Running into the garage, I throw all my stuff into the trunk. I get in the red Mustang. 'Stupid, incompetent Ugh!' It stalls.
"C'mon! I just got you fixed last week—" The car stutters then starts. By the time I had changed again, the fuzzy clock read '12: 55'.
I zoom into reverse and head to the old Forelli Manor on Staunton Island. Pleeeease let there be no car jacking, traffic jams, or street dodging hobos today… Just this once! I barrel towards the Staunton Island Lift Bridge. To the Far East, I spot a large pillar of black smoke behind skyscrapers and houses, rising high into the sky, slightly obscuring the sun. Must be the ship…
SCREECH! I jam on the brakes. Someone in a blue Maibatzu Monstrosity races in front of me, nearly crushing the hood of my car! I barely miss crashing into a pole and leveling a woman. Some drivers in this city… After living here for years, this type of thing angers you less and less. I shift into reverse backing back onto the road, and sit in misanthropic dread waiting for the wailing cop cars to pass. ...I am so late! Let's go!
By the time I pass the lift bridge connecting Shoreside to Staunton, I have second thoughts about visiting this guy. I know it's rude to be late… Really late… But finding the answer about the drug ring would put this creep behind bars. I wonder if the whole thing is just a set up… Why would he willingly talk with a detective? I pop a Vici mint into my mouth. Probably to seem less suspicious to my boss and the rest of the precinct…
I pull out a map of Staunton Island at a red light. Alright… Forelli…Forelli…1988 West Shore Dr. His house is on the west side of the island, by the docks. Watching a crazy street vendor yell at passing pedestrians, I wonder why people would actually want to live in inner city Liberty. The honking of cars is driving me crazy!
.
.
1985…1986…1987…I carefully examine addresses of huge mansions passing on my right. The busy city quickly faded into a barren pine forest closer to the water. As a long stretch of pine forest rolls by the windows, the city noise, pollution, and cars fade away fast. Looking through the thick woods, I wonder if I had taken a wrong turn back in the city… A squirrel darts across the deserted road. Suddenly, a lone gargoyle reading '1988' emerges from the surrounding brush followed by a hidden dirt road. Guess not…
.
.
My Mustang jerks and pulls off the empty road and heads down the gravel pathway toward the western shore. The forest seemed to get thicker the closer to shore you drive. A stray branch scrapes across the side of my Stang.
.
.
The dirt road led to a small clearing through the pines ahead. My Mustang slowly pulls into the quiet clearing. I go around a large turn-around in the driveway and put my car into park. A huge, extravagant brick manor loomed in the cool, misty sunlight at the center of the clearing. Vines wrapped themselves along the second story balconies of the mansion. Lavish grandiose crystal chandeliers hung over the main entranceway. Wow.
.
.
.
Through a small patch of trees, the ocean glitters into view behind the house. A silent private dock lurks in the water behind the estate. Through the large maple trees, I spot many security cameras. Interesting... The mansion's rear faces Shoreside Vale, the western island where I live.
A sleek red Banshee catches my eye further down the empty drive. It is the only other car in the clearing.
I place a notepad, pen, my badge, and the list of questions into my purse. Stepping out onto the dusty gravel driveway, the full grace of the mansion hits me. With eerie and mysterious statues (complete with water shooting from their mouths) lining the dark walk to the front of the house, it is truly a sight to see. Crows plunge off the top of the mansion, flying dangerously low around the courtyard.
I straighten up and walk up the large stone steps leading to massive double doors. My heels clank over the highly polished limestone.
BRRRRRING! BRRRRRING! I inspect a beetle scaling the viney door as I wait patently.
C'mon…
BRRRRING! BRRRRRING!
Shuffling…then silence.
BRRRRING! BRRRRRING!
A colored semicircle window sat above the double doors. Hmmm…Dropping my purse on the porch, I walk over to the decorative ladder covered in vines near the entrance.
This might work…
I clumsily grab the fading garden ladder and begin climbing. My right foot slips and vines scratch my face, but I use my arms and pull myself to the top. My head pops over the thin ledge and I peek through the indistinct window— Woa! Nice house!
