SCOOBY-NOIR: Together, Never Again
The place was a mess, things thrown carelessly all over the place. The TV was even pulled from it's wall mounts and lying face down on the floor. Scooby had cautiously prowled toward what I assumed was the kitchen, his nose in the air sniffing. I followed him, the scent of blood strong enough that even I could smell it as I neared Scooby.
"Rhaggy!" I heard him yelp as he stopped, shoulders hunched. Fearfully I approached and stopped alongside Scooby. Pale bare feet were just visible on this side of the kitchen island. I walked forward and could see ankles disappearing into brown trousers. More was exposed as I continued on, a green t-shirt covered the trousers and dark red covered the floor and was soaked into the shirt.
I stopped, tears flowing freely as I saw the long hair matted with dried blood.
On the kitchen floor, beside the scattered remains of a half eaten sandwich, was Shaggy. His open eyes staring vacantly back at me.
It took me what seemed hours to recover and I found myself on the floor holding Scooby who was noisily crying. Numbly I reached for my phone and dialed 9-1-1.
Shaggy's apartment was now a crime scene, with the San Francisco police working it over. Scooby and I were in the spare bedroom that had been mostly untouched. I had been questioned twice already, and I cooperated since I realized I would be the prime suspect. Fortunately I had plenty of receipts to show I had just arrived in town. I gave them the card the detective in Boulder Rock had given me after telling them about the hit and run.
Now we were left alone, occasionally I could hear snippets of conversation. Burglary and gunshot being the most common words used. I sat on the bed, running the last few days through my head. The package that I had hid in my old book cabinet in the van before leaving the motel earlier had to be the key. I didn't mention it though, I needed to find out what was going on; on my own.
The door opened and my breath caught as the one officer, I both wanted to and didn't want to see, walked in. Rick Laine was a curiosity. He was big and strong, wearing a leather jacket over a white button down shirt tucked into jeans that were fitted just right and drawing attention to the large silver rodeo belt buckle. His dirty blond hair was short and messy, in a way that makes you subconsciously want to straighten it.
"Sorry you had to see this Velma," he said; his pale gray eyes looking at me with honest sympathy.
"Thanks," I muttered as I looked down so he wouldn't see my bloodshot eyes.
I had met Rick after a book signing last year when he had approached me at a cafe he had followed me to; not that he admitted that part right away. He had flashed his badge and asked to sit down. Of course I nervously said yes and he quickly worked through the normal flattery over my writing before getting to why he was there. He vividly described a hypothetical set of bank robberies and a likely pattern to them. Of course, I couldn't resist something like that and walked through what he layed out and offered some alternative ideas.
A few days later a package was delivered to me through my publisher. Inside was Rick's card and a note saying thank you paper clipped to a newspaper. When I thumbed through the paper I found a story about the police stopping a crew of bank robbers highlighted. Since then, Rick has asked my advice on several cases and I have found myself asking him procedural questions for my new book.
"I need you to verify a few things if that's okay?" He asked, sitting down next to me on the bed.
"Okay," I replied unsteadily; but raising my head to look him in the eyes.
"I'm sorry if any of this comes off as impersonal..."
"I understand," I interrupted before he kept apologizing. "If it helps catch whoever did this."
"Alright," he said pulling out a notepad. "The deceased is Norville Rogers?"
"Yes," I tell him quietly. Shaggy hated his name.
"You met him in Colorado?"
"Ran into him," I corrected. "We've known each other since middle school."
"Alright," Rick said crossing something off his notepad and writing quickly. "He was called here on business and you agreed to bring his dog to him?"
"Yeah," I said motioning to Scooby. "Scooby Doo hates flying as much as I do and I thought I could help them out."
"Scooby Doo?" Rick questioned, looking between the two of us. "You mean that was Shaggy?"
"Yes," I sniffed; not happy about the way he said was.
"Oh Velma," he muttered as he draped an arm around me. I held most of my tears back, but did duck into his offered shoulder; more to hide the tears that did come than for comfort. Too his credit, he didn't press or do anything awkward; no matter how uncomfortable he was with a crying woman.
"You don't need to be here," he said as I calmed and pulled away. "We have enough of a statement from you and plenty of proof that you weren't here when he was killed."
