A/N: Language. Spoilers. Warning. Warning. Warning.

Ha...haha... I lied ; - ; It's been more than a week, obviously, but I was busy (totally not being lazy or anything) and paranoid and looking for an address that would work. Eventually I just gave up though and made no address (well, I have no idea how LA streets work. I'm a Canadian :B) and convinced myself (again) I was doing this for my own amusement... Anyway, updatesupdatesupdates. The next one is going to be quite a bit longer...like, really long. That's reassuring isn't it? Yup. And I meant time-wise, not length of the chapter. Sorry if some of this doesn't even make sense (like, um, how they got there...), but we'll cross that bridge when we get there (read: when I somehow get to that chapter). And, yes, this chapter mainly focuses on Bekowsky for a reason. Trust me. This is all planned out! ... :D

I do not own Homestuck or LA Noire and its characters. I do own the actual OCs dotting this chapter, with their absolutely horrible names...ugh. Anyway.


Chapter 2:

Newspapers had such an unappealing odour. It was as if someone had dumped sticky, black tar on a delicious vanilla milkshake. Too bad it hid such a wonderful black licorice flavor under that inky façade.

A large grin split across the female's face as she stared blankly at the rows of dark text gripped in her hands. Sunlight filtered in between the cracks of broken and charred wood from a long forgotten fire, reflecting off of her glasses and on to the illegible words hanging in front of her. But reading them would never be a problem.

Giggling quietly, she opened her mouth and dragged her tongue across the paper, leaving a thick trail of saliva in its wake. There was a pause as she rolled the flavour around thoughtfully, and then with a tight nod, she spun around and did the same with another newspaper that was also secured to the broken roof with a thin piece of string.

"Aha!" She shouted rather loudly, her own enthusiasm causing her to erupt into a fit of giggles.

It was only a matter of time before she figured it out. That name that kept repeating and repeating in every article? Done. Those silly mysteries and repeated murders? Simple. Why the real outcome was never mentioned? Like baking a cake! Oh, would her apple-berry blast friend be excited when she told him of her discovers today!

"TZ! I found that last newspaper you were looking for."

"Speak of the devil," the girl mumbled, smiling widely as there was a crash from the direction of her companion's voice, followed by several expletives as he regained his balance. She pushed past the drapery of black and white, following that tangy stench of yellow and if she didn't know any better…yes! Some more of that octopus ink paper! Stuff she hadn't even pressed her nose to yet! He could be so useful sometimes.

"Watch your step klutzilla! I don't want dust and soot on my evidence!" Cackling gleefully, the girl popped directly into view, beaming as he barely jumped and narrowed his eyes. She reached out a hand and snagged it from him before he had time to open his mouth in greeting, skipping away into the maze of papers once more.

He sighed heavily, shaking his head as he slipped off the outdoor gear that they roamed around in during daylight. Or he roamed around in. Who knew what TZ did the whole entire day in this grimy, near collapsing hive?

He had just placed the dark sunglasses on a small makeshift shelf (which pretty much comprised of a broken beam that punched a decently sized hole in the wall), when there was an ear-splitting screech of joy from further within the building. It turned into delighted laughter, and the young man couldn't help but roll his eyes as he made his way to the source. Stepping over rubble and a few personal artifacts that had been left lying around, he pushed aside the hanging articles, heading towards the centre.

It was amazing what one individual could do in about a week with a bit of rope, newspaper, and an empty building that was avoided by most inhabitants of this city. Of course, those who were brave- or stupid- enough to enter the crumbling structure in the first place were scared away before they ever caught sight of anything. But that's another story.

Most of what was left of the temporary home for the two had been used up for what the girl had currently deemed: "1NV3ST1G4T1ON: L4PD," consisting of article upon article ripped from several newspapers found from over the year strung from different areas of the roof in a perfect circle. The centre of which held the only space completely devoid of her evidence. This was where she either sat on one of the only intact chairs they could find or paced, mumbling or snickering to herself when the time called for it.

Though it probably wasn't the most important issue at the moment, it took up the most room. The rest of it was used up by her companion and his own, far more pressing worries and interests concerning the world.

As soon as he no longer had papers literally stuffed in his face, the young man was met with her sharp teeth and glinting glasses again, mouth pulled up into a triumphant grin.

"You'll never guess what I found out today!"

He raised an eyebrow in a silent gesture for her to continue.

