I won't bore you with the details of the fight. Let's just say that when all was said and done, my man looked a whole lot worse than I did.
"Who are you?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
"Don't play games with me. I've caught you trespassing at the scene of a crime. Now tell me who you are!"
"Look, I don't know, alright?"
"A likely story. On your feet. Now!"
I reached down and picked the man up by one arm, sitting him down in the chair behind the desk. I had already taken his pistol away, so there was no need to worry about being shot, and as long as my GOVERNOR was in hand, he wasn't going anywhere.
"You're a PI, aren't you? I've seen your face somewhere before..."
"You got that right. My name is Rigby Reardon. I've come searching for Inspector Marlowe. Word has it he was close to this Harding fellow."
My head began to swim. Marlowe. Harding. Names from a distant past, and yet nothing more than shadows cast by a flickering candle. Here one moment, gone the next. Who was I? The man who called himself Reardon was still talking.
"... And so here I am. Now, unless you fancy a trip to the slammer, you're going to start answering some of my questions. Understand?"
"I'll tell you what I can, but the truth is I don't remember anything."
"Alright, let's start from the beginning. I'll ask you again: Who are you?"
"I don't know."
"Why did you come here? What were you looking for?"
"I don't remember, and I don't know."
"Damnit. This is going nowhere, and I don't have the time to waste! I came here to find clues about a package Harding sent to Marlowe. I can't deal with..."
"Wait! A package? Yes, I remember a package..."
"Talk! Tell me what you know!"
"Well, it's vague. My memory is a bit spotty. But here's what I know..."
I listened as this man told me his story. From the moment he first woke up in a bathroom stall just outside Marlowe's office, to his flight from the cops, to finding himself in a hotel room. I was beginning to suspect that I might know who this man was, but there were still things I needed to find out.
"Next thing I knew, I find myself here. Something about this place seems so very familiar, but I just can't place it. And I know that if I can just find.... Something, that I can get my memories back."
"Let me see the paper that you took from Marlowe's office. Thanks. Now, I'm going to read it to you, and I want you to write down what I say."
After reading out the remnants of the letter I took the fresh made copy and compared the two. Exact same handwriting. This man was Ace Harding.
"Alright, let me run you through what I know. Your name is Ace Harding. You're a Private Investigator like myself. You knew something was going down in this town and you tried to warn Marlowe. You sent him something for safe keeping, knowing that whatever was happening "they" would be coming for you first. Before you could skip town, "they" caught up with you. By the looks of things, whatever is happening isn't just about murders. Given your memory loss I have to believe we're dealing with a bioterrorist. It fits with the slaying of Doctor Clinton Reed, who was world renown for his biochemistry training. My suspicion then is that the package that you sent to Marlowe contains the anti-virus. You had it, and you knew you couldn't let this criminal organization have it. That means whoever has it now likely has power over death - I just hope it hasn't yet fallen into the wrong hands."
This was a lot to take in. If I thought my head was spinning before, I was wrong. Everything this man said made sense to me... And yet I still couldn't say with certainty that he was right. I felt like I was at a cinema, watching a film of the life this man was describing, knowing it was my own, yet also believing that it was all fake. Again, I snapped back to reality to realize that Reardon was still talking.
"So. Here's the question - who did this to you and how? Quickly now! We don't have much time. They must've been slipping you something in your drinks for you not to notice. Look around for a pill bottle or some form of prescription!"
Together Harding and I began tearing his office apart - well, worse than it was. Books got yanked of their shelves, drawers were emptied and the desk overturned. Nothing.
We made our way into the back room which contained a small kitchen and dining area. We went through the trash, pulled diningware from the cupboards and emptied out the corner fridge. Still nothing.
And then Harding had a revelation.
"Wait! I remember now! I was sitting back here drinking my coffee when my assistant arrived. Said there was a man out front to see me. When I walked into the office there was nobody there. Returning to the kitchen I remember seeing my assistant toeing something under the stovetop - but I didn't think much of it as I was too irritated about having wasted my time out front!"
I quickly dropped to my knees and fished under the stove. I felt something plastic just beyond the grasp of my fingertips.
"Quickly now! Hand me something to get this out with!"
Taking the wooden spoon Harding handed me I pulled the bottle out from underneath the stove.
The bottle itself contained no markings, but when I opened it a small slip of paper fell out. I read over it quickly, but I didn't understand a word. It was written in French. Instructions most likely, but it didn't matter. I knew where I had to go.
"Harding, I've got to track down whoever created this drug. With luck, I'll find Marlowe still alive. As long as whoever took him hasn't yet found the antidote, Marlowe's life should still have value.
I need you to track down the package in the meantime. Get to it before they do. Not only for your own health and sanity, but for Marlowe as well."
I never got the chance to respond. Reardon had tucked the bottle into his coat, grabbed his fedora and was out the door. This all still felt like a dream, but I knew Reardon was right. If I was ever going to get my memories back completely I needed to find this anti-virus before it was to late. I grabbed my belongings and set out, not 2 minutes after Reardon.
-----
Noah Cross smiled to himself. Everything was working out exactly as he planned. The sheep were being slaughtered, and all in his name.
Well, not entirely in his name. Seems some private investigators had been snooping around, so he was forced to do his business under cover. The name Yuma had always held a special place in his heart. It was the name of the first child he had ever sold for cash.
The memory brought back a laugh. He could still hear the cries of the child as it was dragged away. "Father!" the child had screamed to him, "Father, please don't let them take me!".
The only regret that he had was that he hadn't asked more for the child. He was young then, and didn't realize how much one could get away with asking for.
Now though... Now everybody came to him. They begged his favors and his honor. They wanted nothing more than to serve and sacrifice in his name. And oh the sacrifices that had been made.
Nick Charles.
Clinton Reed.
Jerry Connolly.
Kitty Collins.
Dave Bannion.
Yes, the list was impressive, but it was only going to grow. He had been a Businessman his whole life. He had begun working with the Mafia over the past two years. Some called him corrupt, but he just liked to believe he was smart. If it wasn't him, it would be somebody else. And why should he allow that?
The rain had finally let up, and the sun was starting to show through cracks in the clouds. He frowned to himself. This just wouldn't do at all!
Ringing for his butler, he walked to the back of his room and opened a drawer in his desk, looking for the deed to his latest purchase.
"Noah Cross?"
The voice wasn't a familiar one. Looking up he saw a stranger standing in the doorway, gun pointed straight at his head.
"Who the hell are..."
"Shutup. It's time you had a meeting with the Lord."
The man was gone before the body of Noah Cross ever hit the floor.
-----
Night 3 has started! All actions are due within 48 hours to myself and eHalcyon.
Author
Topic: Role Madness VI: Mafia Noir - Home of the only TRUE Mafia: (MAFIA WIN) (Read 114121 times)