Kruez Noir
I
The light flooded into the window, casting the shadow off of the gold lettering- 'B. Crawford, Detective.' Inside the front office, a young man in his late teens sat at the desk, entirely focused on the typewriter before him. The rapid soft clicking of his small, delicate fingers to the keys formed a sort of calm pattern. The desk was a perfectly composed chaos, the surface littered with piles of meticulously stacked files and papers. The young boy was perfectly composed himself, his Japanese features focused and his slim body looking almost awkward in the pressed suit he wore, like it had recently gotten too small for him.
The perfect rhythm of his typing was disturbed as the door opened, hinges creaking faintly. A tall, slightly effeminate German stood on the other side of the door, peering around. When he saw the secretary was in, he closed the door, his long red hair swishing behind him with his motion. He practically sauntered over to the desk and leaned down, close to the boy, who promptly stopped typing and looked up at him with a calm, professional attention.
"Hello. May I help you?" he asked the other man. Sizing him up unnoticeably, his white pinstriped suit was of unusually sharp fashion and the cut was good, his guess was tailor-made.
"Well, that depends. Is Crawford in?" He demanded easily, with the air of a man that is used to being listened to.
"Do you have an appointment?" the secretary asked, clearly not affected by the tone of the German.
"Not formally, but I believe I am expected." He sounded faintly impatient, and the secretary half expected him to flip his hair like an actress.
"I'll ask him. What would he be expecting you by?" The question phrased to let aliases and pseudonyms used in code be accepted.
"Schuldig. He would know me as Schuldig." The German smirked faintly at the name, but the secretary didn't question.
"Just a moment." He lifted the receiver of a heavy black rotary dial phone, and pressed a single button on it. "Crawford?" He asked into it. "There is a man to see you... Yes... All right, I'll send him in." The boy hung up the phone and returned his gaze to 'Schuldig'.
"He is expecting you." He stood up and crisply walked to one of two doors connecting to the main office that had a black curtain pulled over the window.
This door opened silently, revealing a rather cluttered office, dimly lit by a lamp on the desk which was in a higher state of disarray than the desk in the main office. Behind it sat a man in his late twenties, with dark hair, glasses, and strong American good looks. He was hunched over a pile of papers, photographs and bagged evidence, one of his hands in his hair in frustration and his knee length black trench coat still over his faintly rumpled suit. His traditional detective's hat rested on the corner of the desk, more like it had been dropped than placed there. The secretary coughed and the man looked up, and the care faded away from his personality. He closed the folder and stood, straightening his clothes just a little.
"Thank you, Nagi. Leave us." He asked, and the Japanese boy nodded and left, closing Schuldig into the office. The two men surveyed each other, sizing the other up.
"Please, have a seat," the detective directed, gesturing to a chair on the other side of his desk. Schuldig offered him a charismatic smile that inspired wariness, perching in the chair with his legs crossed.
"Refresh my memory. You're looking for your ...companion?" Crawford opened to a fresh page on a notebook and poised his pen to take notes. The German leaned back in his chair, still examining the detective.
"A friend, yes."
"What reason do you have to believe that he's missing? I mean, unusually missing."
Schuldig sounded dryly sarcastic. "Because he's *unusually* not where he's supposed to be."
The detective took a note and looked back up. "And you're sure he didn't just run off?"
"...Yes"
"How are you sure?"
"He's reliable."
"Well, all right. You'll have to give me some more leads, I'm not sure I can find him on that. I'll need to know everything you can tell me about him."
The redhead looked hesitant but nodded. "All right. He's not too difficult to spot, as he's an albino, named Jei McCain but goes by Farfarello. He's 20 years old, probably about 5'6, native to somewhere in Ireland that I've never seen or heard of before. He's a devout Roman Catholic with as he tells me no family to speak of. He's of few words and fewer companions, the only one that comes to mind being myself. That satisfy?"
Looking up from his notes, Crawford nodded absently. It did. "And as you seem set on the idea that he is missing unnaturally, do you have any suspicions on who would do such a thing?"
"Beyond the Church, perhaps, none at all." He looked thoughtful, leaning back further in his chair.
"Why do you say the Church?"
"As I said, he's a devout Roman Catholic, a member of the radical sect of Opus Dei. He kept saying he thought the Pope was discouraging Opus Dei, and he was rather worried about it.."
The pen paused. "Are you yourself religious?"
The German scowled faintly. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Answer the question." His tone remained calm.
"I'd pray to any god that could hear me if I thought it'd do any good."
"Not religious, then."
"As religious an athiest. Why did you need to know?" He pressed, crossing his arms behind his head.
