Nighthawks by Edward Hopper. Look it up. Sums up the mood for this story perfectly.
I was researching strip clubs for this story when my mom walked in. Cue awkward silence and "I swear it's not for me!" 0.o Then on Thursday, a concert, ate pizza with a homeless man, and stayed out until 5 in the morning. It has had an impact on this chapter, as you shall see.
Thanks for reading/reviewing. Continue on, brave soldier.
In Hollywood, the suave detective brilliantly discovers some important, overlooked detail at the scene of the crime. Then he has some epiphany that leads straight to the identity of the murderer. Cue life-or-death struggle. The killer ends up behind bars, the hero rides off into the sunset. La-di-fucking-da and all that jazz.
Well, that's not me. If being a private investigator were easy, I'd be schmoozing it up at the Ritz, a martini in one hand and a pretty lady in the other. Instead, I'm sitting in the booth of a 24-hour diner, drinking crappy coffee and avoiding the gaze of an overly amorous waitress. Such is life.
The bell on the door jingled, announcing an entrance. My job-saver, detective-soulmate, and occasional friend slid into the seat across me. I raised my coffee cup in silent salute. "Mai. Can I get you anything? Coffee, donut?"
She rolled her eyes at me. "For the last time, not all cops like donuts. Some of us actually like to be healthy."
"Says the chain-smoker."
"Shut it." She lit up a cig and offered me one. Tempting, but I resist.
Remember what I said about Windbloom City cops? How they're all lazy, corrupt scumbags who were no better than the crooks they arrested? Well, forget all that regarding Mai—she's one of the few honest cops this city desperately needs. Too bad no good deed goes unpunished. The police commissioner, a real piece of work named Shiho Huit, hates Mai's guts. She'll never be promoted higher than a sergeant.
She raised an eyebrow and blew smoke into my face. "I can almost see the rusty gears grinding away in that empty space you call a head."
"Just thinking."
"What about?"
"Deep, philosophical thoughts that you wouldn't understand."
"Right." She looked unconvinced but changed the subject. "You kinda look like shit. When's the last time you slept?"
I shrugged. "Two days ago, but that's not the point. Did you bring it?"
She opened her bag and took out a thin case file stamped 'confidential.' It made me chuckle; in this city, 'Confidential' might as well mean 'Fucking read me NOW.'
Mai smacked my hand away as I reached for it. "I hope you know this goes against everything I stand for."
"So don't look." I jerked it out of her grasp and opened the folder. Glossy photographs perfectly captured Dai Artai's cloudy pale eyes, expensive suit dripping with water and creating a large puddle, lower jaw already half-nibbled away by the itty-bitty creatures of the Windbloom River. My eyes were drawn to a neat hole above one ear and the gaping hole above the other, brain matter and bone fragments playing hide-and-seek in white hair. A sight that not even Helen Keller could miss.
"Wow, he's a looker."
Mai chuckled grimly and tapped the photograph. "See the way his legs were tied together? Something heavy was probably attached to his feet so his body wouldn't come back up, but it must've slipped off."
"Approximate time and place of death?" I moved to the next photo. Yeesh, his face looked even worse up close.
"Hard to say. The coroner said it must've been at least a day before he washed up on shore."
"Any suspects?"
She wordlessly slid the autopsy report toward me. I quickly scanned it before gaping at her. "A suicide? So he shot himself, drove to the river, tied his own legs together, and went for a swim?"
"Apparently, yes. Dai Artai's wife corroborated the story. Said he'd been 'withdrawn' for the past few months and that his prized Ferrari was gone from the garage. She didn't think much of it because he liked to go for 'long, invigorating drives at night,'" Mai dryly quoted.
"Right. Because Dai Artai was the most faithful husband ever, grand theft auto is practically unheard of in our fair city, and I'm a virgin."
Mai snorted. "Your severe lack of virginity is nothing to be proud of. And you're right—the coroner is the type of guy who'd turn in his own mother if there was a reward."