"It turns out they aren't completely hopeless," she spun on the spot, swiping her cane up from where it had been resting against the metal armchair. Spinning it in a hand, the girl placed the other on her hip, "And that final piece of the puzzle tied it all together!"

With a flick of her wrist, the end of the cane was thrust to her right, where a newspaper with a hole in the centre of it was sitting directly underneath a newly hung block of text. There was a large, red circle on this one, standing out from the black and white background and surroundings. Her companion tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes and stepping forward to get a better look.

"A promotion!" She nearly shouted, dropping the end of her cane to the floor with a confident tap. "Reporters are sneaky bastards and they get everything, but why not why he was promoted? That's what I want to find out. There was obviously something. There's obviously a secret and I want to find it out! I want to find him out! The killer!"

The young man's eyes scanned over the report, gaze always pulled back to a single name. Yes, even he had noticed that one pop up now and again. But he simply shook his head and turned around, making his way to the far side of the circle.

"I'm going to meet him soon."

He glanced behind him briefly, watching as she stared sightlessly up at the roof.

"I'm going to meet him and get the story. I'm going to prove myself, damn right! Captor! We're going out again tonight!" Her head swung in his direction, the smile a lot darker than she probably planned it to be. "And I'm bringing the coin this time." Then again…maybe not.

Said boy simply waved her off dismissively, pushing through her "investigations" again, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. That wasn't remotely as exciting as I thought it'd be."

A frown instantly replaced her previous expression, and she had to restrain herself from throwing something at the back of his head. So instead, the girl waved her cane in the air like an old woman, stomping a foot, "Don't walk away from me when I'm on the verge of a great discovery for justice and trying to be dramatic about it, barf-blood!"

He, however, merely snickered in response.

And that was the time she took to pick some run-down red chalk up, whipping it through the area he had just passed through (giving it a lick first, of course). It was her turn to snicker as a shout of surprise was heard through the curtain of papers, the tiny piece making direct contact with the back of his head.

~ X ~

Stefan Bekowsky sat at his usual desk in the briefing room next morning, trying and failing repeatedly to stand a pencil on its tip. He quickly discovered that it wasn't exactly possible. He wasn't an idiot. But the detective continued to place it so it balanced on the sharp led, only to watch it fall rather pathetically as soon as he let go.

Why was he partaking in such a meaningless task? Well, for one it kept him mildly entertained as he waited for the captain, the term "mildly" being used very loosely. And it also distracted him from listening to his nuisance of a partner as he nattered on about pointless crap that nobody really cared about. Or there'd be times when he'd shoot Bekowsky's whole self-image down without realizing it. Oh, those were the awkward conversations…

But the little pest was getting coffee at the moment, leaving his partner to stop his aimless fiddling for the time being. He leaned back in the chair, pulling his hands to his lap as he stared down at the motionless pencil.

Working Traffic, one grew to have an outstanding tolerance for boredom (not to say it was never experienced), but he was awfully tired of waiting and couldn't be more anxious to get a case. As…odd as that sounded. It was better than sitting all day and doing paperwork anyway. But his hopes weren't entirely all that high.

After all with those weird midnight occurrences, every high-end cop was off making sure the whole ordeal didn't turn into another case of the Black Dahlia. Of what Stefan knew they were remarkably similar, besides the killing of course. He just hoped that Captain Leary had actually remembered that he still existed. And everyone else too.

He glanced around the room, watching as the other officers conversed cheerfully, and often loudly, with each other.

Yeah sure, everyone else too.

"Stefan!"

Said man barely flinched as his name was nearly yelled in his ear, eyes narrowing the slightest amount. Lovely.

"So I heard this little rumour," Gerald Nixon, his younger, over-enthusiastic partner, slammed a cup down on the table, the dark liquid inside nearly sloshing over the rim.

"Really now?" Bekowsky almost, almost sounded excited to hear it.

"Yep," he sat down, an eyebrow raised as he smiled crookedly at the older man.

A silence passed.

"Well? Do I need to ask what it was?" Stefan turned his gaze to the other, whose smile widened and he spun around to face the front of the room.

"Don't be so bitter. It was about your promotion!"

Frowning thoughtfully, the older detective crossed his arms, slightly curious, "Oh?" News sure did travel fast here, though he should've known that already.

"Yeah! I mean, how crazy is it that you got shot straight to Homicide? Isn't there usually a whole couple of steps before that?" Gerald swiped up the pencil that had been sitting on the desk, twirling it in his hand. "Cole was one of the best detectives ever and he still had to sit through Burglary before that big promotion."

