City, a synth was still a synth to Crazy Myrna.
Outside the gate, Boston's streets seemed quiet. You could see the fires of Super Mutant camps burning up in the high stories of the ruined edifices that populate downtown Boston, and the occasional Ghoul would let out a deathly hiss off in the distance. The rain made sure I was the only fool walking the roads today. I was left to only the sound of it landing on the pavement, its ping on the metal buildings, and the sound it makes when it drips off the brim of this old fedora. Off to my right was a Slick Grick's Deli sandwich shop I could cut through. The old Nick used to find himself in one of these chain joints every day for lunch. Course nowadays, the counter was only serving dust to barstools that had rusted away years ago. As I made it through the serving area the memories come flooding back,
"I'm telling you Phil. John may be close to catching that "Phantom of the Fens". Sounds like there's something in the sewers down there."
"Eh, you keep saying that Nicky, but I'll tell you what I told Johnny. It's an urban legend folks made to explain missing persons. Whatever though, how are things with you and Jennifer?" I reached for the turkey club sandwich only to be brought back to reality by a mole rat trying to make a meal out of my leg. I gave it a swift kick, knocking it into the swinging door leading to the kitchen. It tried to scare me with a growl. Luckily, the .44 snubnose I dug out of my coat pocket doesn't get frightened by noisy rats. If any wanderer happened into that joint they'd have some fresh meat waiting for them.