"Can you tell me when it happened?" I asked, hoping he would do me a favor and tell me. Yes, I slightly took advantage of him. But my friend had been murdered and I was going to find out why.
"Between midnight and three AM," Rick said smirking at me. I guess I wasn't as subtle as I thought. "And that's all you're getting out of me. Go home and rest, I can have someone drive you."
"I have a van downstairs," I told him. I had decided I was going to keep the van as long as I could. "I'm alright to drive."
"You sure?" He asked and I nodded in answer. "Okay I'll walk you to it."
He stood up and offered his hand, which I took; not failing to notice how rough it was. I'm not afraid to admit I have a type when it comes to men. Rick opened the door and Scooby and I left the room, carefully walking through the crime scene that was Shaggy's apartment.
"Detective Laine," someone called out as we left the apartment. We stopped and looked up at two uniformed officers walking toward us. One was tall and pot bellied with thick black hair while the other was a short and skinny hispanic, the two looking more like the comedy relief act from an old detective movie than real cops.
"Yes Davis?" Rick asked the larger of the two.
"Detective Hanson needs to speak to you."
"Alright," Rick said before turning to me. "You want to wait for me. I should only be a few minutes."
"I'm fine," I told him. "you get back to work. I can see myself out."
"If you're sure," Rick said as I started walking for the elevator. "I'll call you later."
"Okay," I said, "later."
Scooby and I exited the elevator, I was surprised to see no police officers around, and walked to the van. As we neared it, I could see one of the rear doors was slightly open and slowed down; grabbing Scooby by his blue collar and motioning for him to be cautious. We crept forward until we reached the side of the van and stopped. Neither one of us sensed anything out of place so I crept forward and slowly opened the van's door.
It was obvious someone had riffled through the Mystery Machine, but thankfully they hadn't found the hidden cabinets Fred and I had installed for each of us. They weren't very big but were a great place to keep our individual little treasures as we traveled. I shut the door, grateful that whoever did this had picked the lock and not forced it, when I heard Scooby growl.
I turned and saw three men running at us in black track suits and masks. Scooby yelped and crawled under the van, leaving me alone, backed up against the old van. They were frankly ridiculous looking, something out of one of our old cases, but scary enough seeing as I was all alone with them. The tallest sported a round belly and was wearing a cheap Frankenstein mask. The next was tall, but athletic looking and wearing a Wolfman mask. The other was short and skinny and wore a Dracula mask.
Dracula was the first to reach me and fell to the ground screaming, not seeing the stun gun I had pulled out; he definitely felt it though. Wolfman was on me before I could recover and grabbed me from behind. Frankenstein approached as I struggled against the one holding me, slamming his right fist into his left palm over and over.
The one holding me stiffened and let go, falling forward with Scooby biting down on his left ankle. Scooby let go, standing between me and Frankenstein, growling at the large man who suddenly started backing up. He started reaching inside of his track suit when Scooby launched at him, knocking the large man to the ground and standing over him growling.
Dracula had recovered and was helping the Wolfman to his feet when shouts rang out.
"What's going on over there!" Two uniformed policemen yelled as they left the elevator. Frankenstein used the distraction to pull away from Scooby and the three men took off toward the exit, the Wolfman being supported between the two.
I collapsed to the ground shaking, the adrenaline rush ending as quickly as it hit. Scooby came over to me and I hugged him tight as the two cops, a man and woman approached.
"You okay miss?" The woman asked as the man kept going after the three.
"Yeah," I said quietly holding onto Scooby. "Scooby stopped them."
"Good boy," she said rubbing Scooby's head as her partner returned. "No luck?"
"No, they hopped into an old Buick and took off." He said, breathing heavily from running after them. "Where are Davis and Montoya? They were supposed to be watching down here."
"No idea. I'll radio in and get the Detectives down here. You get the lady's statement."
I just groaned as I heard that, knowing I was a long way from going home.
It took another hour, but I finally got out of there and now I was pulling into the guest parking spot at my building. I climbed in the back and opened the hidden door in the paneling and retrieved the package. After quick consideration I opened Shaggy's hideaway, digging through a large number of snacks and a bong to find what I was hoping not to; several nearly empty baggies containing a powdery residue.