"Somebody warn his mother."
"She's just as bad. And we wonder about kids these days…"
I wouldn't know anything about mothers or childhood in general, so I just smiled and nodded. That usually works on people. "So everyone's just ignoring the blatant holes in the coroner's verdict?"
"It hasn't been made official yet, but in everyone's minds the case is closed. The fact that there were no bruises on Dai Artai's body indicate that there was no struggle, meaning he died willingly…"
"…or the person who shot him was the last person he'd expected," I finished for her. "Angry wife? Traitorous bodyguard?"
"Or spurned lover, perhaps?" Her tone was airy, but her eyes were like hard amethyst. She knew something, and I had a hunch I knew what it was.
I studied her carefully. "You don't happen to have the case files on Yuuichi Tate and Miya Clochette in that magical bag of yours, do you?"
Mai stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. "You're being more curious than usual."
"Am I?"
"You are. Curiosity killed the cat, you know." She lit up another smoke.
"Really? I thought it was the cigarettes, booze, and poor lifestyle choices that did it in." I eyed the cigarette in her hand.
She caught my gaze and scowled. "Hardy-har-har. Anyways, I thought it was weird that you were interested in three seemingly unrelated deaths, especially since none were determined as homicides. So I did a little research of my own."
"You get an A for showing initiative."
She ignored my retort. "I was intrigued to see Garderobe come up as a common interest among the recently departed. You're intimate with the place, aren't you?"
See, what'd I tell you? If I ever murder someone, I'd pray to God the investigating officer wasn't Mai. Heh, maybe my first murder should be her so she couldn't catch me for my second.
I dismissed my morbidly amusing thoughts. "Define 'intimate.'"
Mai smirked. "How's Shizuru doing?"
I scowled at her. "I wouldn't know. Do you have the files or not?"
"First was Yuuichi Tate, CEO of the Windbloom Sports Club chain. His housekeeper found him unresponsive in his room; he was later declared dead at Windbloom General Hospital due to an accidental overdose."
"Overdose on what?"
"Sleeping pills. He didn't have a prescription for them, so obviously someone gave them to him." Mai's eyes narrowed. "People who work at night often use sleeping pills, did you know that?"
"Like cops?" I suggested.
"Or escorts. How did you say Shizuru was doing, again?" Her tone wasn't as playful as before.
Alright, alright, I got the not-so-subtle hints. I'd be lying if I said the thought didn't cross my mind.
"Truthfully, I don't know." I fixed her with a look. She nodded and continued.
"The Clochettes are an old socialite family, but the family fortune's dwindling and its social standing plummeting. For a reputed party-girl like Miya, that might constitute enough reason to jump off the Windbloom Bridge in the middle of the night. No eyewitnesses."
"Committing suicide over losing Daddy's wallet is a bit drastic, don't you think?"
Mai shrugged. "Who knows what goes through the minds of the young and rich?
"Drugs, sex, money, money, sex, drugs?"
"Just like us plebeians, then."
"Absolutely." I stood up and tossed a few bills onto the table. "Thanks for your help, Mai."
She gathered Dai Artai's file and placed it back in her bag. "You don't want to look at Tate or Clochette's files?"
I raised an eyebrow. If she had the files, why didn't she just show them to me in the first place? "Sure."
"That's too bad, because I don't have them." She frowned at me. "Do you know why I hate giving you access to confidential police files? Because you might use it for 'good,'" she air-quoted, "but that means someone can also use it for 'evil'—you get what I'm saying?"
"You sound like a cliché from a bad superhero movie, but yeah. Their files are gone?"
"Vanished into thin air. I submitted an inquiry, but those files will probably never see the light of day again. You're not the only one with a vested interest in these deaths—somebody was intent on having all evidence disappear." She studied the dying ember of her cigarette. "I hope you know what you're doing, Natsuki."
"Yeah, me too," I muttered.
