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Jan-9-2010 07:18

Having a family member is one of the worst feelings one could ever have. Marc never saw it coming.

Spring of 1939, Marc sat in his office with nothing to do. The depression was about over. People were getting jobs again, he was happy for that. But business for others, such as himself, was slow once again. It seemed that business would pick up for a couple weeks, and then for a month, it would slow down. One or two clients here and there, or sometimes, none for weeks. Getting money was hard enough in this type of business. So one would have to set money aside for rent, food, etc.

As Marc sat in his chair day dreaming of his youth as a soldier fighting in the War, he was awaken by his phone ringing.

"This is Marc," Marc said answering the phone.

"Marc, they've taken her," the voice said on the other line. It was my mother.

"Mom? Who did they take?! Who took her?!" Marc stammered.

"I don't know who it was but they got her! Your sister. She's gone. Someone broke in. They left a note, Marc."

His mother was stuttering through her words. "I'm on my way," Marc said. He grabbed his coat and his hat, and ran out the door.

Within minutes, he arrived at his childhood home. Marc burst through the door and his mother fell into his arms crying. His sister, Anna was gone. He ran upstairs into her bedroom, to find it had been destroyed. Anna had put up a fight.

On her bed, he found the note. It read:

"Hello Marc,
You and I both know each other and we are going to play a little game of cat and mouse. Do you like games Marc? Because I do. As you know, by now, I have Anna. And I must say, Marc, your sister is quite the piece of work. She gave one of my troopers, a broken nose, and three cracked ribs. Two hours after you read this note, you will be contacted and will be given one simple task. You refuse to do it, and your sister dies.
Sincerely,

Tim O'Leary"

Mar-1-2010 07:59

Suddenly, she heard a crash, of breaking glass. She ran towards the sound. The window had been broken; something like a stone was thrown through it. Dellilah caught a glimpse of a shrouded figure running away from the scene. She tried to chase it, but it was so fast that she almost immediately lost sight of it. Giving up chase, she returned to the house and found the woman at the front door, crying out “Marc, Marc!” It probably was the name of the hotheaded stranger that she had met minutes ago.

And this woman must be his mother.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded. “Did you do this? Are you one of them? Where is my daughter? Answer me!”

“Madame, calm down,” Dellilah said in the gentlest voice that she can make. “I am a friend... of Marc. Detective Judith Cook.” She flashed an identification card. “I'm here to help.”

“Oh... oh, thank heavens, a detective!” The woman broke down and cried. “Please... help us. I want my daughter back home...”

Dellilah, now Judith Cook, private investigator, held the woman gently. “Do not worry. We will have your daughter back, safe and sound. I promise.” Yeah, right. She didn't even know where to start. Although breaking a promise, and leaving a mother to a sorrowful life, were of no consequence to her, her pride was. She saw this situation as a puzzle that she just had to solve, by all means.

“Now,” she continued, “calm down, and tell me: why were you calling Marc a while back? What happened? Does it have something to do with that broken window?”

The mother wiped her tears. “Yes. This came through the window.” It was a dense wooden box with a flip-top lid. “Give it to Marc. He'll know what to do with it.”

Dellilah felt tempted to open the box; yet reminded of the story of the Dying Detective, she decided not to. If there was anything dangerous about this box, let that Marc man have it instead!

She headed the direction where he had ran off to. The big city. With all the buildings around, he could be anywhere.

Luckily, she spotted Marc before he disap

Mar-1-2010 08:03

Luckily, she spotted Marc before he disappeared into the local bar. She followed him immediately.

Mar-2-2010 19:20

Marc walked in to the dimly lit bar. It was dark as was any other bar in town. And just like in every city, there sat the town's local fixer. Shady, as Marc called him. Marc sat across from him and Shady looked up. With a thick Irish accent he asked, "Now what would a dick like you want with a guy like me?" His breath reeked of Russian Vodka and gin. "I want information Shady, on a Tim O'Leary.

"O'Leary? Wasn't he that slime ball you dropped off them stairs back in London?"

"Yes" Marc snapped, "I need that information and I need it fast!"

"Haha! Now come on, dick, you know I can't just give you that information. You gots to give something to me in return."

Marc reached up and took Shady's Vodka bottle and threw it behind him. The bottle shattered. "What the hell?!" he heard someone scream.

Marc reached into his pocket and pulled out his revolver and pulled the hammer back. Marc put his hand on the table holding the gun level to Shady's chest. "Now I'm wouldn't hesitate one second to blow your brains out all over the wall behind you. I've already killed his brother! And you owe me this favor buddy so don't act like you don't know who I am. Because now you look like a damned fool." Marc said.

Shady leaned forward. "Fine, but this is the last time you get somethin' from me. O'Leary hangs out here often. He mentioned something about kidnappin some lass. I don't know the whole story, but I know now that lass is your sister. O'Leary skips town a lot too. He can be found in places like Chicago, New York City, and even Boston. That's all I know." Shady said.

Marc swore out loud. Three different cities! Three different cities to search in less than 2 days! Marc holstered his gun and stormed out the door lighting up his pipe on his way out. As he was coming out, he nearly knocked someone.

It was the same lady he saw snooping around at his mother's house. "What the hell-" Marc said and stopped as he regained his footing. "What the hell are you doing here, lady?"

Mar-2-2010 19:29

"I actually have something for you. I found it after you left." She snapped.

"Do you, now?" Marc asked. "What is it?"

She pulled out a small brown box. Without even looking at it, Marc took the box and shoved it in the back seat of his car.

"Aren't you even going to open it?" She asked quickly.

"No," Marc said as he made his way to the driver side's back door. He opened the door and pulled out a brief case.

The girl opened her mouth to talk but Marc cut her off.

"Look, lady, I appreciate you trying to help me," he said as he opened his brief case, "but I've got less than 2 days to find my sister from an Irish mobster and finally kill that bastard." Marc said as he took out the pieces to assemble his personal M1 Thompson sub machine gun.

He slammed a magazine in the gun and yanked back the charging handle, placing a bullet into the chamber. "Look, I have a lot of work to do."

"You might be able to use some help." She said.

"Oh yeah? And how? Also, please enlighten me..Who are you?"