"Oh Shaggy," I muttered, shaking my head. "What did you get yourself into."
Scooby and I made it into my apartment and I locked and dead bolted the door. I made us a quick dinner that neither of us really touched and locked Shaggy's package in my hidden safe. The long soak in my bathtub that I was hoping would re-energize me did the exact oposite and I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to pull my pajamas on and crawl into bed next to a snoring Scooby Doo.
I woke before dawn the next morning and went through my morning routine before grabbing my phone and Shaggy's package and going to my office. I sat down at the antique writing desk I had gifted myself after getting an advance on my second novel and checked my messages. Rick had texted me to see if I was okay and to let me know he would be contacting Shaggy's family today.
I sighed, happy I would be spared that part; even though I would have to contact Fred and Daphne at some point. I texted him back to let him know I was okay.
Zeke had left me a voicemail late last night after learning about Shaggy and I knew I would have to call him back later today. Next I opened the package and dumped the contents of the box on my desk. The first thing I noticed were two mugshots, one of a nearly bald older man with a fringe of nearly orange hair and the other a pale man with shaggy black hair and huge lips.
I didn't need to read the names, I recognized them immediately. Mr. Greenway and Mr. Leech, maybe the most vicious of the criminals we had run across in our youth. Greenway nearly killed me on two separate occasions, once with a buzz saw and again with dynamite. Later, once I grew up enough to realize how close to death I had been, I had had nightmares for months about it. They had been smuggling stolen jewelry then; now I worried if they were involved in something much worse.
I thumbed through the notebook next, but it just contained dates and what sounded like code names. A Mr. Beard was the one most often mentioned. Then there were a series of photographs of Leech and Greenway at the Boulder Rock Scooby Snack factory dressed as delivery men.
Shaggy must have been compiling evidence at his office and mailing it to his place to be safe about it, I thought, trying to make sense of things. Or maybe he no longer felt safe at his office. Whichever it was, it seemed obvious that his job was part of whatever he was involved in.
I returned to the notebook. Mr. Snow also appeared pretty often and I was thinking that could refer to Greenway and/or Leech. It made sense, considering their roles in the Snow Ghost case, but that was the only connection I could find to the names listed.
The photo's occasionally showed a completely nondescript man with brown hair in the background. He looked somewhat familiar to me, but I was having trouble placing him. I checked Scooby Snack Inc.'s website, but he wasn't listed among the company's management. He was another dead end that I was sure was important somehow.
Not finding anything else I returned everything to the box and took it to my kitchen to stash it in my hidden safe. It's amazing how you can turn a decorative recess into the perfect hideaway with a piece of poster board, some tile that matches the splashing and a generic picture of fruit to cover everything.
The rest of the day was spent taking care of Scooby and working this case through in my head. Shaggy was definitely involved in something. It involved two very dangerous criminals with a background in smuggling, the Scooby Snack factory in Boulder Rock was part of it and it was big enough that the culprits had no problems attacking me with the police around. It's almost positive that it involves drug trafficking. In the old days we would just set a trap for the bad guys and they would lead us right to the important final clue that tied everything together. But this case was definitely to dangerous for that approach; and really, who did I have for backup?
Zeke called again that afternoon, rousing me from my thoughts, and he was clearly as upset as I was over Shaggy. After hanging up, I returned to the case; thinking maybe I could bring Zeke into this. He worked with Shaggy and may know more than he's letting on. Maybe he would at least know who the brown haired man was. I had agreed to have dinner with him tomorrow and decided to bring it up then.
Scooby and I ate a little better come dinner time, though neither of us were back to normal, and decided to call it an early night. Sleep didn't come easy for me, my mind was still trying to connect the evidence, and it was well after midnight before I finally fell asleep.
The sun was up by the time I woke the next morning and Scooby was well ready to take advantage of the dog park nearby. We stopped on the way home for breakfast and picked up groceries, since Scooby was starting to regain his appetite. Eventually I realized I was putting off calling Fred and Daphne and we returned to my apartment.
My first call was actually to Rick, in hopes he would tell me if he found anything new. That turned into ten minutes of him not admitting to knowing anything and grilling me on what I had learned, while also warning me to not investigate on my own.