-000-000-
I brooded over the messy state of things as I walked aimlessly around. First of all, the Windbloom Police Department may be rotten to the core, but it isn't some two-bit hooker you can pay to fuck and chuck. Bribing the law is damn expensive, and not everybody can do it.
I frowned as a thought struck me. Shizuru had raised her price with no explanation, and of course Reito had been too fucking delighted with the extra cash to ask why. I guess that left it up to me to ask.
Still, what was more confusing was that someone had bribed the coroner to declare the murders as accidental deaths or suicides, and then bribed an employee in the department archives to get rid of the files. It made no sense—you could do one or the other, but you couldn't do both. Doing both was more conspicuous, and the killer had to know that.
I looked at my watch. It was late enough that Shizuru wouldn't be on stage right now, and I remembered from looking at her planner that she didn't have a personal client tonight. I took out my phone and punched in a number I knew by heart.
"Hello?"
I frowned. It was not the voice I'd expected. "Nao?"
There was a pause as she tried to identify my voice. "Natsuki?"
"What are you doing with Shizuru's phone?"
"What are you doing calling it?" She sounded genuinely curious rather than her normal sarcastic.
"Never mind that. Can I talk to her?"
"Hang on." There was a beep and a tinny echo that indicated the speakerphone had been turned on. "Hey Shizuru! Natsuki's on the line!"
I groaned at hearing a chorus of 'oohs.' "Nao, take me off speakerphone."
"No way. This is too good to pass up."
"How did you get this number?" Shizuru's voice rose above the din on the other line.
"Hello to you, too," I retorted.
"I seem to recall changing my number."
"Uh, hello? Private investigator here?" I waved my hand sarcastically, even though she couldn't see it.
"Is that your way of admitting you stalk me?"
I scowled at hearing titters on the other line. "Don't flatter yourself. Can you take me off speakerphone so we can talk privately?"
"I would, but I'm too wet."
I choked on saliva. "Excuse me?"
There was an explosion of laughter before Nao's voice wheezed out, "Jeez, Kuga, she's in the shower. What were you thinking?"
"Dirty, dirty thoughts, I'm sure," Chie's voice chimed in.
Well, now I was thinking about Shizuru in the shower. I could distinguish the sound of cascading water if I concentrated hard enough; they were probably in Garderobe's shower room, washing up after a long night.
I tried to will away thoughts of a naked, soapy Shizuru. Gah, I just made it worse. "Shizuru, why did you raise your rates?"
"Why not? People pay it."
"Never knew you were so greedy."
"There's a lot you don't know about me," she said languidly.
"Who and when is your next client?"
"Sorry, client-confidentiality policy." Her voice was briefly muffled—probably drying herself off and putting on clothes.
"So Friday, 7:00 PM at the Wang Gallery with that famous artist, Anh Lu? Sounds good, I'll see you there," I said airily. I grinned at hearing the others laugh, probably at Shizuru's expression.
"How did you—"
"Your planner is very well organized. I'm almost jealous; mine is a hot mess and I never know where it is half the time."
"I remember." Her voice was quiet; she must've turned off the speakerphone and left the shower room. "You went through my possessions? Intrusive."
"Tenacious," I corrected. "So where were you last Wednesday night?"
"The night Miya died?"
"Yes."
"Sleeping at home, I suppose. It was my day off."
Well, the day off part was true. "Okay." I stuck out a hand and flagged down a taxi.
"You're not going to ask me where I was for Yuuichi's death?"
"Should I?" I slid into the backseat and told the driver, "Windbloom Bridge."
"You're not a very good detective if you don't."
"Alright, where were you?"
"Having dinner with Reito."
Ugh, she did that on purpose. Now I have to confirm her alibi with Pretty Boy. "Is it a good idea to lead your boss on?"
"Who says I'm leading him on?"
"Oh, please. You probably turned on the charm full blast before leaving him with blue balls."
Her sly laugh told me I wasn't wrong. "Maybe. But I only ever meant to talk about business."
"I think you've forgotten what it is exactly that you do," I said dryly.
