The waiting room at the police station wasn't quite what Johnny expected. No mirror glass, no link on the table to be handcuffed to, and what's worse it was a well-lit with tan walls. At a time like this, he actually would have liked the mirror, to check on his hairdo if nothing else.
Having been two hours since his arrest, he could only guess why they were making him wait. Was it to make him nervous, sweat out a confession? Could he hold under pressure, or would he buckle and give up his accomplices? Every time he tried imaging the scenario, the tan walls of the room brought him out of the illusion. This was no police procedural drama; it was real life and that thought felt so boring and unsatisfying.
An officer with a clipboard and a tired expression which betrayed years of filling out the same paperwork in triplicate every day.
"Just for the record, can you state your name and birthdate and last four digits of your social security number?" asked the officer.
Sitting up straight, Johnny complied with the request and the officer scribbled on his papers before letting out a sigh.
"And were you made aware of your rights when you were taken into custody by the officers?" the officer asked.
"I was." said Johnny.
Reaching over the table, the officer unlocked Johnny's handcuff and gave him the clipboard and a pen. "Please sign there and initial there." The officer instructed and Johnny complied. Before handing the clipboard back, Johnny saw a strange seal on the document, which seemed to be some kind of release form.
Rising from his seat, the officer gave a knock on the door as it was unlocked, and he exited into the hallway. "He's all yours then Agent."
"Thank you Officer Sidney." said a woman with an authoritative and slightly British accent.
Shutting the door behind her, the woman hung up her overcoat before sitting at the table across from him. Her cool gaze hidden behind designer sunglasses stood in sharp contrast to her red hair and a clear passion for her profession.
"I never forget a face. It's nice to see you again, Ms. Bonded." said Johnny.
"I'm surprised you remember Mr. Bravo. What with all the neurotoxin and drugs you were accidentally exposed during our last encounter." said Jane.
"Oh, I don't remember any of that. Just something about you kissing me and spending the next week in a coma."
"My apologies for that."
"I've had worse dates."
"Quite." said Jane, obviously hoping that the pleasantries were out of the way.
"So, what brings you out my way again? I didn't stumble upon you while you were working, did I? You weren't disguised as that dog, were you?" asked Johnny.
"Not exactly. You see, Agent Penrod is one of our deep cover operatives. Usually we put him on low threat assignments, but recently he's been on a hot streak, so we've given him more complex and dangerous tasks, which he's succeeded at marvelously." said Jane.
"You mean the pooch that beat me up seven ways from Sunday? He works for you?" asked Johnny.
"Well over the years he's been transferred from one agency to another, we took him in a few years ago just to keep him from becoming a freelancer."
"Consider yourselves lucky then. He's a sharp one."
"Quite." said Jane, looking over Johnny's torn and dirty clothes.
"So… is this the part where you ask me what I was doing at Red Dust Imports?" asked Johnny.
"You're working with Mystery Incorporated to investigate a case regarding strange artifacts connected with your extended family in the wake of the death of your Aunt Jebedissa." said Jane.
"Okay, so you have a better handle on it than I do." said Johnny.
"You've been tagged in no fewer than six social media posts with Mystery Incorporated in the past two days." said Jane, handing over printouts of Shaggy's instafriend and mylink posts.
"Well so much for hoping I could keep them out of trouble." said Johnny.
"Oh, I'm afraid you're in worse trouble than you realize." said Jane. "You see, your extended family are tied in with some very shady enterprises. While Red Dust is clean, we've found enough evidence of their associated companies of everything from gun running to industrial espionage to tie them up in lawsuits for the next decade."
"So, you're going to chew me out for almost jeopardizing your operation?" asked Johnny.
"Not exactly. You see, we were never quite able to place who their overseas partner was. Until today." Jane handed Johnny a photo of a bald, vaguely Asian man that Shaggy had taken a polaroid of.
"Yeah, this is the guy at the warehouse tonight. He was loading some crates there tonight." said Johnny, deciding to keep quiet about the strange bronze artifacts.
"Vogel Zanastar. We've had a file on him for some time, but it's been nothing but question marks. All we've known about is the name and a few shaky potential leads and dead end leads and accomplices. But whatever you and Mystery Incorporated are up to has… shaken the beehive as it were."
"Is this the part where you tell me to back off because it's too dangerous?" asked Johnny.
"That's what my superiors would suggest, but I have operational discretion for this mission. And my gut tells me that the kind of trouble you're liable to get up to is just what I need to break the case." said Jane, taking back the folder from Johnny.
"And if I don't cooperate, I guess you'd throw me back to the cops." Johnny stated, knowing the answer behind her frosty expression was a yes. "Okay, I'll do it, but only because I was planning on sticking my nose into this with or without your permission."
