Shorter one for today.
"Detective, you will find it difficult to solve the case if you die in a car accident," Alec warned.
The speeder zipped around a taxi. "I'm just a fedora-touting detective trying to get some answers," Anna replied. "Forgive me if I want satisfaction sooner rather than later."
"Yes, well, death is said to be the greatest satisfaction."
"Aren't you a Smart-Alec. Where does this snark come from? You're a computer A.I.!"
"Well, I learned it from the snarkiest person I know."
Anna smirked at the dashboard. "Thanks, Alec."
"You're welcome, Detective."
Anna grabbed the thermos and took a sip. She immediately spat out the drink. "Is this coffee black?!"
"You didn't give me a chance to add cream and sugar."
Anna stared at the thermos. Then, with a shrug, she raised it to her lips and downed the whole thing.
"It's not bad," she muttered, tossing the thermos into the backseat. "Call Vivian."
"…I see we're in the business of waking people up. Dialing."
The phone rang for a bit. "Hello?" Vivian's voice asked.
"Vivian! Listen, I'm back on the case."
"Really?"
"Yeah! Meet me at Carbon Scrubber 59 in about an hour. I'm gonna find out why Fink had Tenenbaum killed once and for all."
"I'll meet you there!"
Anna hung up.
"You know," Alec mused. "The Club Kashmir is not too far out of the way. Why don't we stop by there and let Fitzroy know in person we're back on the case? She'll be happy to hear that."
"Good plan." Anna turned the wheel and the speeder headed off the exit ramp towards the Club Kashmir.
Friday, December 19, 2369, 3:23 AM
Club Kashmir, Pauper's District
The street is not so deserted: now there are police cars and ambulances parked everywhere. Discarded bottles and wrappers are swept up by sanitation bots, who are very clearly not happy about the littering habits of humans.
There is no bouncer standing beneath the marquee. Instead, there is a uniformed police officer.
Above the marquee are the red words "Club Kashmir." The marquee sign itself reads: "Performing tonight: Carol Lynn and the Peeping Toms."
The door opens. A gust of jazz music and the distinct smell of smoke and booze trickles out. A man in a green coat walks out. The man in the green coat takes a moment to breathe in the outside air.
He hears the distant hum of a speeder. He looks at his watch. Few people ever enter the Club Kashmir at this hour. Perhaps it's just someone driving by.
The car in question floats down the road. To the man in the green coat's surprise, it slows down, coming to a rest right in front of the club.
Anna got out of the car. She took a moment to stare at the police cars and ambulances, completely puzzled.
"Morning," the man in the green coat said.
Anna looked at her watch. "It's 3:23 AM. That's practically night."
The man in the green coat sighed. He just couldn't win.
"Where's the bouncer?" Anna asked, turning to the police officer at the door.
The officer stared at her. "Bouncer? Haven't you heard?"
Anna did not like this guy's attitude. "No, apparently I haven't."
The man in the green coat cleared his throat. "You mean Charlie?"
"Yeah. Where is he?"
The man in the green coat shifted his weight awkwardly. "There's been a…there's been a murder."
Anna blinked. "A murder?"
"I just got out from getting interviewed," the man in the green coat said gravely. "It was in the wine cellar, I hear—"
Anna did not want to hear the rest. She shoved the man aside and burst through the club doors, in spite of hearing the officer shouting "Hey! Stop!"
The inside of the Club Kashmir was different. The red curtains still surrounded the room on three sides. But the tables in the main pit were empty. Instead of waiters in white suits scurrying around, there were uniformed police officers. The stage was completely bare: no performers, no instruments.
"ANNA!"
Anna turned to see Chief Sullivan running towards her.
"Anna, you can't be here, this is a crime scene!" he exclaimed.
"What happened?" Anna asked, ignoring him.
"That's confidential information, you can't just—"
"Daisy Fitzroy was my client," she said seriously. "I need to know about her status at this time."
Sullivan's expression was solemn. "Follow me."
He led Anna out the door into the alleyway. There were forensics units there, too.
Anna sniffed the air. She recognized that smell. She had once identified it as rotting garlic, but now knew it for what it really was: the stench of rotting flesh.
On the floor of the cellar, lying in a pool of their own blood, were Brenda and Charlie. Their expressions bore the same terror they had felt upon their own deaths. They had lived long enough to crawl towards each other and grasp each other's hands.
Fitzroy, too, was unable to escape her fate. The blood from her injuries had soaked into the sheets of her cot, which she was still lying on.
"One of the waiters came down here early in the evening when he noticed the fridge was running low on drinks," Sullivan explained. "Found this carnage."
"Jesus," Anna said. She knelt down next to Brenda. "Throat slit. Bled to death right here."
"Exactly the same way Tenenbaum died," Sullivan noted. "I guess you were right after all."
"Don't talk to me," Anna snapped. She walked over to Fitzroy's body. There were some bruises over her body. "Signs of a struggle. She didn't go quietly."
"We found several broken bottles. Apparently whoever killed them was slowed down by the bartender and the bouncer, but managed to off them before getting Fitzroy. They may have been going for a clean kill, but things got messy fast. They left some blood behind, we're trying to find out—"
"How long have these been here?" Anna interrupted. Something was not right.
"Time of death was about three days ago."
Anna looked up. "Three days?"
"Yeah. We don't have any leads yet. I figure you've been on the Tenenbaum case so long, you might—"
"Hold it." Anna raised her hand toward Sullivan. "Brenda and Charlie died three days ago, right? Fitzroy was more recent?" It didn't make sense at all, but it could explain so many things.
Sullivan stared at her. "No…they all died Sunday morning between 9 and 10 AM."
Sunday morning…only a few hours after she had met with them.
"But…that can't be right," Anna stammered. "I've been relaying messages to Fitzroy through her secretary since that afternoon!"
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Detective," Sullivan replied. "I tried letting you know last night. But you hung up."
Anna felt like she was going to vomit. Thoughts raced through her head.
"Makeup hides a lot of things. Zits, scars, dermatitis…but it certainly doesn't hide swelling."
"Of course. I just spoke with Daisy, she wanted to know if you made any progress."
"She wasn't surprised. Only someone on the Board of Improvement could pull something like this off."
"Be careful with this one, songbird. She, too, does what it takes to get a job done."
"Hey, Detective. I just finished talking with Fitzroy about our little escapade…"
An image. A woman who, despite her timid appearance, had slit open the throat of a miner without any hesitation.
"I'm…I'm sorry. But do you really think your little friend from the tests is gonna be able to return to the world after that? You saw what happened to the people on the base. The Fink people, they don't give a shit about their test subjects. They left them to fend for themselves down in that colony, all because a potential product they wanted didn't quite work as well as they had hoped. Soon as Mark Meltzer proves too much of a hassle, do you know what they are going to do?…They're going to flush him out the airlock and write it off as a suicide, just like they did with Brigid Tenenbaum! Because in the end, everybody in Ascension is expendable when it comes to self-indulgence! You, me…everyone in this city…we're doomed!"
"Anna?"
The detective quickly realized that Sullivan was waving his hands in her face.
Anna looked at Sullivan. "Do you know that old saying about how you should keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"
"Yeah…"
Anna took one last look at Fitzroy's body. She turned to Sullivan. "Fuck that."
She bolted up the stairs and out of the cellar, ignoring Sullivan's protests that she needed to be questioned.