"Really?" asked Nadine, "She saw Arnold?"
Rhonda had called up Nadine, who was unable to join the gang for baseball that day, and was chatting her best friend up over the phone while walking home. As the primary source of gossip at P.S 118, Rhonda was sure to share the news that they had met someone who could have seen the missing Arnold Shortman.
"Apparently," Rhonda said, "That girl Ashley said she ran into a football-headed kid, and how many other football-heads do we know?"
"And just who is this Ashley?" asked Nadine.
"Beats me," Rhonda replied, "I've never met her before today."
"Does she even live in Hillwood?" asked Nadine.
"If she does, she doesn't get out much."
"And yet you don't seem to stop talking about her."
"A strange girl shows up and lets it slip that she's seen Arnold, and you think I won't talk about it?" asked Rhonda.
"Point taken," Nadine replied, "I guess it's safe to say you don't like this girl?"
"I didn't say that," Rhonda replied, "I hardly even know her. The only one who was hostile towards her was Helga."
"That's just Helga," Nadine said, "You know how she is with people."
"Not like this," Rhonda said, "You weren't there, Nadine, but something about this girl really struck a bad chord with Helga. Almost like it was Arnold."
"That's good, though, right?" asked Nadine, "That she's going back to her normal self?"
"Not if her normal self murders our one link to Arnold in cold blood before we can find him," Rhonda said.
"Poor girl would get creamed," Nadine said.
"Not sure about that, either," Rhonda added, "She looked like she could hold her own. I'm almost curious which one would win in a fight. But after we find her and get her to tell us what she knows about Arnold."
By now, Rhonda had approached the street with her house on it.
"I'll call you later, okay?"
"Keep me posted."
Just as Rhonda hung up, her front door opened, and her father was there to greet her. He seemed to be in a bit of a rush, as his usually well-groomed hair had a few loose strands hanging out.
"Hi, Daddy," Rhonda said.
"Can you come into the kitchen with me, please?" her father asked.
Not knowing why she shouldn't, Rhonda followed her father to the kitchen. Her mother was also sitting at the island counter just by the fridge, but there was another guest nearby; Dr. Remus Graf, the Lloyd family physician. He was a short and plump man, and also very jolly. Having emigrated from Germany, he had a heavy German accent; not even his years in the States could get rid of it.
"Good afternoon, Rhonda," Dr. Graf said, "How are you feeling today?"
"Um, good?" asked Rhonda, "Why, should I not?"
"Ohohoho," Dr. Graf laughed heartily, "Zat's funny. No, of course you should feel vonderful!"
"Dr. Graf just needs to draw some blood from us to...update our physicals," Buckley said.
"He's already gotten ours, now we just need to do you," Brooke said.
They were lying, of course. Buckley and Brooke never gave Dr. Graf their blood, and Dr. Graf himself was not updating their physicals. When Spade threatened Buckley to get DNA samples from his daughter, Buckley turned to the only person he could trust to do so, Dr. Graf. Graf himself did not know why they needed blood drawn in such a rushed manner, but they had been some of his most loyal patients in the past, and was willing to help out wherever he could.
"Rhonda, dear, have you had plenty of water today?" Brooke asked.
"...not since I left for home," Rhonda replied.
"Why don't you go drink some water before we do this, pumpkin?" Buckley suggested.
"Ve vouldn't vant you to faint on us while drawing blood," Dr. Graf said.
"Okay..." Rhonda said.
Rhonda was beyond confused why their was such a rush to update their physicals. She knew they would normally drive to the doctor's office to get it done, and even though they had the money to bring Dr. Graf to their own private residence, they wouldn't waste it on that since Dr. Graf's office was so close. She couldn't shake the feeling her parents were hiding something...
Ashley sat on a bench looking out at Elk Island with the hustle and bustle of Pier 7 going on behind her. Apparently this was where "anyone else" meant to the cab driver. Most of the kids there were playing carnival games or stuffing their faces with cotton candy. Ashley was just sitting with her beanie in her lap, while looking at the inside.
From Stevie, it read.
"Dammit," she muttered, "Gotta stop doing that."
With her seemingly inhuman hearing, she heard an annoying, nasally southern accent from within the crowd. Twisting her head towards the crowd, she saw the same group of kids from Gerald Field right here at the pier.
"What the...How did they..." she kept asking.
And then she paused. She might know a way to shake them off and have fun at the same time. She stared back out at Elk Island, then at the scruffy looking boatman that just came back in. She smirked as a devious idea came into her head.
"They wanna track me so badly, I'll let them," she said.
Getting off of the bench, she approached the boatman, whom she could tell had not bathed recently, despite practically living on the water. She could feel her nose twitching as she approached him.
"Hey you," she said, "For ten bucks, would you be willing to do me a favor?"
Haggard stood in front of the newspaper stand, having gotten over his surprise they still printed papers rather than post the news digitally. On the other hand, Hillwood seemed to have more of a 90s vibe than that of the 21st century. He bought a copy of every issue within the past few months, looking for anything involving robberies, money laundering, or trafficking. Those were the only three methods he could think of for stealing hundreds of humanoid vessels and not leave a trace. Of course, this seemed contradictory, because how could they report on something that wasn't there? But in Haggard's experience, there were many times where something that appeared to be one thing was a cover-up for something else.
Haggard had to skip over the articles involving mass killings, military operations, and anything else involving the tragic loss of life. He had nothing but respect for the military and the police, but when he himself picked up a gun, he was neither of those. He was a vigilante, a man who worked outside the law, and as such would not be protected by it when things went wrong. And things went wrong many times.