"How did Farfarello deal with your lack of faith? If my information is correct, Opus Dei is rather untolerant of nonbelievers."
"Farfarello and I have our differences, sure, but we work together well. He was a little more accepting than others of his sect."
"Partners in what, might I ask?"
"Security." The answer came almost too easily. "We worked discreetly with a rather exclusive clientele list, providing bodyguarding services, property surveilance, and the sort."
"And how did the two of you get into this buisness, him with the church and all?"
"He had been a monk and was leaving the monestary to practice services in the world. His past before his conversion to the Way was where he gained the skills to be a bodyguard, but he's of few words as I belive I've said and doesn't talk about it much."
"And how did you get involved in the buisness?"
Schuldig looked faintly sheepish. "You must forgive me, but I was unwelcome in the German troops and am myself an army deserter, which forced me to flee my native homeland and join you in this wonderful country." Another practiced speech concluded itself with sarcasm.
"And you partnered up with Farfarello where? Here, in Ireland or in Germany?"
"In Rome, directly after my initial flight from Germany."
"Did the Church pair you as partners or did you do that yourselves?"
"I advertised in the papers in Rome looking for work, and they answered for Farfarello, as an acceptable partner to help him in a real world he was unfamilliar with."
"Did you work alone or with others?"
"Mostly we worked alone. Sometimes there were others."
"What were the others like?"
"They found us through Farfarello's connections, they were also mostly Church related. From the way they talked, they did all kinds of things even I didn't agree with. They were more right-wing than Farfarello, even... We never did anything really *bad* with them, but they worried me."
Crawfor paused talking notes and skimmed over. Schuldig looked at him expactantly, anticipating the next question, but it never came. "Thank you, I have what I need for now. May I have the telephone number of your current lodging, or even just the address so that I might send a telegram?"
Schuldig looked a bit puzzled but took the notecard offered to him and scribbled down a number and an adress, handing it back to Crawford.
"Thank you. I'll get back to you if I have any more questions or require your assistance." The detective stood and opened the door for the German, walked out, a bit confused. He walked into the main office, where the young secretary was just hanging up the phone. Nodding to the boy in a sort of recognition, Schuldig walked out of the office. Crawford slid the card with the hotel name on it into his folder, and put the intercom phone entirley back onto the hook.
I
The light flooded into the window, casting the shadow off of the gold lettering- 'B. Crawford, Detective.' Inside the front office, a young man in his late teens sat at the desk, entirely focused on the typewriter before him. The rapid soft clicking of his small, delicate fingers to the keys formed a sort of calm pattern. The desk was a perfectly composed chaos, the surface littered with piles of meticulously stacked files and papers. The young boy was perfectly composed himself, his Japanese features focused and his slim body looking almost awkward in the pressed suit he wore, like it had recently gotten too small for him.
The perfect rhythm of his typing was disturbed as the door opened, hinges creaking faintly. A tall, slightly effeminate German stood on the other side of the door, peering around. When he saw the secretary was in, he closed the door, his long red hair swishing behind him with his motion. He practically sauntered over to the desk and leaned down, close to the boy, who promptly stopped typing and looked up at him with a calm, professional attention.
"Hello. May I help you?" he asked the other man. Sizing him up unnoticeably, his white pinstriped suit was of unusually sharp fashion and the cut was good, his guess was tailor-made.
"Well, that depends. Is Crawford in?" He demanded easily, with the air of a man that is used to being listened to.
"Do you have an appointment?" the secretary asked, clearly not affected by the tone of the German.
"Not formally, but I believe I am expected." He sounded faintly impatient, and the secretary half expected him to flip his hair like an actress.
"I'll ask him. What would he be expecting you by?" The question phrased to let aliases and pseudonyms used in code be accepted.
"Schuldig. He would know me as Schuldig." The German smirked faintly at the name, but the secretary didn't question.
"Just a moment." He lifted the receiver of a heavy black rotary dial phone, and pressed a single button on it. "Crawford?" He asked into it. "There is a man to see you... Yes... All right, I'll send him in." The boy hung up the phone and returned his gaze to 'Schuldig'.
"He is expecting you." He stood up and crisply walked to one of two doors connecting to the main office that had a black curtain pulled over the window.
This door opened silently, revealing a rather cluttered office, dimly lit by a lamp on the desk which was in a higher state of disarray than the desk in the main office. Behind it sat a man in his late twenties, with dark hair, glasses, and strong American good looks. He was hunched over a pile of papers, photographs and bagged evidence, one of his hands in his hair in frustration and his knee length black trench coat still over his faintly rumpled suit. His traditional detective's hat rested on the corner of the desk, more like it had been dropped than placed there. The secretary coughed and the man looked up, and the care faded away from his personality. He closed the folder and stood, straightening his clothes just a little.
