{Hi'ya, good people. I just wanted to say a few things about this Fic before it gets underway... This is my own personal take on the Scooby Doo universe, and is a sequel to a previous story I wrote on this site called The Dropkick Clique. Several requests for a follow-up is the reason that this was written, so I suggest you read that before this, but it isn't necessary to understand and enjoy this tale. Do whatever you want.
Alright, now that that's out of the way, I issue another warning. Just like with the previous story, this contains strong language, sexual content, etc. It's, in my opinion, a more realistic version of the Scooby Doo universe - less people in masks trying to scare other people, y'know? Because of this, it's very different than the series that it's based off of, but not so much that it's unrecognizable. I try to keep the comedic elements of the old show, while still putting my own style of writting on it, but everyone won't care for my particular brand of, ahem, comedy. If you don't like it, no worries.
Now, if you're still interested after all of that, then please read-on and enjoy An Outlaw Nature. A special thanks to sly bandit, PrincessThunderquake, SirenWrage, EinIII and everyone else who reviewed The Dropkick Clique.}
Twice had the detective almost dozed off at the wheel. Ashley smacked herself across the face and reached for the thermos of coffee at her side, her only companion in the dead of night. Black, bitter, no sugar with just a splash of raspberry creamer, about her only luxury over the last few weeks. She took a few sips from the lip of the silver thermos and turned up the air conditioning, freezing cold air rushing into her face. She needed to stay uncomfortable and awake, lest she wind up wrapped around a tree.
Blue lights came into view and she slowed her vehicle, pulling over to the curb. Ashley inhaled deeply, taking in as much breath as she could after shutting the car off. Shaking her head, she grabbed the door handle and prepared to step out, then noticed her appearance in the mirror. Quickly, the young detective straightened herself, flattening the wrinkles in her teal dress-shirt, running a hand through the low-cut naturally cinnamon hair. She stepped out of the vehicle, making certain to grab the dark leather jacket that sat in the passenger seat before doing so. The biting cold nipped at her face and Ashley grit her teeth, fighting a shiver. Throwing her jacket on, she started a purposeful walk toward the yellow tape.
Officers were already on the scene, keeping the small crowd in check, mostly members of the construction site's employ. Ashley showed her badge to one of the officers and ducked under the tape, continuing on through the cold toward the crime scene. One of the uniforms, Jackson, approached and greeted with a nod.
"Evening, detective."
"Jackson, it's cold, it's late, and I'm running on fumes, so let's make this quick. What the hell happened?" the woman asked, almost coldheartedly. The man knew there was no malice behind the words, but exhaustion. "I was investigating Mister Crowley. Or at least I assumed so. My investigation was not done, so… why is he being arrested?"
She glanced over. A Texan, cursing and howling like a dog with its paw caught was just a short distance away, being forced into a squad car. He was not going willingly. After shouldering an officer into the squad car door, the young, brawny, former Longhorn linebacker barreled toward the detective, recognizing her from the multiple investigative visits to his abode. Under investigation for the disappearance of his sibling and her friend, he was not the kindly type and did not appreciate the unwanted attention. He apparently was still quite upset with Ashley's aggressive questioning…
Jackson drew his sidearm, barking commands at the man, beckoning him to cease his charge. "Lower your weapon," Ashley told the officer in a stern tone, continuing to stroll despite the bull seeing her in all red. She smiled at the still fit Texan. "Good to see you again, Mister Crowley."
"Detective, get back!" hollered Jackson.
She ignored him. "You look a little irate, sir. Is there something wrong…?" Ashley prodded as Crowley drew closer.
When close enough, at the very last instant, a collapsible baton slipped from the confines of her jacket and extended to its full length. In a flash, the woman bludgeoned Crowley's exposed ribcage with the weapon. A follow-up blow took out his right knee and the woman stepped behind him, pulling the black piece back into the neck of the man before her. Hissing and gurgling, the man relented and stopped fighting as the pressure on his windpipe increased. Officers moved in quickly, weapons still trained on the man. Ashley released him when the group was close and they pilled on, pinning him to the ground.
Coming to her side, Jackson asked, "Are you alright detective?"
