It's been a while since I picked this story up. Sorry, some things may be off from the Max Payne 2 storyline, I have forgotten a lot of what happened in the game, so please just correct me. Prolly not up to par with the first 2 chapters, but I'll make up for it in the next one!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jerry didn't show up the day scheduled to listen to the tape. Ibanez called his apartment several times to no avail; a black and white had even been dispatched to check up on him; no one answered. Upon entering his residence, the officers noticed nothing out of the ordinary; no sign of a struggle or quick departure. Jerry, for lack of a better explanation, had disappeared.
"Well, I guess we should at least look at it Max. No point in waiting for Mr. Hart any longer," Ibanez pulled a plastic bag out of his briefcase and held it up for me to see. It was a plain micro cassette recorder, nothing out of the ordinary in its appearance. "Forensics found no fingerprints or distinguishing marks to help us track down where it was bought. They wanted to keep it a few more days to see if the actual tape could help identify the man on the tape, but lucky enough for us, I was able to snag it for a few hours before they dissect it." He fished the recorder out of the carefully labeled bag and set it gently down on the oak table. "Ready for this Max?" Without waiting for my answer, he clicked the play button down.
The voice was definitely Russian, not that I had expected different. A Vladimir Lem incarnate. In fact, an Ibanez reincarnate sounded just as likely. Looking at him across the table, I wondered if he had anything to do with the hell that had sprung all around me. I guess only time could provide the answer to that.
"Good citizens of this fine city, it is by the demand of my employer that Max Payne be freed of all charges against him. This charge is perfectly reasonable considering the obvious fact of Mr. Payne's innocence. You have two weeks to comply with this very reasonable request, or it is my regret to inform you that another person will be assassinated, someone of much more importance I assure you."
I pressed the stop button down, not wanting to hear any more of it. The hole had reappeared before me, and now I was free falling, alone in the dark of a nightmare I could never understand nor escape. Why would the Russian Mafia, if that was what they were, want me to be released? Was it a setup so they could whack me? Something entirely different? No answers came, only more questions.
"Max...what the hell is going on?" Ibanez watched me carefully from the other side of the table, a bewildered look on his face. Was it all an act? Was he someone I could trust? Was he part of the group who was trying to organize my release? Too many questions. I slumped back in the chair, unsure of what to do or say. I started the tape again.
The voice was instantly familiar. I had heard that voice every day for a year. It was as if the ghost of Detective Winterson had risen from the grave to haunt my life. The last time I had heard her voice outside my nightmares was on a answering machine tape in Vlad's mansion. The fire had destroyed every bit of evidence connecting Winterson to Vlad, and yet here it was, Winterson pledging her love and allegiance to Vladimir Lem.
The message played through its entirety. No metaphors could explain my feelings at this point, I wasn't even sure fully what I was feeling. Ibanez didn't seem to have anything to say either, he just sat back in his chair, pondering whatever thoughts men like him pondered. For 5 minutes, we sat there, silence embracing us. Then without notice, he got up and gathered his things. He picked up the tape and put it back in the evidence baggie and set it carefully into his suitcase. He put on his jacket and said.
"Everything's going to be okay Max, I'll call you soon." With that, he turned and left, completing my isolation. A few minutes later, two officers arrived and took me back to my cell. Even with the supposed help promised by the Russian, I had never felt so alone.