"Didja get ta wear hand-cuffs, an – an those orange pajamas with the numbers on 'em?"
"Nope."
"Well did they make ya wear a muzzle or – or a straight-jacket, an, an they rolled you around on a cart, all tied up?"
"Nope."
Charmy gave it one last try. "Did they pepper-spray ya?"
Vector's snout flopped over in a frown, wondering what manic stories Espio had fed the kid. "No! I went down inda back of a squad car and sat in a cell. That's it!"
The honeybee drooped his antenna in a pout. "Didn't you do anything fun?"
"I left. How's that, kiddo?"
A new morning found Charmy Bee more high-strung and excitable than usual, and the honeybee hadn't snuck even one sip of jitter-inducing coffee. A surprise had awaited his rise from slumber that day, and discovering the big, green crocodile passed out on the couch was to Charmy like fastening his wide eyes on a big and brightly wrapped birthday present. He hadn't left Vector alone since pouncing on the croc's stomach like a cannonball, whooping out a cheerful cry of "Yay! Vecter's back! Vecter's back!"
"Hey Vecter – If you go ta jail again, will they put you in the Eclectic chair?"
Before he could correct the kid (electric chair!), a hallway door interrupted, popping open like a spring. "Charmy? Do mah ears deceive me? Is that Charmy Bee?" Old Lady Dolores – human, or giant purple prune, Vector could never tell – plunged out of her apartment, squinting through telescopic bifocals and smiling like it was a privilege to be fifty-bazillion years old.
Charmy didn't have to fake any peppy smiles on this encounter. "Hi Missez Old Lady Dolores! Guess what – Vecter's Back! They let'm outta jail!"
The grandmother's smile was like a bubble pricked by a pin. "Oh… how nice, how nice," she nodded, stepping into the hallway and bumping Vector aside. "And what about you, dear? Everything fine? Not eating too much, are you?"
"No, Missez Old Lady Dolores," recited Charmy.
She smiled, both with mouth and her collection of wrinkles. "Wonderful to hear, deary! Don't want to get too chubby, do we?" she prattled, finally acknowledging Vector with an evil eye.
The croc rolled his eyes and pumped up the volume of his headphones. Old Lady Dolores believed with all the firmness and zeal of an organized religion that Vector kept the honeybee around to fatten up and eat.
"Now don't you sneak away yet!" the old grandmother sang, noting Charmy's finicky hovering, and fetching a tray of treats. "Here – have one of my special non-fat, carbohydrate-free laxative cookies. I baked them just for you, sweet-pea."
Once outside on the hot, dusty concrete, Charmy wasted no time spitting out his bite of cookie with a vocal "Yech!" Vector chuckled along, scoping out the passing drifters and teens hanging about the tenements, ambling around the curbs to escape their claustrophobically small apartments.
A shifty black cat leaning on the apartment stoop cocked his head over at the exiting Vector; then Charmy, buzzing around the croc's shoulder, and hollered with a sneering voice, "Hey crocodile! No pets allowed inside!"
Shade – the creep from across the hall. Vector gave a throaty growl. "Bug off, hairball!"
The cat was mighty pleased with himself, able to annoy the crocodile so. "Temper, now! I'm just tryin'a keep you outta trouble, detective. Police, Guardians; you don't need animal services on your case!"
Vector loosed another warning growl, bearing a bit of teeth this time.
Shade cocked his eyes and backed away. "Fine, fine; I'll leave you to your criminal ways, detective. Just don't forget a leash when you take him for his walk!" The cat retreated a few steps and re-immersed himself in filing his nails while Charmy giggled, assuming the names and threats all a game, diluted in tension.
Vector gave a victorious snort, but his eyes wandered awkwardly around the street, noticing the stolen glances and scandalous stares coming his way. Suddenly he could feel the whole neighbourhood watching him like he was a trashy celebrity. Blast, why couldn't their success stories spread as quickly as the bungling?
He ignored everyone, leaning against the brick and burying his snout in his copy of the Spooner, trying to be just another loitering tenant escaping the confines of home. Charmy buzzed about him like a gnat. "Hey Vecter, what did they feed ya at the station this time?"
"I dunno – some stew, or somethin'."
Charmy's wings hummed a little faster. "Beef stew?"
Vector just wanted all the prying eyes off his case. "Yeah, sure, beef stew." He picked a random, angry editorial and tuned out further interrogations.
