Act I - Damsels Need Distress

It was a cold night, rain creating a light sheen on the brick sides of closed storefronts and puddles adding a light tinkling to the sound of her footsteps. She made long strides through the night air, her heels striking the ground with force. One hand held her coat close to her body, and the other cradled envelopes within the fabric cocoon where they could be safe from moisture. And yes, that's one hand short of an umbrella, for anyone counting.

Rain had darkened the top of her pillbox hat and threatened to seep through to her hair, but luckily the destination was right ahead. Upstairs from the dentist, a short rod-iron staircase away, was the humble business office of detective Zag Wylde.

A known wit in those parts, and with a name that filled the front window, one would think any gal would be flustered to have a key to his place. Fran knew better. After an aggressive dig through a small purse, she dragged out a copper key - but it slipped from her damp, gloved hand. A sharp, resentful hiss escaped her, and the breath fogged the air. Leaning down, she picked it up without much fuss, but while she was down there, she spotted a shadow…

Not pausing to give any indication of her notice, Franny slid the key into the lock with practice and rolled inside, closing the door and locking it behind her in one smooth motion. Sidling up to the window so as not to appear through it, her gaze ran over the business backlot below. From around the corner leading to main street, she could see a shadow outlining a dented Stetson. Cody Plicket. One of Areno's greener boys.

First Zag, now this… a gangster tail was the last thing her pile needed.

Fran left the lights off but traversed the moonlit office with familiarity. The envelopes went straight onto an inbox, or rather a small mountain of documents that presumably had an inbox lying somewhere underneath. At this point, she could sell it off as a museum diorama of the layers leading to the Earth's core.

The key went into a candy bowl on the desk, and the moment after was just Fran, coat still dripping, office in the dark, staring firmly at the untouched door to Zag's office.
What was the emotion at this point? Impatience and frustration was so long ago, but it couldn't be apathy yet. Not with how her fist was beginning to grip her coat…

She left it and her hat on her desk and crossed over to Zag's door, opening it without much ceremony. The room smelled of dust and celluloid. Bottle that, put it on a shelf, and label it 'high hopes, no rope.' Wordy for a perfume, but It'd fit on a big enough tub. She wouldn't sit in his chair, or longingly pet his notepad. Fran just crossed her arms and stared at the place, a stern look carved into her brow.

The wall was all dressed up in articles, candid photos, and notes. Strings ran from one section to another, loosely portraying his train of thought on whatever case was being cobbled together through interviews, reports, and hunches. Some spare '38 amo was tucked to the side of the desk, and next to it, a several-days-late calendar had the handwritten note: "Check in on G."

A scowl had slowly worked it's way across her lips remembering how flippantly she'd insisted he get it over with. How frustrating it was getting him to follow through on any sentimental chores. Visit Commissioner Frankfort's grave, look over Alice's cold case, and most reluctant of them all, check in on-

The door knocked and Fran's eyes shot through the office doorway to the reception area. It was still dark, save for some moonlight. Had to be Cody - nobody would know she was there if they hadn't seen her walk in.

"Jiminy," she muttered. "The blackmail episode already?" This would be a tricky one to play out while Zag was gone cloud-hopping. She grabbed the amo off the desk and light-footed it back to her desk where she'd laid her things. As quietly as she could, she slid the glove off her right hand, eased it into her purse, and pulled out a decent-sized hand cannon. As it was, she wasn't the sort to keep a loaded gun on her arm, but before she could stock it, the door knocked again. This time, the walls rattled with it.

"Oh, DETECTIVE!" Cody was a young thing, but he had pipes. Fran might be intimidated if she hadn't seen the ending to this play so many times. Even with Wylde out of the shot, it was hard to be scared of a man that, in two acts, would be sold out by his own boss.

"You're gonna have to take a number, Hun!" Fran slid two bullets in - one for a warning, and one for if the first message didn't go through. "Business hours are up, and Monday's a bank holiday - you know it goes."

"Lady, you ain't a part of this!" Cody bellowed, and the doorknob did the jitterbug.

"Ain't a part of this!?" Fran unlocked the door herself and threw it open, startling the large gangster on the other side who took a hasty half-step back. She'd put an angry hand on her hip, and that's where her gun sat as an afterthought, but Cody was keenly aware of it all the same. "Listen, bub, who do you think keeps the wheels greased around here!?"
She wasn't supposed to be talking to him.