I study the deserted, dim, elegant entranceway for any sign of life. My hands start to slide as I lose my grip. I lean my forehead further against the hazy window. Like there's nobody in there… The red Banshee is a dead giveaway of somebody being inside!
Without warning, a tall figure with a black jacket paces through the entranceway. As he enters the dusty light cast by the window, I spot reddish hair and a hansom face through the thick glass. He seems happy about something…Paul Metziani… It has to be! I recognize his little strut from the previous encounter. From this angle and through the thick glass, I can't be 100% positive however.
I watch stealthily as the rugged ex-con strides to a bureau, unbolts a concealed drawer under it, and removes something… He shoves it in his coat. I intently watch his every move. I can't make out what the object is in the dark entrance and through the smudgy glass though. I grip the ledge more tightly as my heels begin sliding on the vines. I keep an eye on the back of the man's red head.
Another man in a dark coat unexpectedly sulks into the entranceway. Something is going on in there…Wait until my boss hears about this! I knew this guy is connected to these felons.
The two men talk momentarily. The latter of the two turns quickly and walks up the stairs. Paul pauses in the center of the entranceway contemplating about something... His back is turned to me, but I stay focused on him.
Something gently skims over my arm. I shift to see a huge wolf spider on my elbow! Eeeeeeee—I am terrified of spiders—I'll admit. I unravel a spare hand and smack the spider off my arm. WHACK! I accidentally hit the narrow glass pane too.
The offender suddenly stops and turns around. His eyes dart toward the window above the double doors— I duck. I carefully unlatch my hands from the musty ledge and hold myself under the sill. Thump! My heel slides off and hit the porch 10 feet below where I am grasping. I steady my grip on my ladder and start to climb down when...
Ouch! A huge section of my wet hair attaches to the garden ladder and vines! I try yanking my head back, making the knot worse.
Owwww! My head is stuck to the ladder! I can hear footsteps suddenly behind me. Or are they from inside? My face is enwrapped in the vines and dark hair! No!!
I tug on my hair ferociously with a free hand. C'mon! The doors under me, to the side open. No… Don't come out! This is so embarrassing! I grab at my hair.
"…Can I help you?" comes a voice.
I can't see who it is, but I'm sure they have a great view…
"Uuuumm… No, no... I think—I think I've got it under control—" I gasp. I know he meant 'what are you doing here' not 'need help getting unstuck'. The man clears his throat, no doubt probably glaring at me. I yank my hair out of the ladder with one last bit of force — Ow! I mouth a scream, letting no noise come out. I manage to climb back down the fading ladder. I flusterly grab my perse heel.
My hair stung to my face. A tall butler in black and white gives me a repugnant look.
"…Hi—I'm Detective Cherish. I believe Captain Genecky informed you someone is coming over?" The snobbish, uptight, old butler raises his nose, still blocking the doorway. Paul is no where in sight.
"I believe you were expected," He pulls out a gold watch. "2 hours ago."
I pull a leaf out of my messy, damp hair.
"Ah…huh."
Awkward moment… The house behind him has a dark wooden interior, the walls oozed of pure expense draped in red linen, ritzy paintings, and lined with posh leather chairs. I have been on this guy's case for weeks. I did my own private research on him using the precinct's databases and the library. Lots of his 'contacts' have been arrested. I just wanted to come face to face with him…
The man 'Eh-hemmed' again, clearing his throat. I raise an eyebrow.
"Ummmm… Yes…" I straighten my skirt. "I realize—"
"Who is it, Winston?"
I peek over the annoyed butler. Another silhouette walks toward us through the dim corridor. He slowly enters into the light of the doorway. I can see the Forelli brother is nearing 50.
"Ahhh… You must be the ambitious detective that Genecky has been telling me about..." Why would Genecky be talking to you about me?
"You're late."
I put on a fake smile. "I'm sorry…"
"Rough night?" He asks tilting his head.
