It was dark, the room's ceiling fixture casting light from only one bulb. She had plenty of LEDs, somewhere, but the ceiling fan in Katie Harmon's office had been designed with fluorescent bulbs in mind, and using all three sockets meant working with a miniature sun boring into her face. The singular bulb only efficiently lit a third of the room, highlighting a cork board she'd bought. As the private investigator worked, she was only a glance away from the visages of the people who'd so far evaded her.
A blown up frame from a CCTV system, cropped to display the visage of a caucasian man who'd taken several payday loans in Nevada and disappeared two months ago. She had a hard time feeling sympathy for the sharks who'd been swindled, but one of them was paying, so she'd chase him for as long as she needed to.
A high school photograph, dominated by an african american teenager's goofy smile. Would be seventeen, if she was still out there. The police had given up, and Katie didn't have much hope for her. However, she'd knocked a suspect from her neighborhood off her list under a month ago, and she hadn't ruled out the possibility the girl had just run away, so there might still be some chance.
In the last two years, that corkboard had become filled with a new category: images of loved ones from all over the indo-pacific region decorated the screen, ranging from Hawaiians to Sri Lankans. These were the most difficult to look at. They weren't a testament to her failures, unlike the others on the board, but knowing the many were face-down in some jungle or crab food at the bottom of the ocean…
It could get a little overwhelming, at times. Still, she couldn't charge much, and since they turned up fairly regularly, it had become a steady source of income for her. She didn't offer much of a rate when her expectations were so low, but it still ensured she made rent with a healthy margin.
Besides, her client's reaction when Katie called to deliver the good news was priceless. Knowing someone was so grateful of her talents was the kind of rush that kept her in this job.
Katie Harmon leaned back in her office chair, taking another bite of the sub sandwich she'd ordered. Despite herself, she still splurged by ordering out for lunches, ensuring she didn't have to spend any of her break time in the kitchen. Sure, making a nice meal for yourself could be relaxing, but with only thirty minutes to enjoy, the private investigator would rather spend the extra money and enjoy herself.
Her phone buzzed.
Kaite groaned, the sandwich's wrapper crinkling as she placed it back on her desk. Her caller ID didn't recognize the number, but it was from Washington. If this was another call about her car's supposed warranty…
"Harmon Detective Agency," She wanted to force a cheery voice, but with her lunch interrupted, stoicism was about the best she could muster, "you're speaking to Harmon."
"Katie Harmon?"
It was worse.
"I told you never to call me again." Katie growled, clenching her phone. She could have lived her entire life without hearing Brad Murray's voice again.
"This is a professional call, detective." The manipulative bastard replied, his voice even. Only someone as familiar with the man as she was would recognize that he wasn't too happy about this, either. "My Commander needs a PI to assist in a national security issue, and you're the best I know."
The shallow complement stirred a flicker in Katie's chest, but she ruthlessly stamped it down. If anyone else had said that, she'd agree. Katie had scoped out her competition in California, and knew without a doubt that she was the best in the state, if not the west coast. However, the bastard was a psychologist and spy. Of course he'd know how to pull her strings.
"What can I do that NCIS can't?" Katie snapped, pulling a map up on one of her monitors. Washington was awfully far North. She was far too busy for a road trip, so she'd have to schedule a flight, and with this little notice the price would be exorbitant.
"It's classified." Brad clipped. "We can brief you if you agree to a background check."
"That doesn't answer my question." She growled.
A sigh filtered through the phone's speaker.
"Look. This situation is… big. There's been a revelation, and whatever we do now will be international news in a year to two. Political considerations prevent us from using government intelligence agencies, so credit for how this investigation is handled will land on your shoulders." That was a warning flag, if Katie ever heard one. A job was one thing, but if it got her on the shitlist of law enforcement, then it wouldn't be worth it. "If you're successful? Your face will be all over the news. If you're not? Then I'm the one who's at fault for hiring you. You win, either way."
"Taking you down a peg would be worth a lot of money…" Katie mused, unsure herself if she was serious.
"This is more important than that, Kaite." Brad's reply came immediately, without the tinge of annoyance she expected. Odd, either he'd gotten even better at concealing his emotions, or this really was serious.
It was an… interesting proposition. Seeing Brad again was a major reason to refuse the job, of course, and getting involved in inter-agency politics wasn't on her bucket list, but if what he was talking about was true…
Being an investigator was an inglorious job. Sure, if the cards fell right your client could fall head over heels for you, but generally things were limited to that scope. Katie had trouble imagining what situation could possibly net such major attention, but the idea that she could get the spotlight brought back memories of the mystery novels she'd used to read, or those old noir films none of her friends understood.
It probably wasn't as big as Brad was making it out to be, but besides the fifteen minutes of fame he promised, any public recognition could do wonders for her business. Things weren't bad now, but plenty of corporations said the same thing until it was too late for them. Having a public image could do wonders for her financially, and she wouldn't mind the attention, either.
Against her better judgment, Katie Harmon, Private Investigator, sighed.
"Alright, I'm in. What do you need from me?"
This better be worth it.
When Captain Murray initially placed his phone call, Nashville's own work stalled. She'd already spent several hours researching interrogation techniques and tricks, trying to figure out how to crack those two abyssal pilots she still had stewing in her brig, but by now any distraction was welcome. Besides, Murray's tone had seemed a bit more… strained than what Nashville would have expected from a business contact, meaning this 'Katie Harmon' was clearly more than just a business associate.