"Who do you think, day in and day out, is playing patsy so he can be the hero!?"
It was Zag's job to tell the story, and her job to make sure he looked good doing it.

"And you know what else!?"
But he wasn't here, so what's the look?

Fran was still. Her veins were out, her hair shaken with a few strands loose, her finger raised to accentuate a point, but nothing came out. Cody was even a gentleman, let her have a moment to find the right words. But eventually it was clear that nothing was coming down the line.

He hesitated, looking her over, before pulling out a small, powder-blue envelope and shoving it into her hand.

"Just see that he gets this," Cody said, and with a sigh finally breaking her out of her trance, Franny snatched it up.

"'And heeds what it says,' yeah, yeah…" she shut the door with no trace of concern for the man on the other side. Even as he could be heard awkwardly descending the metal stairs, her mind was miles away. It was off on some grassy, provincial hill, staring up at greatness, making promises.

That's what it always came back to, wasn't it? The fact that she chose this. The fact that giving in to the frustration was giving up on that commitment. Big girl pants, Fran..

If Zag were here, this would be the part of the episode where she acted all exasperated about the attention he'd been drawing from Areno, veiling actual concern about his high profile. He'd respond all nonchalant with a grin, but he'd be veiled, too. Veiling the fact that he pocketed the letter without showing her what was inside.

A real pickle. It was in her nature to be a snoop, so she could open it, but that nature served a narrative purpose. Usually that purpose was to get in trouble so Zag could show off all his qualities while getting her out.. and she didn't mind the occasional rescue one bit, but that meant if he wasn't there, neither was her excuse to go poking around.

The little blue letter twisted in her hands. It was a bit rigid, like there was a Polaroid inside. Fran turned on her desk lamp and confirmed a visible square shadow when she held it up to the light. A picture? Of what? The rest of the episode never showed it - not to her, anyway. Areno would tell Zag to drop the Alice case. Zag would turn it around on him, incriminate Cody, and put the squeeze on Areno till he had to bus the kid to get the heat off, at which point Zag would be safely left alone. But what could Areno have on him to make him think he could order Wylde around in the first place?
She sighed. Of course the moral paragon was conveniently out of the room for her big dilemma. Real sidekick stuff.. just like she signed up for.

Of course, she wasn't the only one with a hard time and a chipped shoulder. She could write a tear-stained tell-all on Zag, if she had the time and the paper. Canceled before his biggest case could see it's conclusion, stuck in this bleak loop where every case already has it's tidy, episodic conclusion… what is there to really solve anymore when there's nobody watching? No screen to peer through and puzzle out. Just a bunch of scripts and an obligation to keep to them. Her misery was starting to find an awful lot of company… the difference, of course, being that Zag went off and Fran was still here.

Always at the ready.

Always on stand-by.

If the screen came on that second, she'd have a real time trying to keep the show going on without its lead prop. With the screen, off, though… what was really the harm…?

Act II - On The Case

The hat was too big and the coat made her look like a slouch, so Fran had to go shopping to get the detective vibe down. A long mauve coat, movie star shades, and a fish net screen hanging off a new hat - add a dove pin to the lapel, and you've got the front page photo. She may not've had his boxing stance or sharp jaw, but her instincts were sharp and her wit was sharper. It was time to solve the case of 'how to solve a case without a main character.'

First step was obvious. Read the letter. She'd been working her nerves up, but eventually decided she'd dodge the actual blackmail photo for now and only peep the message. The seal on the little blue envelope was weak, like it had given up from the stress of housing a secret. After one sharp shake, the photo fell down and Fran's eyes stayed up, feeling around the desk top for the rest of the envelope's contents. In addition to the photo was a torn-off bit of stationery. The letterhead was cut off, but was clearly labeled as 'from the desk of Ford Porter.' That was the bank manager who recently had surgery done to remove his nose from Don Areno's trousers. Subtle little show of influence. Subtle as a truck.

Scrawled on it in Areno's famously elegant handwriting was a simple yet firm message:

Docks, dusk, alone, or it goes to the press.

"Dusk, my caboose." She muttered. "Can't just give a time like a normal man of business?" It was still the morning after Cody's delivery, minus a bit of shopping. That gave her a few hours to run around town before the vague window of sundown, and she was fairly certain of her first stop.