"It is shaping up to be an odd mix of a family situation with very personal stakes." said Jane. "I can't guarantee your safety in this matter, nor can I offer you any direct help. But perhaps an emergency lifeline might help." Sliding a card across the table, Jane stood up from the desk and went to the door. "Don't bother asking how to contact me, I'll keep in touch."
Placing his hand on the card, Johnny kept his gaze on Jane as she put her coat back on and left. Tapping the desk, he finally read the card. It held only a single name and number: "Race 207-xxx-xxxx"
The office room of Joyce Bravo was like something that had survived the 1980s in immaculate condition. It was a room designed to make the owner feel powerful, and everyone else uncomfortable. LED strips imitating neon lights lining the floor and ceiling seemed to pulse in steady stream, ever so slightly changing their color over time. Barbarosa Hanne stood with a file in his hands, filled with paperwork disclosing several concerns he had about the transfer of Jebedissa's belongings to Joyce and her company. But even as his hands clutched the file for his own support, he doubted Joyce cared about what he had to say.
Thinking it best to not mention the will just yet, he knew he had to speak his mind about other matters which had been forced on him by his former client's cousin. Particularly concerning why they had asked him to help cover up the attack at the hospital.
"I'm just saying I don't see the point to all of this." said Barbarosa.
"Losing your cool Mr. Hanne?" asked Joyce, tapping her foot to the beat of a half-remembered song.
"When your lawyer, Mr. Shankar asked me to make… inquiries about the hospital attack, I did it as a personal favor. I didn't ask why, that's not my concern. But when my contact at the police department was given a promotion and moved to another division across town, that disrupts my usual flow of business." Feeling the need to calm his nerves, Barbarosa moved to the open bar and poured himself some seltzer water on ice.
"It was cleaner that way. A long-overdue promotion, putting a case into back logs, it'll be months before any details from that unfortunate incident come to light." said Joyce. "But that's not really why you're here, is it?"
"No. Though Curly finished up his duties as executor of Jebedissa's will, as her former attorney I still have a few things I need to clear up before I can consider this matter closed."
"Are you sure it's not smarter to just leave it alone?" Asked Brandon, who seemed to be tapping out a melody on the arms of his chair with his fingers.
"Perhaps it is. But I have the feeling that this concerns your affairs as well. About how some of Jebedissa's possessions were not enumerated in the will that have gone missing."
"Oh, those brats from the other day made off with a few books and didn't return them. Not our biggest concern." said Joyce dismissively.
"You think I'd be here about some books?" asked Barbarosa.
"Do tell then Mr. Hanne." said Joyce as she moved to the center of the room, her eyes turned to the file in his hands.
"It's none of my business what you do with what is now your property. But over the past three decades as I served as Jebedissa's lawyer, she was always… hesitant about mentioning her family, let alone getting involved in any business deals. In that time, she had me do a number of investigations on her behalf, some of which were done at great expense. Now, with her death my relationship as her agent is technically terminated, but as her long-time friend, in the few days since I have known you, I must confess that I now share her reservations."
"That's the most professional way anyone has ever told me to my face that I'm a heartless monster." said Joyce.
"Professional, yes. But do you remember that guy with half a mustache in Rio who cursed you out for a solid five minutes? I still say he has the record." said Brandon.
"Oh yes him… I remember now. He only had half a mustache because you cut off the other half of his lip. It was impressive how he managed to talk after that." said Joyce, shifting her weight.
The atmosphere had shifted so quickly in the room that Barbarosa felt cold. Turning quickly, he opened the door, knowing that both of them were too far away to reach him before he could leave. Then the world turned, as though he was standing still and the walls, floor and ceiling around him were shifting. Against his will, he found himself moving towards the desk, where he stood before Joyce, practically paralyzed by the experience.
"I'll take this, thank you Mr. Hanne." said Joyce, taking the file in her gentle hand and pressing her lips against his cheek.
A kiss on the cheek, and a knife in the back. Mr Hanne gasped for breath as the blade turned and a hand went to his throat, strangling his vocal cords before he could scream.
"I still say that always reminds me of that one music video. You know the one with the hallway and the moving furniture?" said Brandon.
"You know, I was paying attention this time and I see what you mean. It's a nice song, but I always wondered whether it's cultural appropriation for an English band to have a Native American motif." said Joyce.
"I prefer to think of it as cultural appreciation." said Brandon, as he tightened his grip on Mr. Hanne's throat. And the light of the world faded as all the strength of life left Barbarosa Hanne's body.
Reference:
Officer Sidney - George Sidney, the third of Hanna-Barbera Studios.