Ashley knelt down, driving the tip of the baton into the ground, returning the length into his handle. "Fine. As I was saying, exactly why is he being arrested? We don't have any evidence that'll stick."
"Mary and Jenny Anders. We found them."
The young detective looked around at the construction site. Crowley was building a house, a large manor. "Here? He tossed his sister and her friend… here? In the ground that his new house was being built atop. You're telling me that there was something we missed?"
"Found them in the driveway, in the concrete. He made a great effort of hiding them…"
"Rat bastard… Who found them? Peters?"
"Nope. Wasn't a cop," stated Jackson as they continued to walk toward the skeletal household.
Raising an eyebrow, Ashley looked to the young man beside her. "Then who?"
He pointed and she followed his line of sight. On the other side of the house, being questioned by a handful of officers, sat a quartet of young people, appearing to be only slightly younger than the detective herself.
"Private detective agency, ma'am."
"What the hell…?"
A petite girl, brunette, bobbed hair atop her head and rectangle-framed glasses shielding eyes full of defiance, looked up at the officer standing over her. Somehow she'd turned the questioning back on the officer, and was now inquiring about his home life, his wife, and if she knew he was cheating on her. The young officer had no idea how she knew so much about him, and was beginning to let his anger get the better of him. Pen and pad being crushed by a pair of clenched fists, he listened to her, blood boiling, not even considering what would happen if he swung on the young lady. He no longer cared. She was poking fun at him now, and although he was supposed to keep his cool, the officer was ready to strike.
Before he could, Ashley pat his shoulder and said, "I got it from here…" The young man grit his teeth, turned on his heels and stomped off, seething. The other officers interviewing the quartet of entrepreneurial investigators watched him go, then turned their gaze to the detective. "I've got it from here," she repeated.
They got the hint and made themselves scarce, leaving her with the group.
Ashley just stood there, assessing the small group. The brunette was obviously well-learned, had her head on straight, and knew how to twist and manipulate someone's words, or else she wouldn't have been able to get the best of the officer questioning her. She sat, smiling up at Ashley, no doubt gathering information just as she was. She could look into the girl's eyes and tell that they were quite alike, though, but the detective liked to think she had a slight advantage over the young woman in the form of instinct.
Sitting directly beside the brunette was a young blonde man, also assessing Ashley, but for different reasons, she was sure. His hair was cropped short and his eyes were as blue as the ocean. He exuded confidence; that was clear. In his hands, the blonde held an open-faced pocket watch, and he glanced at it briefly, like he had somewhere important to be. Ashley made a mental note of it and silently moved on to the next in line.
As pale as Jack Frost, the girl next to him was no doubt the beauty-queen of the group, sitting, legs crossed, hands stacked atop her knee, with a content smile on her lips. Her hair looked like fire coming from the mouth of a blow-torch, bright orange at the edges that bled into a deep crimson, falling to her shoulders. "Are we free to go?" she asked, putting on the sweetest, most innocent voice she could muster, and a fairly good one, Ashley had to admit. But these kids snatched her arrest right from under her, and she wasn't letting them leave until she got all the information she needed from them.
Finally, there was a tall, lanky man sitting on the end, looking at the detective from behind the messy hair before his eyes. He flipped the locks from before his face, and once his vision was clear, and he got a better-look at the officer, jerked his head back, probably surprised by her appearance. She was out of uniform, and a looker at that, but her badge and sidearm were clear at her sides. He was the only one to actively avoid the detective's eyes, the one of the group with the least nerve.
"Private detectives? You four?"
"Don't think so?" asked the brunette. "We did just solve your case…"
"How do you know it's mine?" Ashley asked, narrowing her eyes at the young woman.
"Why else would you be here?"
Jackson brought over a pad, handing it Ashley. "Rogers, Blake, Jones and Dinkley."
She looked over the information before her, then looked back up at the group. "Mystery Incorporated… I've heard of you."
The smile Jones wore grew wider. "Our reputation precedes us. I've always wanted to say that."
"So, you all proved that big tank of a man over there is a murderer…? How exactly did you pull that feat off?"
