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The Missing
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M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa
Sleuth About Town

Jan-23-2011 13:38

The heavy rain made the visibility much harder to see the man that Marc was chasing through the city streets. The sidewalks were slick with water pouring into the street. The chase started after a failed attempt on killing Marc, who had no clue why this man wanted to kill him. But then again, he could think of several reasons. They ran twisting and turning through alleys and then back into the streets on different parts of town. “STOP!” Marc yelled at the man. The man kept running.
The man kept his distance from the detective. Marc was only able to catch a glimpse of the mans feet as they turned around corners. Marc was out of breath as they stopped in front of an old abandoned apartment complex. “You have no where left to run, buddy,” Marc said to the dark figure. “Come on and get me, Marc. You’re right where I want you!” The man turned and ran into the building and slammed the door shut.
Marc swore to himself as he ran up the stairs leading to the closed door. Marc reached down and turned the handle. The door was unlocked. The man he was chasing was toying with him. The building was dark. There was no light except for what little the street lights outside gave out in the rain, which wasn’t nearly enough to depend on. Directly in front of Marc was a long hallway with six doors. Three on each side. Marc moved to the first door and kicked it open.
“ You can run,” Marc said, “but you can’t hide. I will find you.” He walked out of the first room and moved to the second door. Just like the first, that room was empty. He kicked in the third door. And walked in quietly with his revolver drawn out. “Where are you?” Marc whispered to himself. He turned to leave. As he turned around he found himself face to face with a masked stranger. “Here,” he said. The blow on Marc’s head knocked him unconscious.

Replies

Riza Hawkeye
Riza Hawkeye
First Nomad

Jan-24-2011 21:22

***
“I think I know someone who can help you,” said the man behind the counter, pointing towards the door which connected the back of the shabby bookstore to an empty complex on the other side. “Ask for an Edward Carlyle. He may not be the brightest of the bunch, but that man’s bright when it comes to stuff like this.”

Riza nodded her thanks, and then made her way through the door. What greeted her was a plume of hot air, a room musty with the smell of old cigarettes and sweat. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and sought out her target: a man of around forty who was sitting at a table with a group of men, playing cards. The sharp click of her heels rang out through the entire level and silenced the room of talking men.

“Ms. Hawkeye,” the men at the table grunted as she approached. She flashed them a quick smile. “Edward Carlyle?” she asked. One of the men raised his head. “You come with me. I have work for you.”

***
“I have no clue where he’s gone, but I want you to help me find him,” she finished. “Ms. Hawkeye,” Edward said with a hint of a grin, “I never would have taken you to be so soft, considering what I’ve heard about you.” Riza stared at him. “Soft? You think I’m soft? Here soft for ya!” she said coolly with a fake smile plastered on her face. She stomped the heel of her right boot down on Edward’s foot to the sound of a sickening crunch.

“Get to work,” she said, tossing him the bullet and the wallet. I’m going to go look for more people to help.” Riza clicked down the street, leaving her new acquaintance there to curse in privacy.

Ed Carlyle
Ed Carlyle

Jan-25-2011 09:00

"Good God, lady," I yelled as she stomped on my foot, "That hurt!" She looked at me. "Get to work," she said tossing me the bullet and wallet. "I'm going to go look for more people to help."

I turned around and looked at the hole in the wall where the bullet stopped. The hole was small. The bullet was also small. I turned and looked around. The killer could have came from anywhere. While, I didn't know this Marc Lacrimosa character, I knew that someone had a hunch on him and wanted him dead. The rain poured down harder as I stood alone in the darkness. As I started to turn and leave, I noticed something on the ground about twenty or thirty feet away on the other side of the street.

The cigar appeared as though it had been stepped on and dragged across the sidewalk. It was amazing to know that the cigar had not been washed away in the rain. Holding the cigar, I turned and faced the bullet hole across the street. Holding my hand up like a gun, I imagined someone near the hole and fired. I could see the imaginary bullet miss by mere inches. It hit the wall.

Marc had gone after his killer. Either Marc had been stupid to chase a man with a gun, or he knew he could catch him. His foot stepped on the cigar when the assailant dropped it. But this alley only led to what was behind it, which was the rest of the city. I had no clue where he could have been. There were endless possibilities as to where he could have been.

I looked back down at the cigar. There was no telling who could have wanted him dead. Anyone in this line of business made enemies. Whether it was small time crooks or crime families. The only thing I could do was find a cigar store and find some information about this.

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa
Sleuth About Town

Jan-26-2011 08:50

The light peeked through the room giving off a little bit of light. But not enough to see who this mysterious stranger was that had Marc tied to a chair. Minutes seemed like hours of no one talking. The shady person walked in circles around Marc. “In 1925, you were a detective with the NYPD. You solved a murder case no one wanted. One that involved the murder of suspects, witnesses, and one lone jewel that possessed the mind of those who were near it,” the shady person said. “Wait,” Marc said, “how do you know about that case?” “Like I said, detective,” the man replied, “I know a great deal about you. I want to know what became of the jewel!” “That’s classified,” Marc said. “Why should I tell you?”