I don't say a word. It feels so limiting to finally be this close to the person you've been investigating, and to know you are powerless to do anything. He leads me through the massive house occasionally small talking about the paintings lining the hallway. I stay alert for any other people. We pass a busy maid; no one else seemed to occupy the entire house though.
"…And this eighteenth century Verona statue is my favorite." He points to a morbid statue of two people—I think. I nod taking a seat in the large dark oak office. I pull out the list of questions, pen and notepad from my bag.
"Listen, we have reason to believe—"
"We?" The man cuts in smoothly. I narrow my eyes. "Your boss informed me just you were on my case."
"I believe you are funding the manufacturing of SPANK and are connected to these men." I put several pictures of criminals on the dark wood coffee table including and a rare, far-off shot of the sniper that has been terrorizing Liberty City the last few weeks and a mug shot of Paul Metziani. His face doesn't change much.
"Ms. Cherish, what can I get you to drink?" He walks to a hidden drink cupboard behind his desk.
"Its detective, and I don't want anything."
"How about some scotch?" I roll my eyes angrily. I am not getting anywhere.
Tanner's picture catches my eye in my bag. I pull the 8 by 10 black and white photo out.
"…What do you know…About this man?"
His face flashes a different emotion—for a brief second. He turns back to pouring himself a drink.
"The Reaper of Liberty City… I've heard the stories about him... I don't believe them. Do you, Detective?" I look out the large half circle window across the bay not answering.
"…But I did hear he demolished the Cartel's little stands across town—"
"That's great sir," I cut in "but I'm not here to talk about the Cartel— I have reason to believe you are the head of the Forelli family mafia. You and your brother seem to be friends with lots of criminals that have been sentenced to life these days… I'd like to start off by pointing out that I know why you've agreed to speak with me in the first place. " Mr. Forelli pours a cup of scotch still facing the drinks. His graying hair is thick with gel, shining through the musty sunlight.
"You just want everyone to think I'm crazier then ever, suspecting a lonely old man like you." Keep it professional, Mia! He faces me, seeming amused at this.
"Have you met my son, Detective Cherish?"
"What? No, no…" Son? I make a quick note of it on my notepad.
"I didn't realize you—ah, had a son Mr. Forelli…" His blue eyes flash.
"He visits me occasionally…" I glower at him and point to the pictures;
"Does Paul Metziani visit you often too?"
His expression darkens and he changes the subject again.
"Are you ready for the grand police ball next weekend detective?" He stalks closer and takes a seat next to me on the leather couch, his pin stripe suit folding crisply. How does he know about that?! Probably an inside source…
"This year should promise to be rewarding…" I narrow my eyes. He smiles and continues speaking, but not looking at my face.
I clear my throat and his eyes snap away from my chest. "Can we get back on subject please?" I didn't feel like talking about the ball I'm dreading any more then sharing the same room with this shady guy.
"I've heard you've raised over 600,000 dollars—an all time record for the precinct if I'm not mistaken."
I nod, gathering the pictures together. This guy is creepier up close!
"You shouldn't poke your head into places they don't belong, detective…" His eyes seem to penetrate right through you. Shifting uncomfortable, I raise an eyebrow. Excuse me?! He hops to his feet from the leather chair, his expression lightening.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an important client coming over—" He hurries me out of the office.
"Wait! I still have some questions I'd like to ask—"
"Well Detective, then I'd suggest being on time next time." He smiles at this and roughly slams the wooden office door on me, shoving me into the echo-y hallway. Next time? Like that's ever gonna happen.
The dim wide hallway echoes with my shoe steps. The front entranceway comes into view—but something catches my eye. I am all alone in the Forelli's house with unlimited evidence at my fingertips! I am not giving up this opportunity to look around, and after the way that guy treated me… The wooden office doors remain shut behind me. I turn quickly left into a smaller hall. CLINK! CLINK! My heels make too much noise against the reflective, highly polished floor! I walk steadily under a chandelier and past stone pillars. CLINK! CLINK! Pausing, I hurriedly remove my noisy footwear. I run around another corner barefoot and spot a set of large oak double doors. Pressing myself against the nearest wall, I listen for any movement…
A crow caws outside, but some other distant noise catches my attention… I carefully walk past a large fireplace and mirror; stopping at the pair of closed double doors. Pressing my ear against the cool wood, I hear murmurs coming from the other side. The dining room… Hmmm… Let's see who your contacts are, Mr. Forelli... I open my purse and remove the .45 standard issue police gun. I slowly load in a new cold cartridge. I'll show you Genecky—even without a warrant!
