Chapter 2: Flames Over the Sea
The mother of all headaches was screaming behind Stan's forehead as he shielded his eyes from the sun, walking through the double doors to the Porter law firm. He had spent the rest of last night celebrating by getting drunk alone, and woke up at noon to vomit. All in all, a good night. Around three, he finally got out of bed and walked to the firm. His eyes were swimming as he tried to read the names on the black and white directory. He had that kind of feeling where you can look at something, but not really see it, so even though he was reading the directory, he wasn't understanding what it said. He figured it was too much effort, so he walked over to a secretary seated at her little desk.
"Hi, doll," he smiled brightly, despite feeling like he had just swallowed sea water. "I'm looking for a Kyle Broflovski. You know him?"
The pretty little secretary gave a pretty little smile and blushed. "Yeah," she eagerly nodded. "Floor two, second door on the left."
"Thanks," he waved and headed up the stairs.
Upstairs, he found a door that read GERALD BROFLOVSKI - ASSOCIATE. Stan figured it was the dad that Token mentioned. He paused for a moment to rub his temples, reminding himself to get some aspirin later. Finally, he pushed through the door into the small office. Inside, there were two desks and a couple of pastel colored chairs for clients. There were a few cheap paintings of sailboats hanging from the walls, and seated at one of the desks was a handsome young man with curly red hair, reading some papers from a manila envelope. When he spotted Stan, his eyes opened wide in surprise, but he put down his papers and smiled politely.
"Hello there. Gerald Broflovski isn't in right now, but can I help you with anything?"
Stan drifted over to stand in front of the young man's desk, peering coolly down at him. Upon closer inspection, he could see light freckles peppering the man's fair skin and a pair of beautiful eyes- pale brown mixed with green.
"That depends," Stan started, leaning forward. "You Kyle?"
Kyle swallowed and nodded, pursing his lips and probably wondering what this guy wanted with him, of all people. Most people came looking for the lawyer, not the paralegal.
Stan smiled at him, his eyes washing over the redhead like the tide. "My name's Stanley Marsh, private investigator. I heard that you worked on a little case a few years back concerning one Eric Cartman. Remember anything about it?"
All traces of Kyle's smile were burned alive. His eyebrows lowered his entire face into a frown.
"Yeah, I remember plenty. It was in '46. Charged with homicide in the first degree for a murder committed in '45. He was acquitted."
"Interesting," Stan started thumbing through the rolodex on the desk. Kyle didn't' stop him. "I think I remember reading about it in the papers. Did he do it?"
"He was acquitted."
Stan frowned. "I know, but did he actually kill someone?"
"That's not for me to say."
As Kyle said this, Stan paused in searching the rolodex, noticing a certain name and number that stood out. In small, neat print on the note card was Clyde Donovan WO4-9997. The name was familiar to Stan as the deputy of the South Park police department. It was only an inkling, but Stan was desperate for any type of lead, so he made sure to memorize the number before turning back to Kyle.
"Come on, didn't he ever tell you anything that made you at least a little doubtful of his innocence?" He inched his face closer to Kyle's, a small smile on his lips.
"Attorney-client privilege," Kyle answered, scooting back a bit in his chair and turning his eyes away from Stan. "I can't tell you anything that wasn't said in court."
"Are you sure?"
Kyle suddenly slammed his hand against the desk, causing Stan to step back with wide eyes. Kyle stood up and glared at the investigator, brow furrowed and gaze burning with rage.
"Just who the hell are you to waltz in here and try to get me to tell someone I don't even know something that would cost me my job?"
"Relax, buddy. I'm just a P.I. I got nothing against you."
Kyle heaved a sigh that racked his whole body with a shiver. He ran his fingers through his hair and walked around the side of the desk, standing in front of Stan. He slightly shorter than Stan and rather slender, yet his shoulders were tensed and his arms were crossed in such a way that Stan felt apprehension sliding down his spine. At least his headache was better.
"A P.I.," Kyle scoffed. "What, did his wife hire you to see if he's cheating? That seems to be all you people do."
"As if anyone would want to marry that fatass."
There was a pause as the two men locked eyes as if they were stuck in a Mexican standoff. Then, Kyle started laughing. His face was lit up with a beautiful smile as he uncrossed his arms and laughed brightly. Stan couldn't help but laugh too after a moment. Their laughter gave way to more laughter, the tension slipping out of the room with each giggle. When they finally managed to stop, the two men smiled genuine smiles.