And of course it always revolved around the Golden Boy.

"Yeah," Stefan had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, watching expressionless as his partner stole his only form of entertainment. "That's probably because they need a replacement for him on Homicide," he sat forward slightly, a small smile forming despite it all, "and they obviously made the best choice possible. I mean come on, look at me."

"That or they just picked whoever spent the most time with him besides the old Homicide guy," Nixon took a quick drink of his coffee, shrugging nonchalantly. "Everyone else is too inexperienced or lazy to care. Except you're usually the latter, but I guess time with Phelps makes up for it all."

There was a pause in the conversation as Bekowsky slowly turned to fully glare at his partner, who was beaming proudly at his own comeback.

He shook his head, "I'm a damn good and committed detective without a lazy bone in my body and you know that. Now," he flicked a wrist in the direction of…away from him, "go be useful and find the Captain so he can give us the lowdown."

"I don't think that'll be necessary."

His expression quickly fell blank, watching as the smile that was always somehow present grew, stretching across Gerald's face. If he hadn't known the guy for a while now, he would've said it was creepy. In fact, he had thought it that way when the two first met. But one got used to it. Eventually.

Following his gaze, the older detective was just in time to see the door swing open, Captain Leary himself stepping through with much more than his usual clipboard in hand. Bekowsky would have given his partner an extremely odd and apprehensive look for his awfully accurate prediction if he hadn't been staring at his flustered boss with a raised brow.

It wasn't a usual sight to see him so high-strung and drained. And it was also fairly easy to tell when he was obviously that.

"Bekowsky, Nixon," he snapped, though it was probably not meant to be so originally, slamming the pile of books down on the podium at the front of the room. "It's another one, and right now, you're the best we've got. There's a car involved this time. Go find it at," pausing, the captain glared down at the clipboard he had managed to scavenge from the mess of papers, relaying the address in a rush seconds later.

Apparently that was all. Stefan learned this the hard way, staring at Leary expectantly only to have him snap a very impatient "Go!" about five seconds later. And go he did. Rather quickly. The younger man followed behind much more calmly, nodding a friendly goodbye to the captain as the two made their way out.

They didn't speak walking to Stefan's car parked out front, Gerald wearing his large grin even despite the lengthy silence that would have gotten awkward if it had been anyone else. And it only continued throughout the duration of the drive. The only thing exchanged within the vehicle was a rare sigh now and then, content from the passenger, impatient from the driver.

Eventually however, about halfway to their destination and the two of them backed up about a mile, Bekowsky turned to his partner.

"You know what's up with the captain?" It was unlikely that the younger man knew, but it was worth a try all the same. He flipped the siren on, still keeping an eye to his right as he waited for the cars to clear as much as they could on the busy street.

Gerald kept his eyes forward, sighing thoughtfully, "Really, you need to ask?"

Stefan frowned slightly.

"He's just stressed, like everyone else."

"Yeah, but what did he mean by 'another one'? It can't be what I think it is," he paused, "please don't tell me it's what I think it is."

"Of course it is, Stefan," Gerald responded, sounding much too cheerful for said man's liking. "We're the next detectives on one of those children cases."

And the two left it at that.

Or Bekowsky left it at that, letting his partner decide whether to keep talking or do his usual dodge routine during the rare conversations that were actually wanted. And he obviously chose the latter. At least until they got to the actual crime scene.

It wasn't at all as gloomy or mysterious as Stefan had first believed it to be. The atmosphere could have even been considered cheerful if it hadn't been for the smoking Cadillac shoved head-on into a tree, the scene surrounded by police tape, blockades, and a single ambulance. At least there was no slick black cab of the Coroner to be found. It was a sight one got used to seeing in Traffic, sadly. People were such idiots sometimes.

The two detectives pulled up to the curb a few metres away from the area, each stepping out with their eyes glued to their next case.

"Really looks like they did a number on that one," Gerald straightened out his jacket, following behind his partner as they started forward. "It's a nice car too."

"When is it any different?"

Before he could answer the rhetorical question (as he often did, to Stefan's displeasure), a patrol officer had waved them over, his face grim.

"Detectives," he nodded to each of them in turn, gesturing to himself afterwards, "Officer Russell, first on scene. Glad you could make it." Bekowsky half-smiled at the sarcasm, shrugging in a what-can-you-do fashion.