Yeah, you know who you are: all you grumblers and naysayers whining about how noisy the skies are with the constant robot patrols, or how our military saviors press the country under a dictator's stranglehold.
Oh please.
Haven't the brave men and women of our military suffered enough? Haven't these heroes suffered the greatest of us all, losing their family and friends at the destruction of Prison Island? Do I need to tell you morons how many thousands died there in an instant?
Maybe I do, because all you babies are so upset with the way G.U.N. has handled the crisis stemming from the Just two days after deploying Hoverpods above our cities, all rioting and destruction of property forcibly ceased.
After one week of unhindered tracking, After two weeks of thankless labor, military task forces declared the After one month of hard chase, G.U.N. apprehended and incarcerated the traitor known as Rouge. An ordinary citizen to her friends and family, this woman was in fact a long-time lieutenant to After two months of vigilant defense, a towering enemy factory and covert airfield in the rainforest were discovered and dissected of technology and resources, bringing us one step closer to victory over And after four months of enduring criticism, G.U.N. has defied critics and successful restored peace and prosperity to the provinces – eliminating hidden enemy bases and sealing away covert spies. Thanks to the Guardians, this world is once more a safer place for you and your children.
So think about that next time you start heckling our armed forces. Because when it comes to your selfish and infantile whining, I am offended.
written by Sam Whan
The infantile prattling of this country sickens and offends me.
Vector crumpled the paper and let it fly like a tumbleweed. "Blech!" he declared, taking a quick swig of coffee from his water bottle to sanitize his throat. He felt dirty just reading that smutty propaganda. Where'd the Guardians crawl off to during the Great Chaos, the destruction of Station Square? Oh, and the offenses he knew stretched back further…
A little body plowed into his back like a squishy battering ram. "Vecter, yer not listening!" pouted Charmy, alternately pushing and pulling the croc's shoulder for attention.
"What now, kiddo?"
"Do aliens eat people?"
"Look kid, there ain't no aliens! The newspapers 're just makin' fun of the guy."
"Oh," he nodded, disappointed. Charmy shut up and thought for a while, and Vector took the chance to down the rest of his coffee, weak and sludgy and made from beans recycled over three weeks.
Charmy hovered up to face level and, jumping from random topic to random topic the way only the hyperkinetic juvenile mind could, declared, "Vecter, when I grow up, I'm gonna go ta jail!"
Vector choked and spewed out his coffee, certain that his heart valves all simultaneously gagged on their latest pump of blood. "WHAT?"
"It'd be so cool!" Charmy explained. "You guys get your own beds and there's TV and you get to eat all this yummy food like chicken an' stew an mashed-up-tatoes!"
Vector's brain was shot. He couldn't speak. His jaw flapped open-close like a fish gagging silently out of water, trying to find something to say. "W-w-we eat well don't we?" he said hastily in defense. "I mean, don't you like chao food?"
Charmy wrinkled his nose and gave the ugliest little pout imaginable. "Chao food sucks!"
Vector swore his eyes would pop out. "Excuse me?"
Charmy startled. "What?" he asked innocently enough.
"Don't play games with me! Where d'ya learn that word?"
The honeybee gave an innocent shrug. "You." He pinched his nose and mumbled his lowest possible imitation. "Oy hate chao food! Chao food sucks! If I 'ave ta eat dis gahbage one more time, I'll eat Espio!"
Vector didn't believe his eyes could gape any wider, but they kept on stretching. Bouts of anger and disgust over their eating arrangements returned in flashes of guilt, but … But he'd never imagined crazy little Charmy, whose attention raced a mile a minute, actually listening to anything he said! His body temperature dropped a chilling ten degrees, fearing just what else the kid might have picked up.
Right now, the little bee giggled fiercely at all the stuttering expressions coming from his superior. Vector shook his face clear, hastening to prepare a speech.
"Okay, so, uh, I guess I did use that word before." He coughed and grew firm. "But you ain't allowed to say that any more!"
It was Charmy's turn to jump with disbelief. "What? How come?"
Good point. Vector was at a loss. "Because uh … umm … because I said so!"
Charmy squinted as though a thick fog separated them, the mechanisms behind his child mind clearly failing to understand the concept. "That sucks," he grumbled, and spun around to fly away.