More specifically? Nashville wasn't sure if she wanted to think too much about it. The prospect of trying to tease the answer out of him sounded much more interesting. Had she discovered a weakness in his stoic armor? As the Captain's conversation drifted over acronyms like ANACI and NACLC, Nashville instead tried to remember some of the best lines she'd heard her crew use to get under each other's skin. They were on duty, so best to avoid something too crude, but if she was too tame about it she probably wouldn't get much of a response.
Oho, do I have competition?
Almost immediately, Nashville tossed that line out. She still wasn't entirely sure what to make of Murray, and besides, while plenty of other shipgirls played with fire Nashville wasn't sailing anywhere near fraternization regulations. When she figured she was established enough for a relationship, there were plenty of officers Nashville could flirt with without compromising the chain of command. It made her sound too much like Brooklyn, anyways.
So… how was she in bed?
Yeah, that could work. Nashville hadn't really had the chance to try out some of the baser aspects of her new form, but she'd heard plenty about it. The point wasn't to try and start a conversation, anyways.
"Alright." Captain Murray concluded, the statement's finality drawing Nashville's attention back to the conversation. "Have a nice day." The man terminated the call, closing his eyes as he allowed the government-issued phone to fall to his desk. His shoulders rose as he slowly drew in a breath, letting the air out in a tired sigh.
Nashville's line died on her lips as the Captain looked directly at her.
"Want some advice, Ensign?"
"Sure?" The Cruiser responded, momentarily confused.
"Never enter a relationship with someone thinking you'll be able to 'fix' them." Murray started, picking up his half-filled cup of coffee. As he spoke, he shook it slightly, his eyes glued to the liquid as it sloshed. "You'll only make things worse for both of you."
"Ah." Nashville replied. So, she was looking at a sore spot, then. Another thought came, however, and Nashville couldn't help herself. "But… You were a psychologist, right? Wasn't that your job?"
"I was training to be a therapist." Murray clarified. "Even then, Therapists don't 'fix' clients. We try to diagnose psychological issues, and give them strategies that have helped people to deal with those issues." He took a swig of the coffee, draining a significant portion of it before continuing. "Whether they actually do that is up to them."
"Huh." Nashville replied. Another question came to mind, this one far more important. "Hold on, then. How does that relate to Abyssals?"
"What do you mean?" He asked. The spook straightened, perhaps sensing the change in subject.
"I mean, The Jellyfish Princess hadn't been all there-" Even though her roll in the Battle of Bikini had been pretty minor, everyone had heard the Princess's nihilistic ramblings over the radio. "-but she certainly wasn't trying to get over herself."
"I see." Murray acknowledged. "Abyssal Princesses aren't at all like a client with narcissism or depression." He chuckled a bit to himself, perhaps glad for the change of the subject. "It's more like you have a friend who's hiked up on bath salts, but you just need to get them to recognize you before you can calm them down."
He frowned, looking thoughtfully back at his coffee. "Maybe that analogy doesn't fit very well. I mean, you will have to subdue them if you want to talk sense into them, but their high doesn't end if you leave them alone, and it immediately ends if you do get to them. Also, the process is a lot more like making them recognize themselves…"
Murray shook his head, looking back at Nashville.
"Point is, purification strategies use a similar knowledge base as a therapist, but the tactics are much different. PACOM isn't going to sit the Central Princess on a chair so I can ask her about any dreams she's had, but I have advised on our plans relating to the Oahu offensive."
"Alright." Nashville acknowledged. Maybe it was because she knew the Abyss had one of her sisters, but the Captain had her full attention. "How can I get you to draw up a plan on saving Phoenix?"
"We don't know the Princess in the Falklands is Pheonix." He replied, evenly.
"Bullshit." Nashville challenged. "Who else could it be?"
"We don't know." He replied, shrugging. "There haven't been any reconnaissance missions to the Falklands that I know of. The Princess there keeps to herself, and like the Northern Princess her ships warn traffic that gets too close instead of immediately sinking it. Compared to enemies on The African Coast and in The Med, she just hasn't been a priority."
Shit, this wasn't a point she could argue, was it?
"Okay, you'll need someone to check it out, then?"
Murray's eyes suddenly widened. What was he-
"You're not thinking of going AWOL, are you?"
"What?" She hissed. The question even got several of Murray's other subordinates to look up from their work, although Nashville was sure many had been watching the conversation already. "Of course not!"
She hadn't even considered the idea! She had too much unfinished business here, anyways.
You better show up soon, Wo.
Still, there had to be someone she could talk to to get a mission like that started. It was a little out of the way for a submarine, though. How could she convince someone in the brass to greenlight some reconnaissance?
This sounded like something she needed to brainstorm with her other sisters. After learning they'd kept the nature of Abyssal Princesses from her, she had a bone to pick with them, anyways. It would be easier if she could get reassigned to a cruiser division, but that once again meant she needed to find that damn monster.
Let's see, if Nashville was an eldritch aircraft carrier hellbent on hunting down her former boss, where would she be?
Readers, meet tertiary character. Tertiary character, meet readers. Honestly, if it wasn't for Nashville's conversation with Murray at the end of this interlude, I probably wouldn't have published this. Melodrama for its own sake is the last thing I want to add to this story, but the antagonist duo has really grown on me so using the private eye to give them a bit more development sounded like a good idea. At the end of the day, giving the person with perhaps the most experience hunting people a unique personality should make her hunt for Red Wo-tober a bit more interesting.
Anyways, hope you enjoyed! If not, Trinitite will be the center of the next couple of chapters, as always.