The man picked up a small pistol and struck Marc across the face. Blood splattered across the room, onto the floor and wall. “You can tell me, or I can kill you. It doesn’t matter to me. Your friends have all abandoned you, Marc.” “Screw, you!” Marc yelled. “Killing me wont’ do you any good.” The man laughed and cocked the hammer back on a revolver. “Don’t force me to make a decision right now. If I kill you now, I can still find the jewel.” “You’re not crazy enough to kill me. You’ll be caught for this,” Marc said. “Crazy? Who said I was crazy? Killing you won’t be crazy. It will be the sanest thing I’ve ever done!” The man said with a dark, evil laugh. Once more, he hit Marc in the face. “Now, tell me what I want to know!”

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa
Sleuth About Town

Jan-26-2011 08:52

****************June 1, 1925*************

My alarm clock woke me up with a start that faithful morning. I had no clue what I was going to be starting on that day. Just as every other cop thought, I too thought the same thing that, “you never knew what you were going to walk into.” When I arrived at the station, I was greeted by my partner. Timothy Sullivan, an Irishman who’s family immigrated here from Ireland, some time ago. He was a year younger than I. “Marc,” he said, “it’s good to see you this morning.” I didn’t have time to reply. The chief walked in. He was big man with a deep southern accent. “Okay people, listen up,” he said, “ I got a stiff out on Eight street. Two gun shots to the chest and one to the face. Marc, you and Tim are on it. And don’t fail me.” Don’t fail me. Those were his famous words to every detective he assigned a case to. Not that we ever did fail him, but once in a while you would come across a case that would either break you, or one that you could never solve.

When Tim and I arrived at the scene, the police had already taped it off. It wasn’t hard to find the crooked cops, who were standing around smoking and not bothering to keep the press away from the body. “What do we got?” I asked. The first officer on the scene was a new guy named Karl Fairburn. He often stuttered when he got nervous. He led me and Sullivan to the corpse; a young man. “He was shot twice in the chest and once in the head. He as dead on arrival, sir,” Karl said. “Don’t call me sir,” I replied, “I work for a living.” Sullivan, pulled out his camera, took a picture, waited for the camera to recharge, and took one. “Any witnesses?” Sullivan asked. “No,” Karl replied. “Any identification?” I asked. “We have him identified as Erik Von Schmidt.”

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa
Sleuth About Town

Jan-26-2011 08:53

I looked around the body. There were three bullet shells not far from it. “Sully,” I said, come look at this.” I got down on one knee and picked one up. “.45 caliber,” Sullivan said, “looks like this guy really pissed off some people.” I turned around and looked at Karl. “Karl, any idea where he lives?”

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa
Sleuth About Town

Jan-27-2011 13:39

Karl told me where our victim Erik Von Schmidt lived. Sully and I got up to leave. As we approached my car, a stranger approached us. “Gentlemen,” the man said, “I understand there was a murder.” Sully looked at him. “What’s it to you?” He asked. The stranger laughed. “My name is not important, but I know who you two are. And I also know that you are about to be stepping into a case that will change your lives. If you drop this case, I’ll give you this,” The man said reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a large manila envelope and opened it. “Inside this is over two thousand dollars. It can all be yours.”

“Get lost,” I said to him, “or we’ll have you arrested for harassing a police officers and attempting to force a bribe.” “Fine,” he replied, “but I know more about you than you think.” And with that, he turned and left. “Who the hell was that guy?” Sully asked me. “Beats me,” I replied. “Let’s just ignore him for now, we have bigger things to worry about.” We arrived at Erik’s house and I knocked on the door. “NYPD,” I announced. The door opened and a beautiful young blond woman opened it. “I’m detective Marc Lacrimosa this is my partner Timothy Sullivan. May we have a word?” The woman gratefully let us in. “Ma’am,” Sully began, “is Erik Von Schmidt your husband?” “Yes,” she said, “why?” I cut in, “Mrs. Von Schmidt, your husband is dead. He was shot to death. We are going to find out who did this, but we need to ask you some questions.”

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa
Sleuth About Town

Jan-27-2011 13:39

“What kind of questions? I don’t understand,” She said. “Ma’am, do you know of anyone who would have wanted to kill your husband?” Sully started. As most people do, she gave us the general answer, no. We asked about any enemies, old friends with hunches, and even asked her alibi which checked out. Everything she said, was no. Despite seeing something in her eyes, I kept my mouth shut. While Sully questioned her, I took a look around her house looking for anything that might give us a lead. But there was nothing. Sully and I left with out a word. The ride back to the station was quiet.

We sat down at my desk. “Let’s start with square one. She doesn’t know anyone who would have wanted to kill her husband. As most every husband, he was a fun, caring person with a big heart. I think this was more than just a random murder,” Sully said. “You think its a mafia hit?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “Think about it. Every ‘fun, caring person with a big heart’ has been involved with some kind of crime family. I’ll almost guarantee you we can find his name in the hall of records and that he is tied to some kind of crime family. This should be a simple case.” I sat back in my chair and lit a cigarette. Sully was partially correct. Most of the time we did find people in the hall of records. But once in a while there was one person that wasn’t in there. “Okay,” I said after a minute of thinking, “we go look in the Hall of Records, then we go back to the house. I think she’s lying to us.” Sully nodded. “I agree,” he said. And we left.