Vector nabbed his ankle, but not to enforce any language censorship. Something shiny dangled from the kid's jacket pocket. "Whadda ya got there?" he asked suspiciously, pulling the squirming bee into range and plucking out a laminated card.
Guaridans of the United Na….
Dying of shock would have been a mercy right about then. Instead, he got to live, and endure this horrible impossibility. He dropped his hand, fixing a stupefied glower on Charmy. "You – you liddle kleptomaniac! You took this from that spy at the pier! You – you…"
Charmy looked at him thoughtfully. "What's a skepto-zani-ack?"
Vector gripped his head and tore at his phantom scalp line, ticking down the seconds before he burst. Three … Two … One … "GAH!" Screaming to high-Heaven, he thundered back into the apartment, shaking the sidewalk with his earthquake stomps.
Charmy gave a few blinks, shrugged and wrote it off as grown-up stuff. He buzzed off into the sky to find something fun to do.
The apartment door blew open with a crash. Stomping, then another thunderous slam as Vector exploded into the office with a glare that could ignite fires. A lesser chameleon might have jumped up, or even turned a head to acknowledge. Espio just kept his face down, pretending to read some business papers and soaking up what time he could enjoy borrowing Vector's chair.
A small object whizzed for his head. Espio shot up a hand and snapped up the ID card between two fingers. "And this is?"
Twin fists of rage rattled the desk and a furious face bent down to stare him in the eyes. "Look at it, y'idiot! That's military property! The kid's been holdin' onta that thing all weekend, and you didn't notice? That's like stealin' a police badge!"
Espio glanced at the card, and Derek Smithson's harsh face. "So why are you giving it to me?"
"So you can get rid've it! You brought down this mess, you clean it up!"
"Mission parameters?"
"Don't get smart wit me! Chop it up, burn it, mail it back anonymous! Just don't let me see that thing again! Fer all we know, it's got some homing beacon inside an' we'll have robots breakin' down our door any minute!"
Clearly overheated by the whole ordeal, the crocodile retreated to drain the water cooler. He then ran the obstacle course of boxes to rummage through his equipment locker. Espio did not even raise an eye past his phony paperwork.
"Landlord stopped by," he grunted, the reasons obvious. "How is it that we live in a crumbling stink-hole and still can't pay the rent?"
Vector slammed his locker shut, donning a black designer jacket (with tassels and a flame design) and a fresh set of headphones. "You gonna sit there an' point fingers?" growled the croc as he flipped through his massive CD collection, "Or you gonna find some work an' help out?" He popped the new disc in and retreated to stereophonic nirvana.
"I'm gone. An' get ridda that card!"
The doors slammed with a bang.
"Drrrr …" Espio reached for the drawer to recover Charmy's video-game console, but the military identification card intercepted his route. He picked it up, looking impassively at the laminated mouse that had made the elephant Vector shriek and boom with such a violent panic.
The chameleon grunted and let his thoughts meander over the quickest method of disposal, when his mouth suddenly curled in a roguish smirk.
A very delicious idea had just come to mind…
Vector could not keep his mind off Charmy. His thoughts chewed over the honeybee's confessions, lingering over the words and looking to taste the root cause. Here it was: The kid didn't know any better.
The bus bumped over a pothole, on route to bustle him across the city to his unsuspecting client, but Vector could not be shaken from his serous contemplations. Charmy was just a kid. At five … no, no – six; six years old, he was still seeing the world for the first time. Everything he took in, his underdeveloped mind accepted as natural.
Natural. Huh, that meant normal people slept, ate and lived out of their workplace. Normal people spent their weekends in jail when they stood up for the little guy. Normal people pummeled shiftless, stuck-up worms like Espio when those stinkers couldn't look down their proverbial noses and follow orders.
Always, his mind returned to Charmy, sleeping so contently in his normal home, and the picture of ease and adjustment nagged at his brain while the bus loaded onto the concrete slab of a ferry and shuttled across the Corvalis harbor. While every other passenger gawked at the construction ships hauling debris from the bay and stringing new support cables over the firebombed Centennial Bridge, his gloved fingers dug trenches through his agitated skin, wondering what was to be done.
After the detour for reconstruction shipped him back on solid land and the bus dumped him off at his stop, Vector finally threw his hands up and threw the problem away. "Laiter!" he growled to no one in particular, delegating Charmy to procrastination. All this worry about the kid made him uncomfortable.