"Tell me honestly- are you trying to take Cartman down?" Kyle asked.
Stan wasn't sure if he should tell Kyle the truth. He remembered Token's words- you can trust him. But what if Token was wrong? What if Kyle went and warned Cartman? Stan couldn't afford a slip up like that, it could cost him his life. Yet, as he searched Kyle's green eyes, some voice in the back of his mind told him to take the chance.
"Yes. I was hired to find something on Cartman that would get him kicked out of his position."
Stan stiffened as Kyle stepped towards him, his footprints soft against the carpet. Kyle lifted his face to Stan, merely a few inches away, and began to speak in a low voice.
"I want in."
"What?"
"I want to join you. Help me help you in taking that fat bastard down."
Stan opened his mouth, a little surprised. "Uh, I usually work alone."
"Cartman's got most of this city under his thumb. You're gonna have a real hard time without my help. Listen, you can't pin that murder on him- double jeopardy protects him, and even if new evidence is found, the chances are slim at best. However, we can definitely find evidence of corruption- or worse."
Stan mulled over this, the gears in his head slowly coming to life. He already told Kyle his plan, it wouldn't hurt anymore to let him tag along. Still, he didn't know the guy that well. Or at all, really. Maybe he could gently dissuade him. It would be much easier if Kyle just told him what he knew and they both went on with their lives.
"I won't share the money with you," Stan said firmly.
Kyle just scoffed "I'll do it pro bono publico. For the good of the public."
"You'll have to deal with some seedy characters."
"I do that here."
"It's dangerous. You could die."
A smile spread like flames across Kyle's mouth. "Good."
Stan wasn't sure what to say. This Kyle Broflovski was shaping up to be a rather strange character. A volatile paralegal with a grudge against the chief of police, paired with a jaded, alcoholic private investigator desperate for money. What could possibly go wrong?
"I get off at five," Kyle continued. "Meet me back here and bring me to your client. Got it?"
Stan nodded, mouth dry like sand. Kyle turned back to his desk, straightening out his papers. Stan turned to the door and quietly left the building. As he walked down the street, collar popped up to protect his neck from the wind, he thought about Kyle. It was strange, he found that he didn't dislike the young man. He had this feeling in his chest- hope, maybe? Yes, hope that their partnership would turn up positive results for everyone involved (well, everyone except Cartman, of course). Stepping over small mounds of snow, Stan spotted a phone booth and was reminded of Clyde Donovan. Fuck, what was that number again? WO4-9997? Yes, that sounded right. He stuffed himself inside the phone booth, dialing the number quickly and waiting. It seemed like years when a voice finally spoke on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Clyde Donovan?" Stan tried to make his voice lower than usual.
"Yes, who is this?"
"My name's Joe Harper. I'm a journalist with the South Park Times, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about chief of police Eric Cartman for an article I'm writing?"
Stan heard Clyde breathe, imagining the cop twirling the phone cord on the other end as he tapped his foot.
"Um, sure. Go ahead."
Stan smiled to himself. He started off asking Clyde basic questions, like what he thought Cartman's greatest accomplishment was as chief, what it was like working closely with him, blablabla. Naturally, Clyde replied that Cartman was a great chief, he loved working with him, great guy, blablabla. Soon, Stan decided it was time to push a little further.
"What would you say is his biggest flaw?"
"Uh, maybe he's a little too eager? I mean, he really likes busting perfectly innocent people. Wait! Don't print that! Just say that he's really eager."
"Uh-huh, and do you have any examples of him 'busting' innocent people?"
"I'm not supposed to be talking about this, man," Clyde mumbled. He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again he sounded strange. "How did you get this number? I'm not in the phone book."
Without thinking, Stan slammed the phone back onto the receiver, breathing hard. Real smooth. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, leaning against the wall. He could of at least come up with some excuse so that he didn't sound so suspicious. The last thing he needed was the cops on edge- at the very beginning of an investigation, no less. Great start.
Stan started heading home, hands in his pockets. It was only 4:00 p.m. He had about an hour until meeting Kyle, so he could go back to his studio and drink for a bit to get rid of his edge. Looks like this case was gonna be harder than expected.