"You can thank our dog for that. He's in the van. Didn't want one of your idiotic officers to put a bullet in him," the redhead chirped.
"He sniffed the bodies out of the concrete and we went to work with some pickaxes," the blonde stated. "Simple as that. It had yet to completely dry, so it wasn't too difficult."
"Was this prior to your subduing the homeowner?"
"This was after we knocked that lug out. He didn't put up much of a fight."
Dinkley spoke again. "Just for the record, he attacked as soon as he got a look at us. This was self-defense."
Taking a look back at Crowley, the woman nodded and said, "Oh, I'm sure." She returned her attention to the quartet, glancing down at the notepad in hand.
"Well, detective? Is that all you need from us? We've got a paycheck to pick up."
Jackson leaned into Ashley's ear and whispered, "Story checks out. Crowley admitted to attacking them."
Sighing, a little irked by Dinkley's confidence, Ashley knew she had no choice. "Yeah… I think we're good. You all can go."
Rogers jumped up out of his seat, turned and said, "Imma' warm the Mystery Machine up."
As the rest got up to follow, Dinkley watched the young detective out of her periphery, thin lips turned up in a content little smirk. The young woman pushed her thinly framed glasses up the bridge of her nose, and the two women's eyes met. The fire burning in the detective's made her heart skip a beat, but Velma wasn't intimidated by her; she'd stared down murders, psychopaths and master thieves. A rather good-looking police officer was a nice change of pace.
The short, freckled brunette continued to smirk and said, "Have a good night, detective…"
"Detective Ashley Hale. How 'bout next time staying out of police business, Miss Dinkley."
A humored giggle escaped the young woman's lips. "I'm sorry detective, but this is what we do. There isn't any changin' it."
Ashley was forced to watch as Velma sauntered away, knowing she and her friends had kicked the police force's collective ass once again, solving yet another c rime better than those wearing a badge ever could. The scowl the young woman wore seemed to be etched into her features, into her very soul.
"You okay?"
She slowly turned to Jackson, gritting her teeth behind her lips. "I was just outdone by a bunch of private investigators in a van that reeked of marijuana. I'm peachy, Jackson. Just peachy-keen…"
Velma jumped into the passenger side of the van, already running, Earl Sweatshirt's Guild booming out of the brand new speakers installed in the Mystery Machine. Mac Miller's verse was just ending as she pulled the door shut, and Shaggy put the vehicle in drive. Putting the crime scene behind them, the quintet got back on the Georgia streets.
"What did she have to say?" Scooby asked through a long yawn. He had been, until that point, fast-asleep, enjoying a dream that he could no longer remember.
Still, the short-haired brunette grinned. "She wanted to threaten me, like all cops do when we solve their cases."
"Not all," said Daphne from the back. "There was that one that reminded me of Ice-T from Law and Order. He was pretty cool."
Slowly turning to the redhead, Fred stated, "He said if we ever crossed him again, he'd show my insides the long end of a nightstick."
"Your point?"
"I think what Fred means," started Shaggy, "we need to be more careful. These guys could easily pinch us on obstruction of justice. We can't run a business from behind bars, at least not a private detective agency. If we were selling cocaine, maybe."
"Shaggy's right. We shouldn't be careless," said Scooby. "But, we also can't let them push us around. We're doing a better job tan half of these guys. That's bound to rub some people the wrong way."
"Yeah, it just happens to be people on the nicer side of law."
"Exactly."
Daphne pulled her phone from the pocket of her sweater as her friends began to reminisce on the multiple times they irked law enforcement throughout the two years since their company's inception. Swiping through her diamond-pattern lock, she was brought to her home screen and immediately called her uncle. The man had been gracious enough to allow his niece and her friends to stay at his lush two-story home during their time in the city of Atlanta.
A few job requests in their email inbox is what brought Mystery Incorporated to Georgia, and with one down, the investigators were ready to get back to their temporary loggings and get some sleep.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Uncle John. We're on our way back, want us to pick anything up on the way?" asked Daphne, toying with a few strands of her hair. The sounds of loud talking, laughing and music could be heard on the other end.
"Actually, I'm not home, Daphne," the man replied. "I'm at a little party this friend of mine is throwing at a club."