The nostrils on the end of his impressive snout twitched, and Vector traced the scent back to a fast food outlet. "Oh yes!" he moaned wearily, as though a cool compress had been applied to his headache. Food – just what he needed!
A slight hesitation took place as his paw reached for his wallet, but Vector shrugged it off. They weren't that bad off; besides, he couldn't work on an empty stomach!
Vector exited with a greasy burger in one hand and a milkshake in the other, the lifted weight of his wallet soon to be transferred to a happy gullet. He walked the remainder of his journey, savoring the bites of beef and dreaming wistfully of the day he'd reel in a jackpot paycheck. Showered in wealth and money, he'd buy two burgers on every impulse snack and jumbo-size his drinks.
Finally, his destination towered into view – a luxurious, high-rise apartment named The Fairgrove. He grinned knowingly, already planning his retort to Espio. Vector made for the entrance, grooving to the rhythm of his own internal audio.
Vector scanned the room roster and buzzed the appropriate tenant. A broken voice crackled over the intercom with a harsh "What?"
"Mornin' sir; I saw yer article in the Spooner an' I was wunderin' if …"
The tenant hit the call button so sharply that it sent a squeal of distortion over the intercom. "Go away!"
Vector retreated, slightly miffed. Humph, touchy subject. Ah well. He folded his arms and waited against the brick wall (all the time ignoring the shocked double takes from passing mammals and humans) for a tenant to exit so he could sneak inside.
The lobby was built around a tropical theme, with a lake-sized water fountain surrounded by imitation palm trees and exotic plant life. Vector nodded appreciatively, and took the glass elevator up to the fifteenth floor, where he gave a civil little tap on the designated door.
A long hesitation followed, dotted with hesitant muttering and shuffling. Finally, locks and tumblers fell out of place for an odd minute or so, and the door opened a tentative halfway, just enough for a suspicious green eye and a stubby human nose to poke through.
The eyebrow popped up in exclamation, confused over the visitor: a madly grinning hulk of a reptile dressed in a mismatched collection of leather, jewelry and electronics like a patchwork gown.
"Who – who goes there?" the man asked with a hint of nervousness behind his formal speech.
Vector removed his headphones in a gesture of respect (a twitch of baldness tickled his scaly scalp), straightened up his hunched back and switched to his polite voice.
"Excuse me sir," he began, an octave above his usual range and several social classes above his rough jersey dialect. "I was wondering if I could ask you something. Are you the man who reported the home invasion three nights before?"
The door opened hesitantly, but only so the occupant could get a better look at the hall behind his visitor. A spiky-haired twenty-something, pale as milk, stuck his head and fingers around the edge, flickering his uneasy green eyes past Vector.
"The paper?" he stuttered. "Yeah … maybe…"
The human kept searching and scanning. "Then you're Cid Wheeler," Vector stated.
A business card exchanged hands. "My name is Vector. I'm from the Chaotix Detective Agency. The papers tell me the police dismissed your case as bunk, but I'm interested in…"
"This is a napkin," Cid interjected, casting a dubious look at the card in his fingers, which flopped over like a dead flower.
The crocodile tilted his head to the side, showcasing the full dazzle of his roguish grin. "Correct! Agency policy – we only use one-hundred percent recycled paper!"
A smirk. An honest smirk, followed by a small chuckle. "… recycled. Good one," the human nodded, relaxing his guard on the door.
Vector's own grin widened. His eyes, his jaws; his entire body was built for expression and emotion. Sure, most mammals only thought of his capacities for displaying rage, but Vector could be ever the charmer if he needed, cinnamon eye relaxing with earnest interest, and toothy smile beaming out complete confidence. He was a born shyster if there ever was one, and no man or woman could resist his magnetic personality.
"So … Chaotix," Cid muttered, mind in retreat. "Hey, aren't you the guy who…"
"No!" Vector barked, almost losing his cool. "The guy from the docks was uh … Victor. Yeah, Victor the Alligator. No relation."
"… oh. Because I'm sure you…"
"No relation."