The foyer of The Pristine Daily Press was immaculate, but it had only been so recently. All the rich marble tiles were installed about a week after Areno got his grip on the banks. There was a little plaque and everything thanking Mr. Porter for the donation. If there was a threat on Zag's secrets, it was gonna be the Pristine who carried it out.

Macy Cardburrow was the gal at the front of the newspaper office. They used to be in the Girls' Brigade together, but after finishing school, the road split. There was the occasional pleasantry at the supermarket, but nothing familiar. Those pleasantries were real pleasant, though.

"Macy!" Franny said in an ecstatic, drawn-out way. The little blond behind the counter looked over with those big blue doe eyes of hers and a smile split her face.

"Francine!" Her voice was high and smooth, like a pull-strong doll. When she bounced out from behind the counter, Franny saw that she had the waistline of one, too. Some girls get all the luck.

"Oh my lordy, don't you look like a reporter back there!" Franny said. "When are they gonna start letting you write the headlines?"

"I'd rather be diggin ditches! You know how much pressure they put on those fellas?" Macy laughed. "I've been workin' here four months and I seen more men than that go bald."

"There's just no glamour anymore!" Franny threw a dramatic hand up before landing it on Macy's shoulder. "But y'know, I have heard you've got a story."

"Can't imagine who you'd hear that from," Macy said, but she reached a hand up to touch her hair. Franny avoided a reaction. "Nothing goin' on here but Areno's bid for the mayor's chair."

"There's no escaping politics!" Franny said. "Unless, of course, there were somethin' else on the back burner. Somethin' all prepped and in the barrel, ready to blow."

Macy let out a little laugh. "Hey, if you're offerin', I can put you through to Leads." She made her way back around the desk, putting her hand on the phone and everything. Franny put a hand up.

"No, no." Franny sighed. "I got nothin,"

This was where Zag'd put the squeeze on. 'The Pristine's in Areno's pocket and so are you,' she could hear him saying. 'You want the blood on your hands, or his? Cause it's gonna spill and it's gotta come from somewhere. Now tell me - who developed the photos, and whose got the story ready and waiting for Areno's call?'

But she looked at Macy smiling in a confused way behind her desk. She had a lot fewer road miles on her sweet little face than Fran did, and there was a bouquet of flowers from some dapper Dan on her desk. At least a half dozen lilacs, fresh from that morning. Macy was young, and living that sweet little life. Franny didn't have it in her to shake her down.

What a wuss I am.

"Well," Macy said, a little awkward now that there'd been a long enough pause. "Why'd you come down? You wanna grab a joe?"

"Oh, um," Fran glanced around a moment. "I just found a cat down by the dentist's that didn't look like a stray. Can I get a form for a lost and found ad?"

"Certainly!" Macy said, rolling her chair right around to the file cabinet behind her. "The poor thing! I feel like that's just happening more and more, lately. I dunno what people are thinking, bringing cats into a packed city like this!"

"Yeah," Franny said, and she left with the form in her hand and some extra blush in her cheeks.

What a dumbo she felt like. Zag would've had the ammo to flip the whole thing on Don by now, but here she was wasting time. And the worst part was, she didn't even know how much pressure to be under. Whatever that photo was of, back at the office, it could be anything. Could be a bad grade school photo, could be some awful crime from Z's time before the agency. So was she fighting for his life, or his dignity? Just what level of panic was she supposed to be sitting on, here?

The obvious urge was to go back to the office and find out, but the real play was to assume the worst and fight like hell to get the story back on script before the credits roll. She slid a hand over the brim of her little hat and gave it a firm tug into a more determined position. Her stride lengthened, too. It's almost like she was serious, or something.

The problem with plans is you need the spine to carry them out. Here it was, late evening, and Franny was headed towards the docks without so much as a clue. On one hand, she knew the show'd go on no matter what happened. But on the other hand.. What if she messed it up? What if tomorrow's paper had Zag's big, dumb, handsome, half-shadowed face plastered all over it cause she couldn't cover for the big lug? And what if Franny saw that secret and couldn't unsee it, no matter how stable things got after Zag got back?