"You're right, I don't quite recall. Care to remind me?"
Shizuru has only two conditional responses: fight or flirt. She's a professional at both, as I'm constantly reminded.
"Maybe next time. I have to go, Shizuru." The taxi was nearing the bridge.
"No more questions, Sherlock?"
"For now."
"Good, I was getting tired. And Natsuki?"
"Yeah?"
"Make sure you dress up on Friday." She hung up. It annoys the shit out of me when she gets the last word.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and motioned for the driver to pull over. "Right here's good."
I idly wondered if a lot of people asked him to drive them to the bridge so they could jump off it. Maybe Miya took a taxi here.
"$5.70."
I slipped him a few bills. He grunted and looked at me through the rear view mirror. "Well, at least I know you're not going to kill yourself."
"How do you know?" I stood back. The glare from overhead street lamps elongated my shadow on the empty street.
"The suicidal ones usually tip better." He drove off.
Smartass. I headed for the bridge's pedestrian walkway. There were ribbons and flowers tied to the railing up ahead, marking the place where Miya had allegedly jumped. Tribute from her friends, I suppose; I heard her family had disavowed any connection with the youngest Clochette after her "shameful suicide."
I leaned against the railing and peered down into the Windbloom River. Years of lax sewage disposal policy and the factories dotting its banks made the river a toxic wasteland, the battleground of Godzilla and Mothra. I swear to God I've seen a fish with legs in there before. Anyways, it doesn't detract from the fact that it's a steep drop. The railing was about waist-high—high enough to keep from accidentally falling in; low enough to easily climb over…or be pushed over.
A wheezing cough broke the silence. I spun around, guns immediately in hand.
A man that seemed more like a collection of dirt and rags than human immediately skittered back. "Easy, girly! Just wanted to make sure you were alright, is all."
I eyed the scruffy homeless man. He looked drunk out of his mind, but not much of a threat. I put away my guns. "Sneaking up on people doesn't make the best impression."
He raised his hands. "Sorry. I thought you were going to take a tumble, like the other girl."
My blood ran cold. Mai had said no eyewitness—but then again, it was the WCPD. "When was this?"
"I don't know. Last week?"
"Was she a brunette? About my height?"
He scratched his stubble. "Which one?"
"There was another woman?"
He eyed me suspiciously. "You with the po-po?"
"No."
He nodded, pleased. "Good. So that night I was sleeping on my usual bench," He pointed to a bench hidden in the shadows, barely visible in the dark, "when this woman walks up from where you came from and stands where you're standing right now. She must've been there for ten, fifteen minutes when a taxi pulls up and another woman comes rushing out—short brunette dressed equally as fancy. Pretty little thing."
So Miya did take a taxi here. The thought makes me sad, for some reason.
"The woman who came out of the taxi seemed surprised to see the other woman. They talked for a bit. Then the first woman trapped the short brunette against the railing, kissed her, and pushed her over the railing. I hid until she left because I didn't want to be thrown over, too." He beamed at me like a little boy seeking approval.
I ran a restless hand through my hair. Jack-fucking-pot. "Why didn't you report this to the police?" I opened my wallet and handed him all the money in my wallet, which admittedly wasn't much.
He pocketed the money with delight. "Bad people. Sometimes they beat me for fun."
And that is why, ladies and gentlemen, you do not mistreat the homeless. Chances are, they will know shit about you that will fuck your life up. "Can you tell me one more thing?"
He paused, already shuffling away. "Hmm?"
"Describe the first woman."
"Tall. Didn't see her face, but she had long hair. It was a pretty color, like honey." He shrugged bashfully before disappearing into the shadows.
Fuck. I didn't like where this was all adding up, but 2 plus 2 equals 4. Even if 4 is a familiar…acquaintance.
I rested my chin against the railing and looked down into the black water. Its tranquil surface was nothing but a lie—everything was deeper and darker than it seemed.
School starts tomorrow. That's the saddest thing I've ever heard.