Riza Hawkeye
Riza Hawkeye
First Nomad

Jan-27-2011 17:09

“Impossible!” Riza exclaimed to no one in particular. “Where are these people when you need them?” As she walked down the city streets and popped into bars and agencies in search of fellow detectives, she decided that she would head to Marc’s office again after all. There had to be some sort of clue there. She knew she was clutching at straws, but it was worth a shot.

Upon reaching his building and hearing her heels click up the steps up to the office, she remembered that it was nighttime, and his office would probably be locked. Trying the doorknob, she found that it was indeed locked. “Oh well, guess I’ll have to break it down,” she thought to herself, smirking. Tapping the door in spots with her knuckles, and listening to the sounds they made, she nodded to herself. Then, taking a step back, she aimed and knocked the door off its hinges with one perfect kick. She caught the door before it hit the ground and placed it against the wall.

Riza made her way over to Marc’s desk and ruffled through the papers in the drawers. Bills, business cards, and old case files. She pulled out a stack of files and dropped them on the desk. She flipped through them one by one, tossing them aside when she was done. One file caught her eye, or more specifically, one picture in the file. “Interesting,” she said, quickly reading through it. She then tucked the picture into her jacket and stood. Looking around her, she figured someone would get to the mess tomorrow, and took her leave.

Riza walked down the street towards the center of the city. It must have been midnight or just afterwards because it was silent save for the sporadic honking of car horns and the sounds of chatter emanating from bars. Across the street in one of the shops that was still lit, to her surprise, she saw Ed coming out. It seemed to be a cigar shop.

Riza Hawkeye
Riza Hawkeye
First Nomad

Jan-27-2011 17:09

Quickly jaywalking across the street, she grabbed his arm and pulled him down into an alleyway. “I--” Ed began, but Riza cut him off. “Look at this!” she said, thrusting the picture at him. She stood there, looking at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

“It’s a picture of that Marc guy you’re searching for, shaking hands with the police chief. So?” Ed asked. “So, look behind them, on the right. There’s a man sitting inside that car, and he staring daggers at Marc.” Ed looked closer. “You’re right,” he said. “You think he has something to do with this?” Riza shrugged. “It’s the best lead we have at the moment. We just have to find out who this guy is. I’ll head down to the police station tomorrow. Maybe they can tell me something.”

“Sounds like a plan. Oh, you’ll never guess what I discovered,” Ed said, pulling a crushed cigar out of a small paper bag in his pocket. “This cigar,” he said, pointing, “was lying on the ground across the street from where you found that bullet, all smashed across the sidewalk. I took it to this shop here to see if the owner could tell me anything about it. Luckily for me, I hit on the one store in this city that actually sells this brand of cigar.”

“Get to the point, I’m tired,” Riza said, stifling a yawn. Ed pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “After I greased the wheels a little, the shopkeeper gave me the names of the three customers who buy these. They have to be special-ordered so payment is always in advance, and kept on record,” he said. I have the names right here. We can start following up on them tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Riza replied, taking the paper and glancing at it. Her eyes widened as she read one of the names.

Ed Carlyle
Ed Carlyle

Jan-27-2011 19:26

I walked inside my one room apartment and sat down in my chair replaying the night. I pulled out the cigar and read the small golden wrapper on it. Domain Avo. Dominican Republic. Riza had the list of names but I had the picture that she showed me earlier. The picture showed Marc shaking hands with the chief of Police at the time. The back of it was dated. June 1925. The man in the back of the picture had an evil look at Marc. It was obvious that they knew each other.

I flipped the picture over. June 1925 was written on the back. It had to have been Marc's handwriting. It was barely legible and resembled that of a doctor. "That's it!" I yelled out loud. "June 25! It's got to be it," I said to myself. I grabbed my coat and hat and ran out of my apartment, slamming the door behind me.

The door to the Hall of Records was locked. I made sure no one was watching when I picked the lock and walked in. I closed the door behind me and turned on the light. Opening file after file, digging up all I could find on Marc on that particular date. I couldn't find anything. Just about to give up, I finally found what I was looking for!

"On June 29, 1929 Marc secured a jewel known as The Heart of Anubis. Instead of being a large beautiful stone, instead it was a small ruby red gem. It is said to contain a vast power and if it falls into the wrong hands and activated, the bearer of the gem can control any army in the world. When it was secured Marc gave it to an unnamed person who hid the gem from the world. Only Marc and this mysterious man know where the gem is located."

I'm not much for myths and legends. I almost laughed at the story. I'd never heard of such bogus. Controlling any army in the world? I laughed at such ridiculous things. I folded the article and put it in my pocket. It could come in handy. As I started to clean up my mess, I started to fall asleep. The next thing I knew, I was awakened by Riza.

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