"Oh, okay."
"Actually, why don't you and your friends swing by? I'd like to introduce you."
Putting a hand over the speaker, Daphne leaned forward and asked, "You guys wanna' hit a party real quick?"
Coming to a stop at a red light, Shaggy looked back at her. "They got food?" Daph brought the cell back up to her ear and repeated the question. After receiving a nod, the young man smiled and said, "I'm in."
"Yeah, why not?" agreed Fred.
"Sounds good to me," Velma said.
"We're on our way, uncle. Text me the address and we'll be there."
The loud, rhythmic, irresistibly foot-tapping music could be heard through the solid brick walls of the club as the investigators walked around the building. Fred couldn't help but bop his head to the bass-driven tunes. There didn't appear to be anyone standing in line, and all comers that approached the club's front door were swiftly turned away by the large bouncer. Whoever was throwing the party rented the entire club out.
The man noticed the quartet of young people coming down the sidewalk, and turned toward them. "Identification, please."
Daphne's uncle suddenly poked his head out of the stained glass door, tapping the bouncer on one of his broad shoulders. "They're my guests, big fella'," he said, gesturing to the pack of young people.
"Alright, Mister Maxwell."
The large man was polite enough after that to step aside and allow the quartet, along with their large dog, to enter the club. Once inside, they were met by a pleasurable assault on the senses. The music sounded even better once inside and the smell of mouth-watering food wafted up their nostrils. A young man in a casual pinstriped button-down shirt and jeans, wearing a welcoming smile beneath a pair of thickly framed designer glasses stood just off of the entrance.
"Welcome to the Rabbit Hole," he said, continuing to grin.
"This is my niece and her coworkers, Al."
The man's eyes went wide and his smile grew. "So, this is the niece you won't stop talking about?" The man, who couldn't have been older than twenty-two, extended a hand to the redhead. "It's a pleasure to finally make the acquaintance of the famed Blake detective. My name's Alphonse, but I prefer to go by Al."
As his niece squeezed the woman's hand, John said, "Al's the manager here, and was gracious enough to let my friend, Tommy, to rent the place."
"Well, Tommy's not a bad guy, so I thought I'd cut him some slack. We usually don't allow employees to rent the entire building out on days they're supposed to work, but-"
A man, possibly another employee of the night club, called out to the young woman. She half-turned her head and nodded. "Don't let us hold you, Al. We'll be around, go take care of business," said John.
Smiling again, the young man turned and said, "Alright. You all enjoy yourselves. I'll talk to you in a while, John."
Al disappeared deeper in the club, off to handle his managerial duties. Turning up the bottom of his beer bottle, John polished off the rest of the fermented beverage and belched. "I need another beer." The amateur director turned on the heels of the soft leather loafers, making a beeline for the bar, and his favorite bartender.
"You will take me to the nearest source of food!" demanded Scooby.
"Alright, I think they got a dessert table over this way…" John said.
As the Great Dane followed, Daphne said, "Don't go too far, Scoob, m'kay?"
"No."
The teens stood in the doorway, looking on at the club before them. A large circular bar stood in the center of the main area, two bartenders pouring drinks and keeping the customers well intoxicated. Passed that, an oval dance floor, drowning in iridescent, mostly blue lighting, stood. The DJ scratched the turntables, mixing songs that were familiar and loved by all, with rocking bass that seemed to shake the floor beneath their feet. Mystery Inc. slowly made their way deeper into the bowels of the building.
"Some gorgeous girls in this place," remarked Shaggy, scanning the area, checking out the talent.
"Yeah. Now," replied Daphne with a cocky grin.
"Imma' see if I can score a little liquid courage. You guys want anything?"
"Beer," Fred said.
"Peach Ciroc," Daphne said, patting Shaggy's rear as she often did. "Thanks, big bro."
"And what about you, Velm-Velm?"
"Scotch, please."
"Alright. Here's hopin' they don't ask for I.D."
"Milk that goatee for all it's worth, buddy," suggested Fred with a grin. "Walk like you're twenty-one. Command respect! Show these people who Norville 'Shaggy' Rogers is, dammit!"