"Ah…"
Vector cleared his throat. "Well, let's begin with why I'm here. I'm interested in investigating your case, Cid. Now, if money is an issue, that's not a problem. We can work something out. I read the papers and …"
The human groaned and scrunched up his face. "Oh great! You probably think I'm crazy too. Look, I never meant for the story to come out that way. A reporter tailed the cops I called and … well, I was all rushed up; I couldn't refuse the interview … But look, what they wrote…"
"Was absolute trash!" Vector finished, picking up on the distress. "Aliens teleporting into your apartment! Absurd!"
Cid's eyes sparkled with trust for this sympathetic ear. "Exactly! Alien invasions! Do you know how stupid that is?"
"Not as stupid as their editorialists. Have you read the Spooner? All that paper's good for is clogging my toilet bowl!"
That got Cid laughing. Or rather, snorting. He had to steady himself on the door and slap Vector's shoulder for support. Vector tried not to flinch or pull away but … well, yuck! Who knew what that clammy hand had touched? He'd be a famous detective indeed if he could ever solve the mystery of why humans felt so sanitary, touching each other without the common decorum of gloves!
Presently, Cid nodded, coming to the tail end of his guffaws. "Yeah … aliens!" He gave one last teary sigh, and added, "It was really a ghost."
It was Vector's turn to hoot. "Ha! Yer a gas, buddy!"
Cid puckered his lips in a sour frown. "I'm not joking."
Vector's magnificently expressive face melted like candle wax. "Yer serious?"
Cid shook his head. "Listen, I've been a Level Six Lord of the Dead in my RPG group almost a year now. I do my research, and I know a Blade Wraith when I see one."
Vector's face paled further and further, imagining the laughs he'd get for interviewing this closet geek. Espio would never let him live this one down.
The human now bowed his head in a sigh and (wait … would he?) Yes! He handed back the business card! He realized what a fool he was! Vector's heart leapt, and boogied with a stereo system of its own!
Cid mumbled his apology. "Look, I'm sorry you came out here for nothing, but the spirits of this world live – by necessity – in mystery and shadow. I'm afraid that if I hired you to uncover the purpose of their visitation, I would only be putting your own life in jeopardy. And I respect the Netherworld too much to risk its ire. I'm sorry, Mr. Crocodile, but I can't accept your services."
And he said it all with a straight face. Now, Vector was just plain creeped out! He stuttered over an exit line, back in his blunt jersey. "Yeah, well, uh, I gadda go then…"
"No wait!" Cid latched on to his elbow. "As a disciple of the High Code of the Woodland Elves, I would bring shame to myself if I let you leave empty-handed! You must be weary from your travels. Please, come in – we can have some Cheetos and Mountain Dew!"
Reluctantly, and very reluctantly, Vector let himself be dragged inside, tail dead and scraping across the floor like a prisoner bound in chains. Even Charmy would be snorting now!
Once inside, he found it impossible to stiffen his melting, or to believe that the human had a plus-5 ability modifier to his intelligence score. "So uh, you sure that ghost didn't steal nothin'?"
The expensive loft was one long, empty room of hardwood floor and whitewash plaster with the imprints of missing furniture. A mattress lay on the floor and a lonely desk - centerpoint on the long wall - served as a computer terminal cluttered with wires and cables. Otherwise, the room was picked clean.
"Oh, this?" remarked Cid, waking over with two cans of poisonously green cola. "Nah. This is what I've got. I'm a Systems Programmer for the local Hexaeco branch; this place came with my contract. It's great, isn't it? I've got all this open space to practice my swordplay for the next renaissance fair!"
Vector observed an umbrella bin in the corner, housing a two-handed broadsword. "Uh, yeah, but whadda 'bout foiniture?"
"Oh. Well, I buy my food fresh daily; I call my friends by e-mail. … I guess I don't need much to get by."
Vector felt favorable opinions warming his smile. "Cid buddy, yer all right!" Here was a fellow man that understood his life philosophy! Happiness lay with the simple indulgences of life – That first bite into a burger dripping in grease; cushiony recliners you melted into like butter; and music – the all-consuming audio Eden!
Swigging from his drink, Vector admired his profile in the bedside wall, coated down its entire length with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. "Interestin' design. Those come standard, or didja install 'em?"
Cid snorted. "Naw, that wall was there when I moved in a few months back. The last tenant put those in." He chuckled. "Can you imagine the ego on that mouse? The rat must have been a total narcissist! I think he put in the trap door too."
Vector's eyes rose curiously. "Trap door?"
"Yeah – someone cut out the floorboards in the closet so there's a little cubby hole. The army guys found that while they searched the place."