Daphne was next, but she was out of the country on location and I had the news forwarded to her. I'm still baffled at how she was becoming one best known actresses in action movies. The acting didn't surprise me, she was always interested in a career in entertainment, but the rough and tumble roles she picks just wasn't what I expected. Last time I saw her, she had a cast on her arm from an injury she received doing a stunt.
Fred was surprisingly easy to reach. His job as a photo journalist kept him moving around as much as Daphne, but he was currently in New York finishing up an assignment. I went through all I knew with him and he promised to use his sources to look into Leech and Greenway. I did feel better after talking to him, especially when he said he would fly here in a few days once he was done in New York.
My mood improved as evening approached and I got ready to see Zeke. I fed Scooby and grabbed the photo of the brown haired man from my safe; I had decided to bring Zeke into this somewhat; before heading to the restaurant we had decided on.
I arrived first, Zeke had texted me that he was going to be late, and got us a table. I sipped the ice water the waitress brought me as I waited, trying to decide the best way to ask Zeke about Shaggy.
He arrived a few minutes after I was seated and I rose to greet him as he limped to the table. My eyes narrowed suspiciously as I noticed he was favoring his left leg, but he didn't notice as he pulled me into a hug. He held me a bit tighter than I was expecting, telling me how sorry he was over Shaggy.
We settled down to dinner, talking about Shaggy and sharing stories. His sincerity did a lot to alleviate my suspicions, but still I wasn't sure, and didn't bring up my concerns over Shaggy. Over dessert, Zeke finally approached the subject himself.
"Did the police say anything to you about Shaggy's death?" Zeke asked, reaching across the table to take my hand.
"No, just that they think it was a burglary gone wrong." I told him, which was the truth as far as I knew; though Rick seemed to doubt that.
"You don't think that cop in Boulder Rock was right; that Shaggy was involved in something?"
"I just can't picture Shaggy doing that," I said. "But we fell out of contact. You've known him more recently; do you think he could have?"
"I want to say no," Zeke said, cupping his chin in thought. "But his ex was a bit of a partier and drug him to some seedy places."
"I never thought of Shaggy dating," I said, hoping Zeke would describe the man in the picture. "What did he look like? Does he work with you guys?"
"Harrison? He always describes himself as proud and loud. Tall, skinny, blond; dresses to impress. He likes being the center of attention. I'm not sure what he does for a living, but he has to be well off since he always seemed to throw money around."
"Did Shaggy have any other friends at work?"
"I was the only one," Zeke answered with a frown. "He got along with everyone but didn't go out of his way to get to know them. I always thought it was because he was gay and was afraid of backlash."
Our conversation returned to normal things after that and Zeke's flirting took my mind off the case for a while. All to soon dessert was gone and Zeke insisted on paying again when I took my card out of my purse.
"Are you okay?" I asked him as he walked me to the cab stand, still limping.
"Yes," he said; looking away somewhat sheepishly. "I slipped on the treadmill this morning and I think I sprained something."
"And you suffered through it just to see me?" I asked, giving him a slight hug.
"I would never stand up a pretty woman."
I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek for that as my cab pulled up.
"Would you like to have lunch tomorrow?" Zeke asked, opening the cab door for me. I agreed to meet him at a fish stand at Fisherman's Warf that I frequented. He gave my hand a slight squeeze before he shut the door and I couldn't help looking back at him as the cab sped to my apartment.
I arrived home to a panic attack. My door was wide open and obviously forced. I stepped into a disaster area, everything was torn apart as though a tornado had ripped through it. The stun gun was in my hand as I ventured further inside.
"Scooby!" I called after hearing nothing from inside. "Scooby Doo! Where are you!"
I heard no response and went to look for him, gingerly stepping over the trashed remains of my belongings. My sofa was on it's back, sliced open in irregular patterns; the cushions scattered and also sliced to pieces. My shelves and cabinets were empty, everything tossed around.
A small puddle of blood stained the carpet near my bedroom. Looking around I noticed a single small hole in the wall, looking like it was made with a small caliber bullet. I tore through the place then, not caring about disturbing anything, trying to find Scooby. I finally returned to the living room after having no luck locating him.
"Velma?" I heard from behind me. I jumped, nearly scared out of my shoes, and spun around with the stun gun aimed in front of me.