If, she suddenly realized. If Zag made it back. If he met the same mysterious fate as his associate, she could be stuck in this world alone and it could keep playing out with the consequences of her shoddy excuse for a best effort.

What a time to walk up to an expensive black car at the edge of a peer.

Two thugs, little green Cody and an ugly fella named Lester, were standing in their most intimidating poses a few feet ahead of the man himself. Don Areno.

He was tall and robust, with a square jaw and some neat silver hair that slicked down to a few stray curls along his neck. A smart scarf wrapped over a suit that probably cost more than the office's annual rent, and he was looking at her with those narrow eyes that could make an astronaut feel like they'd fallen short.

"Well, hey there," She said, glancing back and forth between the three men. "Nice to meet you, I'm the elephant in the room."

"You're no detective," Areno said in his low, smooth voice. Man should've had a career in radio. "That's for sure."

"Yeah, well, he's a bit busy with…" The celluloids wouldn't understand the truth. "That thing you told him not to do."

"Alice's case." He almost laughed, but there was a sadness to his tone that stopped him. "That one's not cold enough to drop yet, ay?"

"Dame like that's gonna stay hot for a long time," Franny said. "Not matter how many feet deep you had your boys put her." Cody and Lester shifted uncomfortably. She didn't think he'd get two numbskulls like them to have pulled the tragedy of the century, so they must've just not liked the mental image of the shovel in their hands.

"You've got a mouth on you, miss." Areno cordially said. "But I've got a campaign to run, and your boss' efforts have not only been fruitless in finding that dear girl's actual killer, but they've been defaming my good name, as well."

"There's the river," Franny replied, pointing off the edge of the peer. "Go cry it."

That's when Lester took three long steps toward her and grabbed the collar of her coat. Some big muscle head's hands were an inch from her neck. She was suddenly refreshed to the fact that she, a young lady, was alone with the town's most infamous alleged lady disappear-er.

"You don't speak to Mr. Areno that way."

"Cody," Areno tiredly said, and the kid ran up to drag Lester's hands off of her. She was stiff-frazzled by the bluntness of the exchange, but when Cody's sleeves were up by her collar, she smelled something very distinct. Lilac.

Act III - The In

Macy's desk. The morning's fresh flowers from an admiring gentleman. Areno's access to the press. It made sense, too. You don't go handing the story of the century to a reporter and expect them to hold onto it if demands are met. The little trail chasers are just gonna leak it anyway to sell papers if they're losing hair to the grind already.

But you can't keep it on your person for a meeting or Zag's got the opportunity to take you out and pocket the evidence, no word to the wiser.

So what do you do? You just get your young, eager-to-please goon with a typist lady-friend to have her sit on the story, one phone call away. No matter how the deal at the docks goes down, she gets a call and does anything for her well-to-do boyfriend and his influential boss. Areno gets his way, Macy's in the clench, and Cody's stuck in the middle. What a bunch of marionette strings.

"You know he's not gonna drop the Alice case," Franny said, brushing off her coat collar with a sour look towards Lester.

"Oh, I almost hope so." Areno said, and it was always so layered in pity. "I'd love to see what the town thinks of their hero detective after tomorrow's headliner."

"Can't be worse than what they'll think of you when he catches you out," Franny said, all hot air but still brisk.

"So what, he ignores my advice but passes my invitation on to you? A bit rude of the man to send a little lady out here. I hope he's prepared for the consequences of that."

"Yeah," Franny said, and she looked over at Cody. "It's pretty crummy to put a girl in the middle of things. How long've you two been steady?"

"What?" Cody looked thrown, like it was supposed to be some big secret. Maybe he hadn't told his folks yet.

"So what?" Areno said. "I take care of my people."

"And Cody's people?" Fran snapped back. " I thought he was your mail boy."

"I ain't no mail nothin'," Cody spoke up, and Areno shot him a dangerous look for it.

"If Wylde's not showing up, our business here is immaterial," He started to say, but Fran took an aggressive step toward Cody.

"You want to keep doing this to her? Having her pocket all the pressure? You feel like a big man when Areno keeps you around cause your girl's useful?"

"She's not in any danger," Cody rebuffed.

"That's enough," Areno said, but that smoky, stern voice wouldn't shake Francine.