Stop the music. "Did you say…"
"Yeah, it was weird. Couple hours after I phoned the police, this guy in black shows up with some infantry and a hoverpod, flashing a search warrant. They pulled me out and combed over the apartment! It was … Hey! What are you doing?"
Vector had stormed over to the closet. With a predator's hunger he threw open the doors and knelt to inspect the floor. There lay the hole with lid cast aside, pink insulation foam at its bottom. ("I think there was a metal tray down there, but the army guys took it," Cid explained.)
Vector examined the lid of planks, obviously cut with the care of a power tool. He pushed the top of the compartment into place, and the secret box in the floor was covered so perfectly that the edges disappeared into the hardwood design. Only a trained eye and a sharp nail could pick open the hidden vault.
Standing up, a new seriousness gleamed in Vector's eyes, frightening Cid with their intensity.
"You tell me everything that happened that night."
Sifting through Cid's half-crazed stories of ghosts melting through his walls took time, effort and a tremendous dosage of patience. The kid seriously believed that spirits of a nether realm had paid a visitation three nights back; there was no shaking his conviction.
When Vector tried to suggest that an actual person had invaded his loft – he let Cid process this: an actual, flesh-and-blood person wanting to hurt him and take his possessions – the kid wobbled over and fainted. Vector gave him a little time-out and let the testimony proceed, all the while scribbling in his notepad a less fantastic interpretation of the alien/ghost invasion.
The robbery took place Friday evening, near midnight, while Vector had been detained at the stationhouse, and as Cid returned home early from his weekly RPG session.
The thief had come through the window – because the lobby security cameras recorded no one but Cid entering within the last hour, a key factor in the police dismissal of the case. Even then, it would have been a hard sell – no sign of forced entry evidenced on the window. Not one fingerprint, not one glove thread. Vector was familiar with the professional, ghost-like conduct.
Cid entered at about twelve-oh-five, leaving the lights off and planning to crash on his sleeping mattress right away.
Something stopped him, though. He felt a prick of cold air.
He might have dismissed it as air conditioning or wind, only the window remained closed and the ventilation deathly silent.
Sleep left Cid Wheeler, and he decided to log-on to his computer, ever paranoid of a heaviness at his back.
"It was a Cold Aura," Cid explained. "Spirits cast them wherever they travel, as a warning to the mortals near." He frowned and shook his head in self-pity. "I should have known! I should have been more careful!"
Lights only caused glare on his screen, so he kept the apartment dark, crouched at his terminal with headset blaring. A black wraith glided through the walls, vaporous underneath its swirling cloak, earthly barriers no more than air to the …
"HOLD IT!" Vector took a deep breath. "What's a cold aura?"
Cid struggled to explain. "It's … it's a feeling, I guess. Spirits are invisible to our senses, but … Okay, look. A blade wraith is invisible, intangible; cannot be seen or heard unless they want you to sense them. (And the only time that happens is before they draw out your soul, but anyway,) it's that elusiveness that creates a Cold Aura.
"A Cold Aura it's … it's that creeping fear you get when you feel someone's sneaking up on you. When you're in a crowded place, it's that laser eye you sense digging into your back. A feeling of cold and heaviness. It's intuition manifesting in physical senses – a warning that something bad is going to happen."
And Cid felt all those evil intuitions shivering up his spine as the interrupted cat burglar glided up behind.
He saw it. In the instant before the attack, Cid spotted the burglar's reflection on his monitor. Before a cold hand struck his head and the world faded.
"I … I'm still foggy," Cid shivered, rubbing the bump on his scalp. "But I remember the eyes. I don't know how anyone could miss those eyes – they were like knives staring me down. Blood red orbs full of madness. … And the claws. Bony claws reaching for me, cold and … Mr. Vector, are you all right?"
Red eyes … skeletal claws. Vector had let his memory drift and he made a sharp flinching motion. "Something the matter?" Cid pressed.
"Nothing," he growled back. Even a kid who believed in ghosts wouldn't swallow his story. He flipped over his notepad and moved to summarize. "Okay, when you woke up, you panicked and called the manager and the police. They uh … didn't believe in ghosts and tossed the story out. Tabloid reporter came; Guardians came. … Their leader, the guy in black - you said he had long hair – did he wear glasses?"
"Half-moon spectacles. How'd you know?"