He glanced past him, quickly scanning over the midnight black convertible, the hood folded in and nearly wrapping around the tree. The passenger's door had been torn off of its hinges, but was nowhere to be seen. At least, it wasn't metres from the car alongside the trunk, a few more loose parts, and ripped up grass. The other side had been wrenched open by an outside force, most likely to get the driver out quickly.

Hopefully whoever it happened to be was fine, though it was extremely difficult to believe looking at the scene. Quickly shaking himself from those wandering thoughts, Stefan turned back to the officer, "Well, tell us what you know and you'll be glad to get out of here instead."

Russell nodded, turning slightly to look at the mess as well.

"I was called at six in the morning. They told me I was closest and needed to get over here," he began, face blank, "and fast. I obviously wasn't fast enough."

"Wait," Bekowsky narrowed his eyes slightly, only half-glancing at his partner who moved forward a few steps. "Six this morning?" He was sure it had been nearly noon last time he had checked. Odd.

"Yeah," Officer Russell nodded wearily.

So that had been mostly exhaustion he had originally seen. It made sense.

"It was just so hectic at the station and everyone else working on similar cases were getting nowhere. Or so I've been told. Anyway, when I got here, the car was smoking, surprisingly not on fire but close to. I called who I could to get the driver out and cool the vehicle off. Other than that the evidence hasn't been touched. We left it as fresh as we could for whenever they could send some detectives over, and I'm going to say that's you two."

The older of the two partners nodded slowly, eyes glued to the driver's seat.

"The guy," Stefan began, frowning in slight discomfort, "is he…?"

"No."

It was nice when they caught on quickly.

"He was knocked out with a couple scrapes and bruises but still breathing, had to be sent to the hospital," Russell gestured towards the remaining ambulance, "That guys still here just in case."

Bekowsky nodded again.

"The victim is Daniel Earnest, early twenties and Caucasian. I don't know whether to consider him damn lucky…or not."

After simply listening to the conversation for a while with his arms crossed, Gerald finally spoke up, turning around, "What do you mean?" He had definitely voiced Stefan's thoughts. Anyone who survived such a violent crash with minor injuries was extremely fortunate in his experience.

"Why do you think you're here?"

The two detectives exchanged glances as he said this, the older with an eyebrow raised.

"Foul play. No sign of alcohol so far, the gas pedal was pressed down, break missing, the lady who saw it all said the car looked like it was being pulled towards the tree no matter which way it swerved, and," ignoring the growing confusion on each of the detective's faces, the officer pulled a slip of paper folded over from his pocket. He handed it to Stefan, "another one of the notes. I picked it up in case the wind or stray sparks caught it."

Wide eyes turning to a frown, the older detective slowly opened the paper. This was it. He was finally part of this big issue. He was finally going to get in on these notes, read one even. The only problem? He couldn't. He narrowed his eyes at the rows upon rows of "writing," the whole thing looking like a giant mess of teal words, letters, and 4-1-3 to him.

~ X ~

"This way," she hissed down at the boy beneath her, wrenching her body in the opposite direction they were currently going. There was no way she was going to miss the action for the sake of getting caught. It was such a silly reason to avoid the area. She shouldn't have to worry about that! It had been for justice after all. They'd understand.

"TZ, I am not going over there. You're crazy! Everyone here is paranoid and would think a plant suspicious if it was growing crooked halfway across the city! Not to mention it's been hours since it actually happened. They're probably already done!"

The girl giggled quietly as she listened to her companion complain, her sharp teeth hidden by the collar of the trench coat. Of course, she knew they weren't done. They had just started.

"I should never have brought you along," he muttered, adjusting her on his shoulders with a small jump. They stood in the middle of a sidewalk, faking a man with an awkward body physique at that moment, as half of him was bent one way while the other was pulling in the opposite direction.

"Come on, it'll be fine! Who's going to think we're suspicious?" She stuck her nose in the air, nearly leaning far enough to slip off of the other's shoulders. But that smell of burnt rubber and mystery was just too intriguing for her to care.

All she got was a small groan in response however, and then the girl was jerked forward- or backwards, in her case- as he began to walk away rather briskly. Tightening her grip on the young man with her legs, she flailed her arms momentarily, smacking a hard object to her left without warning.

"Watch it!" Someone snapped from that exact area.

The girl's head whipped in the voice's direction once she found balance, immediately breathing in the scent of dirt and something extremely bitter. Scrunching her nose up in distaste, she turned away from the stench, almost wanting to pinch off her method of seeing (but then, of course, she wouldn't be able to "see").