All three of the blonde's companions stared at him with exasperated contempt. "Are you done…?"
"Think so."
Straightening the collar of his shirt, pulling his long hair back and clearing his throat, the young man strode toward the bar to buy their drinks. The others hung back in a little corner of the club, leaning against the mirrored wall, watching the patrons drink, laugh, flirt and try to get lucky. Looking at the whole place objectively, Velma started to think.
Glancing over at the brunette, noticing her head listing to the left, Daphne asked, "What's on your mind?"
"Do we act like this when we're drunk?"
"Nah. I'm sure we carry ourselves with a little more class," proclaimed Fred, his chin held high.
"Freddie, it was just last month that you assaulted a clown at Chucky Cheese."
"He dropped the charges," the blonde mumbled in return.
Daphne snickered. "Only because he claimed to know what it is like to be drunk."
"Yeah… That was a sad clown."
"Aren't all clowns sad on some level?"
"It's like the only thing they have in common," Fred chuckled. "In clown school, I think all of them must get 'Forever Alone' tattooed on their chest."
"I bet the logo of Clown University is probably a red nosed man digging his own grave."
"Every time an angel gets her wings, somewhere a clown dies…"
As the trio cracked up laughing loudly, a tall, quarterback-esque man, appearing around college age, mustered up the courage to approach the small group, dark haired Velma in his sights. He slicked his black hair back, put on his best heartbreaker smile and sauntered over like he invented swagger. Velm saw him even before he opened his mouth, and made an effort to try and avoid his gaze, hoping he would get the message and break off. No such luck.
Ignoring the presence of Fred, which greatly insulted the blonde, the man said, "Hey, beautiful. I've never seen you here before. Mind telling me your name?
Velma adjusted her glasses and said, "Yep."
"Aw, come on I don't bite."
"But I do. Trust me, you're not my type."
"I'm not your type?" the man asked, genuinely shocked. "So you're not into the strong, intelligent, talented type?" Slowly turning to Freddie, he said, "You must be into-"
"Uh, he wishes."
"Insulting…" Fred chimed.
"Tell me, then," the man said, pausing to take a sip of his light beer, "what is your type?"
"You knowing won't help."
"Why don't you tell me anyway?"
Taking a moment to think, Daphne said, "I believe what she's trying to say is that you don't have the right… equipment."
"Equipment?"
Draping her arm around Velma's neck, the redhead pulled her close. "Think about it, big boy."
It took longer than it should have, but eventually the young man got the hint and his shoulders disappointedly slumped. Not another word was uttered. He just turned and walked away as Daphne planted a small kiss at the corner of the bespectacled girl's mouth. The man slithered away, off to find another girl of different a sexual orientation. Wearing a Cheshire grin, the pale-skinned Daphne watched him leave, content with the little show that she had just put on.
"Works every time," she said.
"Well, I'd say so," Fred remarked. "Finding out you have absolutely no chance in hell is a quick turn-off."
Daphne still had Velma by the neck, and the brunette gave her a quick glance. "You're enjoying this way too much, Daph."
"Aw, come on Velma, won't you be mine?" asked Daphne jokingly as she pushed her cheek into that of her companion.
"Not gonna' happen, red."
"You heartbreaker."
Shaggy returned carrying two bottles of beer and two glassed. "Alright, Scotch for Velm. Peach vodka for Daph and beers for me and Freddie."
Accepting the bottle, the blonde nodded and said, "Thanks, Shag. What do I owe you?"
"Not a dime. These are on the house." Shaggy pointed across the bar to Alphonse, who was busy speaking to a member of his staff. He glanced quickly at the group of young people and gave a leisurely salute.
Fred raised his bottle and nodded appreciatively. For that, he received a stiff punch to the shoulder, one that almost made him spill his Bud Light. "Ow! What the fuck did I do this time?!"
"That's no way to thank someone for paying for our drinks!" proclaimed Daphne. "Get over there and thank him properly!"