Vector grinned and cracked his knuckles. "We've met before."
Now they had reached the end, and the time of parting had come. "Do you believe my story, Mr. Vector? I mean … I know I might sound kinda weird but…"
Vector shone one of his sympathetic smiles, and the kid hushed up instantly . "I believe you believe it."
"Thanks … I think."
"Yeah." With a forced calmness, Vector rose from his seat and offered his thanks while his tail wagged with a need for release. "Well, I'd better get goin'. I know yeh don't want the case followed up, but thanks fer sharin' the story."
Cid shrugged and moved to dump their cola cans in the garbage. "Yeah, well I'm just relieved someone believes me. … Mr. Vector?" The crocodile, antsy and eager to follow up his lead, had already shown himself out.
He was hot; he was on fire! Before the flames of victory could smolder away, Vector rounded up the hotel manager by the lobby's water fountain. "Room 1504; I gadda ask some questions 'bout the last tenant."
The handsomely chiseled face spared only sharp glares at the request. "Ellie? Ellie Slater? Out of the question. I'm not suffering any more harassment from you and your drones…"
Even in his refusal, Vector nabbed crucial information – a name. This tenant out of hundreds was known personally; dialogue was crucial now. "Hold on! I ain't with the Guardians. I'm a private investigator. Here's my card."
Another disdainful look. "This is…"
"… a Napkin, I know, I know. I'm looking for Ellie; her family hired me to find her." He prayed the lie would break the defenses…
The manager grew concerned. Jackpot! He took the crocodile aside. "Is she all right?" he whispered, plainly nervous. "I don't know what's happened to her, but those Guardians who came in talked like she was a criminal! Have you heard anything?"
Everything rested on improv now. "Well sir, the sooner I can find her, the safer she'll be. I'll need your help."
"Yes, yes, of course. Dear me – I knew Ellie; whatever's happened, I know she's innocent. I came acquainted with her after arranging some wall redecoration to her flat. Always so shy and private, running upstairs and locking herself up. Did you know she came to me and asked to discontinue all housekeeping? That little mouse didn't want anyone going near her personal space."
"When did you last see her?"
"Oh, four… five months ago. She'd always run off for weeks at a time (I think she was a journalist) but she always paid her rent promptly. Anyway, one, two months went by and Ellie never came back. The advance on her apartment dried up and I put her suite up for rent again. Her belongings went into storage…"
"Suppose I could look through her things … you know, fer clues?"
The manager threw his hands up. "Impossible. The Guardians came with a warrant to search and seize property. I had to hand over all her things."
Vector cursed. "You didn't notice any suspicious types checking out your building recently, have you?"
"Oh." The manager went hard and skeptical again. "You're referring to the "break-in". Let me assure you the story is rubbish. My facility has state-of-the-art security cameras in every hallway. Any intruder would have been recorded on tape. And besides, the Guardians keep us safe now. Their hoverpods would have caught the thief!"
Vector only nodded, adding a suggestion of malice to his smile.
The manager snorted and prattled on. " … Absolute rubbish! Nothing stolen; no signs of forced entry! That Wheeler fellow probably dreamed it up. Odd fellow … Oh, here he comes now."
The medieval geek was indeed rushing across the lobby to meet them. "Mr. Vector!" he called out. The chaotix excused himself to meet the weirdo.
Cid panted heavily by the time they met face to face. "I know the modifier on my Intuition skill is only plus-1," he panted, "but even if I rolled a 'one' on the dice, I'd know what you're up to."
Vector wished the kid could keep his voice down. "You're going to hunt down the spirit that attacked me. A valiant, but foolish quest. I don't agree with your decision Mr. Vector, but as a disciple of the Mountain Dwarfs Guild, I'm obliged to wish you well on your journey."
Vector could not have been more creeped out, even if ants were squirming up his tuckus. "Ooookay," he said, slowly and oddly.
One last time, Cid gripped him with those clammy, uncovered hands and squeezed a firm handshake. "En Tero Adun! Go with honour, man of scales!"
Outside, Vector rushed for the nearest restaurant washroom so he could scrub the oils off his gloves. Then he bought another cheeseburger.
Oddness aside, his spirits were still smoking hot. Vector pocketed his little notebook with a smile. This case had certainly brightened considerably. Now, he had a name to follow.
Ellie Slater…