"Oh no? She won't get fired if she's found keeping big breaks from the Pristine?" Her hands were on her hips now to keep from shaking. "She won't get threatened if the next geek your boss targets is less civil than Zag about his personal history spreading around? Cause if I knew some little thing in the front office was holding my laundry, I know whose hands I'd be comin' for, and not to play patty-cake."

"She's not in any danger!" Cody said again, like he'd been convincing himself of it for the better part of the week.

"Tell that to the city's authority on being dangerous around young gals." Francine said, and Areno took one slow step forward.

Francine, Cody, and Lester all gave pause as he moved with the level ease of a serpent. Reaching into his coat, he drew out a small pistol and turned it over like he was inspecting it for smears.

"You know," Areno said, but he hadn't looked up from the gun yet. "I'm getting a little tired of that reputation."

His own goons didn't budge, evidence of Areno's famously unpredictable nature. The three of them could only watch the man as he checked the gun's chamber and pulled it back.

"I try to support local business," he said, "I run for mayor so I can improve thie beautiful city that brought me up from nothing," The gun was aimed at the ground now, and the dock creaked as though the water beneath their feet was squirming at the end of the barrel. "But no matter what I do, I can't outrun that tenaciously defamatory boss of yours. I sick my dogs, but he's off like a wild hare. Well. Everybody in the city seems to think I did it."

He took another step forward. Franny's eyes were fixed on him.

"Every Tom, Dick, and Harry seems to agree that I iced Alice. Well that makes me one seasoned lady kller, huh? And at a point, it wears a man down. Makes him wanna give in and be the ugly thing everyone already believes, y'know?"

The gun raised until it leveled with her gaze.

"And it'd be simple, too." Areno said.

"Boss," Cody reflexively let out a bit of his worry. Didn't come down to the docks to aid in a murder, it seemed.

"Don't you worry, Plicket. I'm not so simple a man." The gun went up, and then down to his side where he unloaded it and let it gently back into the confines of an inner breast pocket. The whole night exhaled.

"It's not gonna be simple," He said, "Winning this town over from the poison Wylde's spun against me, but if I can't take one lady mouthing off to me in my own shipping yard, I'm gonna make one flake of a mayor, huh?"

"Can't say I don't got a horse in this race," Francine said, her heart still racing, "but I'm inclined to agree with you."

"Well I'm out of the business of fighting fire with fire." Areno's posture straightened. "Your boss' story is safe, but he's gonna have a heck of a time making his way up to the high road I just took, you understand?"

"Yeah, you're very honorable." Francine said. "Can I get outta here without a bullet in my back?"

"For tonight? Sure," Areno graciously offered. "Plicket, tell that gal of yours that the story's scrapped, but get her a nice dinner at D'Vinno's."

"S-sure, boss." The kid stammered, and headed off around the car towards a payphone. Francine was already back turned, feet moving. No need to rest on ceremony when she'd been given the out. She flinched a little when she heard the car doors close, but other than that, it was a warmer-than-usual night's walk back to the office.

Of course, she wasn't really calm until morning came and the headline was just the week's third fluff piece on the local elections. No Zag, no tea. Job done. It certainly wasn't usual for Fran to get out of trouble with her big mouth, but there you had it. The only thing left to do was… tie up loose ends.

The desk was dimly lit and still had her yesterday's hat thrown on it. There was the polaroid, too, face down in front of the typewriter. She sat in her little rolling chair with a strange, trance-like precision, never taking her eyes off it. She trusted Zag beyond anything, and several times literally with her life, but… what if one little picture dug up from some skeezy hound of Areno's was able to shake all that? What if for the first time in decades of sedentary cancellation, the show… changed? There'd be added tension, dramatic irony, conflict… not just the same cases looping over and over again to no audience.

What if the independence she had today could stay, and that decision was all in her hands? Then she could be like a main character, too. Not just a sidekick.

"Did God really say, `You must not eat from any tree in the garden'?"

Footsteps came up the stairs from the Dentist's floor and two shadows filled the frosted glass of the detective agency door. The two men entered with practiced ease and came up to the desk where Franny sat, typing away how she had a million times before and then some. But a smile of relief was quickly taking over her face. A leg came up onto the desk, and then a hand leaned on it, too. Franny looked up at the big jerk they belonged to.

"Well, if it ain't Detective Zag Wylde." She said. "Been a minute, Z."