"What? Why me? We all got drinks! And he's obviously diggin' Daphne…"
"I have to agree with Fred on this," admitted Shaggy. "Bat your eyelashes, smile like you always do and you'll have him eaten from between your legs, er, I mean outta' the palm of your hand…"
"Hold on a sec-"
"A guy like him is well connected," Velma said. "He might know someone that is in need of our services. So smear some honey on his ass, 'cause you're gonna' be kissing it."
After a long sip of her vodka, Daphne said, "That's where you're wrong, Velm-Velm. He'll be kissing my ass."
"Ooh, that young man is in trouble…" said Fred.
Shrugging loosely and polishing off her drink, Daphne straightened her hair and left her friends, beginning to make her way to the other side of the bar. Pushing and excusing herself through the reasonable crowd, she sidled up to the bar, but the young floor manager was no longer there. It would be near impossible to track him down on his own in a club of this size, so she tried to cut the search short.
Leaning into the bar top, she tapped its tender on the shoulder. "'Scuse me. You see where Alphonse went?"
Continuing to wash the glasses in the sink, the man said, "Yeah, I think he went to the back. You can go back there and look if you want."
"Okay. Thanks you."
Working her way around the dance floor and those that occupied it, Daphne made her way to the back of the building. Ducking into a small hall that held the rear entrance, she looked around for Al, still loosely gripping her glass. The back door was slightly ajar, and a cold breeze slinked in, chilling the young woman after she had warmed up in the club. Against her better judgment, she opened the door further, letting even more of the cold in, and poked her head out. The parking lot was empty except for a single vehicle pulling off, tires spinning, screeching as the rubber burned against the asphalt.
The red rear lights shone bright as the vehicle pulled away. Daph felt a fluttering feeling in her chest. She always trusted her gut, and it was screaming at her at the moment, telling the redhead that something strange was going on. Something…
"Daphne!"
The sudden scare caused the young woman to jump with a yelp, the perspiring glass slipping from her grasp. It broke on the hard ground beneath Daphne's black boots she cursed. Turning to see Scooby standing behind her, panic expressed in his face, the young woman knew something was up.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Velma… and she… Just come on!"
Daphne ran behind Scoob at full speed, unsure of what was happening. Scooby was always easily rattled, but he wouldn't have come to retrieve Daph if things weren't serious. Whatever was happening with Velma, it was bad and needed to be stopped. She needed her friends with her.
Rounding the corner, Daphne saw Velm standing by the front door, looking smaller than she had in a long, long time. Standing before her, eye-to-eye was a face that the pale-skinned Daph had almost forgotten. A woman, standing in a pair of dark blue Vans, wearing a top that left her right shoulder exposed and a pair of light blue jeans, stared at the young detective. Her "Vampire Bite" pierced lips were turned up in an amused smile. Velma did not share this emotion; in fact, she looked so distraught that Daphne was half expecting her to start retching.
Both Fred and Shaggy weren't far away from Velm, but they had no idea what to do, what to say, if they should intervene or let things run its course. Daphne's previous sprint was reduced to a sluggish, hesitant walk as she tried to figure out what she needed to do.
"Kaitlyn…" Velma whispered breathlessly. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't move, her heart was pounding in her chest and she was in a cold sweat. The intelligent young woman had thought that fear no longer existed in her. After putting away serial murderers, thieves, psychopaths and everything in between, she thought that there wasn't a thing on the earth that could frighten her. She was wrong.
The warm smile that the woman before her gave sent shivers down Velma's spine. "… Hi Velma. It's, uh, been a while. How've you been?"
The rest of Mystery Incorporated thought Velma was going to pass out, or lose her dinner, and Daphne was prepared to pull her into the women's restroom, if not to just get her away from the other woman. But Velma didn't vomit and didn't cry. Her chest swelled, her eyes filled with fiery rage, and her body tensed. She stepped forward and drew a clenched fist back, driving it directly into the young woman's solar plexus. Growling, the brunette stomped her way out of the club, leaving Kaitlyn in a heap on the floor, clutching at her own abdomen. It didn't seem many people noticed the little incident, so Daphne grabbed the woman, lifted her up and pulled her into the women's restroom.