He hoped he wouldn't have to use one during his investigation.
His thoughts were interrupted by a man who appeared to be high on something, presumably a meth-head, harassing a clean and sharply-dressed blonde woman just outside the deli. The man was scruffy and poorly dressed with a stained t-shirt and baggy pants lowered just enough to show part of his undergarments. The classic 'prison bitch' look.
"I don't have anything for you!" the woman exclaimed.
"I just asking for a lil'!" the man shouted in a raspy voice, grabbing the woman's arm.
"Let go of me!"
"Just lend me some money!"
"No! I don't..."
"C'mon, bitch! You look like you loaded!"
The man was about to raise a hand towards her face, until someone from behind grabbed his wrists, forcefully pulling it back. Both figures looked up to see a large, intimidating man holding him back, and though neither could see it, the meth-head felt his wrist being broken by the other man's raw strength.
"What part about 'no' do you not understand?" Haggard asked in a stern voice.
The meth-head had no response. He just simply tried jerking back. As soon as Haggard let go of his wrists, he fell flatly on his back with the cracked street underneath him. It took a few moments for him to realize he was out of his league and crawl away.
"Thank you so much!" said the girl, "Sorry this little incident interrupted your reading."
"No worries," Haggard said, "I was fed up with the politics section anyway."
The woman giggled lightly as she looked back up at the man who saved her.
"Um...do you wanna grab some coffee?" she asked, "You could bring your papers with you if you'd like."
"Coffee sounds wonderful," Haggard said.
The woman was about to lead the way before turning around extending her hand, "I almost forgot to ask you your name!"
Haggard took his hand into hers, shaking it firmly.
"Haggard."
"I'm Olga," she replied, "Olga Pataki."
"I'm telling you, she was here!" Sid exclaimed, "I saw a blonde girl sitting at the bench!"
"Like they're aren't any other blondes in town?" Gerald asked, "It's more likely to be Helga than Ashley!"
"Right here, tall-hair," Helga growled.
"My point exactly," Gerald said.
"Why don't we just ask my uncle Earl?" asked Sheena, "He's just sitting there watching everyone else. Maybe he's seen her."
"Or he was dozing off without anyone to escort," Phoebe said.
"Or he might have actually seen Ashley, Pheebs," Helga said in response, leading the group towards him.
The group walked away from the festivities of the pier towards the boatman sitting on the docks.
"Now guys," Gerald said, "He isn't quite known for being the most in-tune guy, no offense, Sheena...point is, we ought to handle this cautiously with..."
"Yo Earl!" Helga shouted, "You seen a blonde girl with a beanie?"
"Or just bark questions at him," Gerald finished.
"Sure did," Earl replied.
"Wait, what?" asked everyone else.
"That was...actually easy," Harold said.
"Where?" asked Sheena.
"She was sitting here by herself just looking out at Elk Island," Earl replied.
"Told you I saw her sitting here!" Sid exclaimed.
"Then she asked me for a ride to Elk Island for some reason or another," Earl said.
"Wait...she actually went to Elk Island?" asked Phoebe.
"I didn't think anybody would still go there anymore," Stinky said, "On account'a our last misadventure there."
"Wheezin' Ed was so last year, Stinkmeister," Helga said, "If Ashley went to Elk Island, then that's where we're going. Unless you're all chicken?"
There were no arguments with where they were going next.
Dr. Graf pulled up to a storage yard with the designated locker number Buckley gave him. He said there was someone who would collect the blood samples he had gotten, and he was to not tell anyone who he met with. Buckley said it was someone a little on the shady side, but as long as he got what he wanted, no one got hurt. Dr. Graf was still in a rather jovial mood, however, as he had been planning to go hiking through the woods after this nasty business was done.
But he wasn't expecting who he saw when the door to the spacious locker opened.
"Dr. Kroger?" asked Dr. Graf, "You've met vith Buckley?"
Dr. Kroger was leaning against a table with his arms crossed, and was not in his usual lab coat. Rather, he donned a black dress shirt and equally black pants with unusually well-polished shoes. He was middle-aged, but his receding hairline and the wrinkles coming from his high cheekbones made him look much older. And like Dr. Graf, Kroger spoke in a German accent, albeit much lighter, softer-spoken, and less welcoming.
"Never met the man," Dr. Kroger replied, "But I know what I'm here to collect. So, if you please..."
Dr. Kroger held out his palm.
"...the samples, please and thank you."
Dr. Graf, not questioning his old colleague's motives, placed the vials in his hands. Dr. Kroger proceeded to put them on the table next to him.
"Is zis vone of zose times vhere I die to keep quiet, like in ze old zhriller und action movies?" Dr. Graf joked.
"Of course not, Remus," Dr. Kroger laughed, "I'm not going to kill you."
"Ohohohoho!"
"He is."
Before Dr. Graf could comprehend what happened, a lone bullet went in the back of his head and out his forehead, his body falling flatly forward. Spade put down his gun after making yet another kill.
"What do we do with the body?" asked Spade.
"You bury it where I tell you to," Dr. Kroger replied, "And this time, I will accompany you, so as to make sure you don't screw up like the last time."
"My last job was a hit on a rival gang member," Spade growled, "That shit's dead and buried."
"We both know which job I'm talking about," Dr. Kroger said smugly.
Spade growled, but held back his complaints. He grabbed Dr. Graf's body and prepared to get rid of it while Dr. Kroger stared into Rhonda's blood samples.
"I suppose now is time I fulfill my end of the bargain."