The snow was beginning to melt somewhat. I happened to come to Basin during one of its rare snow storms which was fine by me. I never expected to feel comfortable there and I wanted to leave as quickly as possible. I left McCarthy to gather what information he could while I tied up the loose end of dealing with the Yellow Bastard. I gave him a tracer signal and told him to contact me if he found anything. Meanwhile, I did some investigating into the Roarke family since it was Senator Roarke who got Shlubb and Klump out of jail.
I snuck into the archives and found that the Roarke legacy goes all the way back to the founding of the city. Besides the Senator, there was an attorney general and a Catholic cardinal to carry on the name. In a city filled with sinners, they were the only saints, supposedly. I found one interesting story concerning a disgraced cop and the Senator's son eight years prior. John Hartigan had apparently kidnapped and raped a young girl. Somehow, Junior Roarke was on the scene and was brutally shot and placed in a coma. Judging from what I knew about Basin City cops, they would be reluctant to help me so broke into the police station and checked the case. Not surprisingly, Shlubb and Klump both testified in Hartigan's trial. All the pieces came together. Junior was more than likely not in a coma any longer and Hartigan, one of the cleanest cops in the city, had taken a fall trying to bring him down. Whatever process Roarke had gone through to recover from his shooting turned him into a freak. I tried to find any secluded areas he might be hiding out and found information about a Farm at North Cross and Lennox. Even the cops were very reluctant to go there. Once I looked into it, I found that the farm was run by a bankrupt beef company which was owned by the Roarke family.
Since I was across the country, I didn't have my usual vehicles. I used my Matches Malone identity to rent a Porsche Carrera GT. Probably stolen but that wasn't important. It was fast. I made it to the Farm and immediately got a sick feeling in my stomach. This place was bad. I could feel it. There was a familiar odor in the cold air so I followed it.
When I came out of the woods, I found the body of an elderly man who had shot himself in the face with a magnum. The body was warm so it had not been long. I checked the ID and was surprised to learn that it was John Hartigan. What was he doing there and why'd he kill himself? I made my way to the Farm. A wooden fence, a barn, a tractor, and an old house was all that stood in this patch of ground. An old windmill creaked slowly, creating the only noise to be heard at the moment. I soon found the bodies of four armed guards who had been shot by what appeared to be magnum rounds. Was it possible that Hartigan shot them? When I checked the barn, I found the remains of Junior Roarke, the stench of his corpse made me feel even more sick. The Yellow Bastard Case was now closed but I was less than pleased with the results. Junior had been stabbed, castrated, and had his skull caved in. I wasn't completely sure what had happened but it had been recent. It was only a matter of time until the area would be getting visitors to clean up.
I left the barn and heard a low growl behind me. I spun around in time to see a wolf leaping over a mound of snow. I shot it with a tranquilizer before it came too close and it was out. I knew a wild animal would not be this close to a human residence unless it belonged to someone. It wasn't long before I met its owner. He was quiet. Quick. I almost didn't see him coming. He was nearing middle age and balding. He wore glasses, converse sneakers, and a sweater. He was less than assuming but there was something going on behind his eyes. Also, he was agile and clearly skilled. He leapt head high, giving me a sharp kick to the jaw.
I rolled down a snow bank and was on my feet by the time he made it back to me. I ducked under the next kick, giving him a punch across the face. He spun around on one foot and I placed my heel between his shoulder blades, knocking him onto a pile of snow. He never made a sound, despite the flow of blood pouring out of his nose and mouth. In fact, it almost seemed like he smiled briefly. He opened his hand, showing several large fingernails, and began to go for my throat and eyes. I backed away, giving him a jab to the ribs. He responded by shoving two fingers into my bicep with a nerve strike. My arm went numb but it didn't matter. I had three other limbs.
I sprang back on my good arm with a somersault kick. He was forced to avoid the blow, which gave us the distance I wanted. I threw a batarang but he ducked so I used the opportunity to attack low with a sweep kick. He jumped over my head, landing in the snow behind me. When I turned back to him, he came at me with a split kick. I caught his ankle with my good arm and threw him against the old tractor. He still never made a sound. The next claw slash grazed my cowl but didn't touch any skin. The kick landed against my chest, forcing me back. I was no longer in the mood to play games. I spun around, making it hard for him to follow me through the folds of my cape. My knee eventually found his temple and he fell to the ground. He wasn't completely out and he still didn't make any noises; but fortunately he was on the verge of unconsciousness and it was apparent that he would no longer be able to continue the fight.
Just then, I heard the faint roar of helicopter propellers that were gradually getting louder and closer. The entire area was illuminated a few moments later. A police copter was descending, blowing snow away from the ground as it began to land. The clean up crew was here and I didn't need to have another pointless battle. I left through the woods, unseen by the police. The farm boy would have to wait. I came to my car and left down the old road with answers to my Yellow Bastard case but none that I liked. By the time I reached the city, I got a signal from Dwight McCarthy. Apparently, the night was not over.