"Are, uh, you alright?" the redhead asked as they burst through the bathroom door. Kaitlyn collapsed onto the cold, sterile floor. "That punch looked a little stiff…"
"She still packs a wallop," she grunted in return. "A helluva wallop…"
Kneeling beside the dark-haired beauty, Daphne sighed. "Well, I think it's safe to say she wasn't happy to see you."
"Yeah… Safe to say…"
"What're you even doing here?" they heard through the door.
Chuckling, Kaitlyn took a deep breath in an attempt to recompose herself. "It's good to see you too, Shaggy!"
"Hey, I never said I wasn't glad to see you, I'm just wondering why the fuck we ran into each other like this…"
"Well, allow me to state for the record that I didn't plan this…" Kaitlyn had been touring the country on the heels of Cage the Elephant, opening for them with her band, the Hex Girls. Mystery Inc. had all but erased the woman from their memory, but apparently, it's not that easy to just write someone off. The woman had done almost irreparable damage to Velma, and then just left, off to pursue rock-stardom, leaving quite the bitter taste in the collective mouth of Mystery Incorporated. None of them could particularly blame Velma for her actions. Not after the torment Kaitlyn put her through. Returning to a vertical base, the woman said, "Thorn's cousin owns a studio here, so the other girls and I set up shop here so we could start work on our second album. We've only been in Atlanta for two weeks, I swear."
"Although that does seem to be a reasonable excuse, I doubt it'll convince Velma not to beat the shit out of you again…"
"I see she still doesn't have that temper reined in."
"Can you blame her?"
"No… I don't think I rightfully can."
The guitarist checked her appearance in the mirror briefly, making sure her makeup was straight and her watering eyes had not smeared any of it. When satisfied, she turned to leave restroom, but her arm was grabbed. "You leaving already?"
"Aw, miss me, did ya'?" the woman grinned.
"Actually, I'm more worried that if you step out there, and Velma is still wandering around, she'll suplex you right into the bar top."
"I can handle Buttercup, thank you very much. I'm late anyway."
"Late for what?" Scooby asked as raven-haired Kaitlyn stepped out.
Looking down at the pooch, she snickered. "You're a nosey bunch."
"Comes with the territory," the canine stated.
"Alright, then, for your information, I'm here to see a friend. The floor manager."
"Alphonse? I'm pretty sure I saw him leave a good five minutes ago," said Daphne.
Narrowing her vision, the musician contemplatively glared at the redhead. "That's… odd… He's usually here all night." The woman slowly turned, striding deeper into the building, eyeing the nocturnal party-goers. "Blake. Exactly where did you last see him?" Kaitlyn asked, acknowledging the three detectives tailing her.
"Uh, the bartender told me Al stepped out the back. I looked out there and just saw taillights."
Kaitlyn picked her pace up, beginning to rather rudely shove her way through the people. Eventually, Mystery Inc. lost her in the crowd as R.I.P. started to thump through the speakers and the crowd loosened up, drunkenly hooting and hollering along with the song's lyrics. Finally cutting their way through the thick of it all, the trio caught up with the pale-skinned woman, kneeling outside the club, in its side parking lot.
"Well, this isn't good, now is it?"
"What's wrong?" asked Daphne.
Velma and Fred were approaching from around the front of the building just as Kaitlyn lifted the wallet she had found lying on the asphalt. Opening the custom made white and green superhero-inspired themed piece of leather, she pulled an I.D. from its confines and sighed at the name typed onto the laminate card. "Alphonse Del." Laying the plastic down, she continued to probe the wallet, finding credit cards and cash within. "Guess he wasn't robbed…"
"Then… what happened to him?" Daphne asked.
A chilling wind blew over the young people. Clearing his throat, Scooby said, "Can we go somewhere without getting caught up in some crazy bullshit? Just one time?"
"Doesn't seem like it…" Velma mumbled in return. "Fred, why don't you put a call in to Detective Hale. She'll be glad to hear from Mystery Incorporated."
"And tell her what?"
Velma and Kaitlyn spoke simultaneously. "That Alphonse Del has been kidnapped."
{Well, that's it. The first chapter is done, you've read it and you're awesome because of it. I always appreciate reviews and if you have anything on your mind, feel free to PM me. Hopefully, you enjoyed this humble young writer's weird little project :D}