Slipping back a few steps, I prepare to bash the door in. 3...2...1— I run, jump, and bash the door in with a kick.
"—Alright everybody freeze! You're all under arrest—" I hold my gun straight out.
A woman's shriek followed by many young children's screams fill my ears. The entire room is filled with people—not just men; but women and children surrounding a large, balloon filled table in the middle. They all stare at me (well more like my gun) with wide eyes.
Then I notice the HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Sign over the back wall. Confetti settles on the ground. A young girl is about to blow out candles on a chocolate cake. Oops…
Awkward moment…I slowly hollister the gun at my side. The faces of everyone in the room stare at me in shock. The little girl bangs the table. The song 'Broken Wings' dully plays in the background.
"Umm…H-hey… Just doing a routine—"
A voice cuts in from behind me.
"Ah, I see you've met my other child, detective—one of my most important clients." I turn to see a smiley faced Mr. Forelli. He strolls into the room to a short, dark haired lady. He wraps an arm protectively around her, as if I'm some sort of raving lunatic. The woman (his wife or girlfriend I assume) stares menacingly at me, with flaring nostrils… I fidget with my purse slightly, continuing a constant glare with the Forelli brother.
"Now if you'll be so kind to let yourself out, I'm sure you can discover where the door is." His cold eyes glint with glee.
I narrow my eyes and back out of the room. I hear murmurs as I walk back through the disassembled doorway.
My pace unconsciously quickens as I look for the exit. It is so frustrating---and embarrassing! The scumbag Forelli's little beady-eyed grin has been permanently etched into my brain.
I furiously round a corner in the dark passageway. A birthday party…? I won't be surprised if I turn this next corner and come face to face with Paul Metziani himself! He has to still be around here somewhere… The source of rushing water comes into view.
An exotic fountain surrounded with potted ferns, sat between three old corridors. I hesitantly near the fountain, and take a seat on the cool rock next to a large fern. My aching feet are throbbing against the marble tile. I protract the uncomfortable heels from my purse and carefully put them on.
.
.
The gulls and crows outside chant, and the large house is very quiet. An unused corridor catches my attention as I skim my nails through the water. Maybe he went to the back of the house…No--Mia! Don't even think about it--You are leaving now! Dimes and quarters glimmer through the shifting water. But if I just get a glimpse of him again…
I'm not normally a sneaky person, but what would you do? All I need is some evidence to show that he is here—
"—Looking for the exit?" I quickly jump to my feet, knocking a potted plant over at the sudden noise— It flies into the fountain, nearly splashing the butler. He has fixed eyes on me again. His focus turns to the sinking plant.
"OH! I'll—here." I pull the murky fern out of the fountain. A large pool of water oozes from the pot all around the fountain ledge. The snobbish butler glares at me.
.
.
.
He opens the front door, nearly shoving me onto the porch.
"I—" He slams the door in my face.
Rushing down the steps, past the leering statues, I dive into my Stang. The red Banshee is no where in sight. I rummage through my purse for the keys to my car. Where are they? I scratch the back of my head. What the— I slowly extract another branchy twig from my hair. Urgh!
I rev my car into gear and zoom out of the darkening clearing. Well, that went well------yeah right! Stopping at a burger joint on the way home, I reminisce on the Forelli manor;
.
How did Mr. Forelli know we raised 600,000 dollars??
.
.
.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
OK, the next chapter will be 'The Fuzz Ball'. Don't worry I'll get that up sooner this time! That should have more action in it and Tanner (Fido) and Paul will be in that for sure. Please review! The more ideas I get, the sooner the next chapter can come up. Tell me what you think!! Please!!?
SmilesK ; P