"Thank you, Nagi. Leave us." He asked, and the Japanese boy nodded and left, closing Schuldig into the office. The two men surveyed each other, sizing the other up.
"Please, have a seat," the detective directed, gesturing to a chair on the other side of his desk. Schuldig offered him a charismatic smile that inspired wariness, perching in the chair with his legs crossed.
"Refresh my memory. You're looking for your ...companion?" Crawford opened to a fresh page on a notebook and poised his pen to take notes. The German leaned back in his chair, still examining the detective.
"A friend, yes."
"What reason do you have to believe that he's missing? I mean, unusually missing."
Schuldig sounded dryly sarcastic. "Because he's *unusually* not where he's supposed to be."
The detective took a note and looked back up. "And you're sure he didn't just run off?"
"...Yes"
"How are you sure?"
"He's reliable."
"Well, all right. You'll have to give me some more leads, I'm not sure I can find him on that. I'll need to know everything you can tell me about him."
The redhead looked hesitant but nodded. "All right. He's not too difficult to spot, as he's an albino, named Jei McCain but goes by Farfarello. He's 20 years old, probably about 5'6, native to somewhere in Ireland that I've never seen or heard of before. He's a devout Roman Catholic with as he tells me no family to speak of. He's of few words and fewer companions, the only one that comes to mind being myself. That satisfy?"
Looking up from his notes, Crawford nodded absently. It did. "And as you seem set on the idea that he is missing unnaturally, do you have any suspicions on who would do such a thing?"
"Beyond the Church, perhaps, none at all." He looked thoughtful, leaning back further in his chair.
"Why do you say the Church?"
"As I said, he's a devout Roman Catholic, a member of the radical sect of Opus Dei. He kept saying he thought the Pope was discouraging Opus Dei, and he was rather worried about it.."
The pen paused. "Are you yourself religious?"
The German scowled faintly. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Answer the question." His tone remained calm.
"I'd pray to any god that could hear me if I thought it'd do any good."
"Not religious, then."
"As religious an athiest. Why did you need to know?" He pressed, crossing his arms behind his head.
"How did Farfarello deal with your lack of faith? If my information is correct, Opus Dei is rather untolerant of nonbelievers."
"Farfarello and I have our differences, sure, but we work together well. He was a little more accepting than others of his sect."
"Partners in what, might I ask?"
"Security." The answer came almost too easily. "We worked discreetly with a rather exclusive clientele list, providing bodyguarding services, property surveilance, and the sort."
"And how did the two of you get into this buisness, him with the church and all?"
"He had been a monk and was leaving the monestary to practice services in the world. His past before his conversion to the Way was where he gained the skills to be a bodyguard, but he's of few words as I belive I've said and doesn't talk about it much."
"And how did you get involved in the buisness?"
Schuldig looked faintly sheepish. "You must forgive me, but I was unwelcome in the German troops and am myself an army deserter, which forced me to flee my native homeland and join you in this wonderful country." Another practiced speech concluded itself with sarcasm.
"And you partnered up with Farfarello where? Here, in Ireland or in Germany?"
"In Rome, directly after my initial flight from Germany."
"Did the Church pair you as partners or did you do that yourselves?"
"I advertised in the papers in Rome looking for work, and they answered for Farfarello, as an acceptable partner to help him in a real world he was unfamilliar with."
"Did you work alone or with others?"
"Mostly we worked alone. Sometimes there were others."
"What were the others like?"
"They found us through Farfarello's connections, they were also mostly Church related. From the way they talked, they did all kinds of things even I didn't agree with. They were more right-wing than Farfarello, even... We never did anything really *bad* with them, but they worried me."
Crawfor paused talking notes and skimmed over. Schuldig looked at him expactantly, anticipating the next question, but it never came. "Thank you, I have what I need for now. May I have the telephone number of your current lodging, or even just the address so that I might send a telegram?"
Schuldig looked a bit puzzled but took the notecard offered to him and scribbled down a number and an adress, handing it back to Crawford.
"Thank you. I'll get back to you if I have any more questions or require your assistance." The detective stood and opened the door for the German, walked out, a bit confused. He walked into the main office, where the young secretary was just hanging up the phone. Nodding to the boy in a sort of recognition, Schuldig walked out of the office. Crawford slid the card with the hotel name on it into his folder, and put the intercom phone entirley back onto the hook.