At least it was fading. He hadn't even stayed long enough to argue! And neither had they. Her smile flipped into an annoyed scowl now, she held her head towards the direction they were moving.

"These people are so rude. Fine, we'll go your way. Whatever," mumbling crossly, the girl slipped her arms out of the long coat's sleeves, resting them on the boy's head. She felt him flinch slightly and his head tilt upwards, but she ignored it. Just like she was attempting to ignore the inviting aroma of a thrilling adventure. And that disgusting man's body odour. Oh, she needed something to do!

She began to tap on the top of his head as they continued walking, head turning left and right, nose in the air like a dog. There was honestly nothing of interest, just a few splashes of deliciously smelling colors here and there, blocks where there were more inky papers, and one stand that made her nose tingle with a slight chilly feel but was appealing all the same. She figured it to be some sort of frozen dessert that people enjoyed in this city, tapping on the young man's head a bit harder as she made this assumption.

"Dammit, TZ, would you stop that?" The boy finally snapped after a while.

His annoyance barely registered, but his request did.

Both of the girl's hands hovered above his head for a moment, her head turned to the left, blind eyes staring blankly at a street vender.

"Thank you."

"Stop," she said quickly, slipping her arms through the trench coat's sleeves again.

"What?"

"Just stop."

Slowly, the boy came to a halt, trying to look up at her behind the fabric of the large, dark jacket.

It probably seemed incredibly odd for this random, over-dressed, tall individual to stop dead in his tracks, but she could smell it. It was that sickening stench again, the one that belonged to the filthy man from earlier, and it was coming from a newspaper stand. It was extremely difficult to tell there was anything even around the man, but she could sense it. Deceit. Devious plans. Something…fishy.

"Quick," her tone turning rather serious, the girl quickly brought a hand back into the jacket and turned her companion's head in the stranger's direction. "See that guy?"

There was a pause as he fiddled with the centre buttons, ruffling of clothing the only noise made.

"Yeah?" He whispered.

"We're going after him," keeping her blank eyes locked on the man, she took one more deep breath.

"What?"

"Ready?"

"What's g-"

"Now!"

At that moment, he swiped a black and white print from the stand skillfully as the seller had his back turned, stuffing the paper inside his own jacket.

"Are you crazy?" The boy exclaimed incredulously (though he already knew the answer) as she pointed an accusing finger at the individual. Ignoring him once more, a large grin split across her face, not attempting to hide it this time.

"We've caught you red-handed, you dirty thief!" She snapped with her usual cruel amusement, the smile nearly eating half of her face now.

And he noticed. And when he noticed, he ran. And when he ran, eyes wide in sudden fear, so did the two children. Of course, only after an encouraging kick from the girl to get moving.

~ X ~

It turned out the "lady who saw it all" lived at least two blocks from the actual crime scene, needing to get home to a seven month old child.

It made perfect sense. Why wait for six hours just to give some information to a detective when another cop could relay it for you and you could get back to a family? Well unfortunately for her, this detective needed (and wanted) it from the original source.

Stefan sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked along the street. It didn't bother him that he had to head over to the woman's house; it gave him more time to think on his own after all. He was simply frustrated with the note given.

Hadn't all of the other ones been legible? Hadn't they all had some sort of message? And this one had nothing? It was incredibly confusing and irritating, especially when he had this strange feeling it was all some sort of secret message or code. It was probably the simplest thing in the world too. He just wasn't…smart enough.

He released another deeply annoyed breath of air, eyes focused on the pavement in front of him and no other surroundings. He knew where he was going. It was a simple address. He had to explain that thoroughly to Gerald, the latter asking continuously if he was absolutely positive he didn't need help or a drive.

Maybe it was just so he could come along? Well, too bad for him. Someone needed to stay and continue investigating the area, looking for other witnesses as well. And it sure as hell wasn't going to be Bekowsky. He had enough of Traffic to last him a lifetime.

The detective reached the final corner, still keeping his head down. He was vaguely aware that someone had run by rather quickly a few steps before turning, shrugging it off as a man late for work. But he wasn't prepared for the sudden direct impact of a different individual sprinting twice as fast as the previous, the two of them falling down in a mess of flying curses and fabric.

And he definitely wasn't prepared to come face-to-face- after mumbling crossly and pushing up into a sitting position from his somewhat painful fall- with a pair of frighteningly bright, crimson red eyes.