Clusterfrag

In a dilapidated office in a ramshackle building on a one-way street in the bad end of town, an elf leans back in his chair--feet on the desk--and drinks bourbon. The cracked, frosted glass inset on his door reads "Max Overstreet, Private Eye." Not that it isn't obvious what his profession is. A snub-nosed .38 dangles from a shoulder holster, the cobalt-blue steel lovingly polished; a shining sliver of perfection in a life otherwise a shambles. Another shot of bourbon down the hatch. The office is vibrating slightly now, but damned if the elf would consider putting down the bottle.

Max rubs his glassy eyes and squints, trying to focus on the silhouette in his doorway. It's been months since he had a client. He had almost forgotten what they look like. The bottle clinks irritably as it lands in the open drawer reserved for it. Max slams the drawer shut and, with as much effort to avoid slurring as he can muster, attempts to assume the appearance of a functional professional.

The figure in the door saunters up to his desk. It's a dame-shaped silhouette...

"You Max Overstreet?" The question isn't so much asked as purred. It is a dame! Curvy in all the right places, too. Long, silky black hair. Creepy eyes though--both totally milky white. "You can call me Molly. Don't call me on Wednesdays though, that's my night out."

Max smiles faintly-- almost deviously-- and says,

"Whatever you say. And yeah, I'm Max. What can I do for you?"

Molly produces a cigarette and presses it to pouting lips.

"My old man's gone missing. No big deal, except that my trust payments disappeared along with him. When a girl doesn't have nickel to her name, it's time to turn to a private dick."

She throws a wad of greenbacks at the elf.

"There's this dishwasher down at Malley's, goes by the name of Tyros. My old man had hired him to do some yardwork. Probably the best place to start. Hey, you gonna light my cigarette or what?"

Max dully lights her cigarette with his zippo, lighting a smoke of his own. Taking a drag, he gives her a probing look and queries,

"You're not worried about your pop, then?"

[ Morgue, Harborview Medical ]

The Orcish detective stands and puts on his bowler hat. The subtle lighting catches a badge on his lapel. Lone Star.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Doctor Adams. Our coroner has the flu. As I understand, you used to work with him. He spoke very highly of you."

[ Max's "Office," Downtown ]

Molly takes a drag and blows it thoughtfully towards the ceiling.

"Papa can take care of himself. I'm sure it's some misunderstanding over a gambling debt. You know how the Chinamen are about their debts. Now you gonna offer me a ride to Malley's or should I take a bus?"

[ Morgue, Harborview Medical ]

"Yes, Doctor Urschel. He took me under his wing when I was getting started. Taught me everything that that they don't teach at med school." He says, drying off his hands, and pulling on a pair of gloves.

"Who's the stiff?"

[ Max's Office, Downtown ]

Max squints his eyes and looks her up and down,

"You sure seem to be in a hurry..."

Max picks up the wad of money on his desk and counts it. Pocketing the bills, he asks,

"Offer you a bourbon before we hit the road?"

[ Morgue, Harborview Medical ]

The detective flips over the toe-tag and reads aloud,

"Male. Age 51. Trade, Jack. A vet, it looks like. Ain't no way for a serviceman to die, two gunshot wounds to the chest..."

He sighs and ties the waist on his overcoat.

"Take a look at 'em, see if you can uncover anything out of the ordinary. Come on down to the station when you're done. My wife's got the girls over for bridge so ain't no way I'm going home tonight."

[ Max's "Office," Downtown ]

"I'm not a bourbon girl. If you're nice to me, I'll let you buy me a gin 'n tonic. The bartender at Malley's--fella named Rawhide--makes a mean one."

She pulls on the minx scarf around her neck.

"I ain't paying you to gawk. Let's ride, cowboy."

Max feels a twinge of pain in his chest as he gets out of his chair. He has the inexplicable sensation that he has forgotten something, but can't for the life of himself figure what it might be.

[ Morgue, Harborview Medical ]

Doc looks at the detective and chuckles.

"I'll have a report for you soon. Stay safe, detective," he says gesturing at the corpse, "Looks like there are some bad folks out tonight."

Doc begins a pre-autopsy examination of the corpse's skin, looking for any irregularities.

(( Roll Perception or Biology ))

[ Max's Office, Downtown ]

Max slings his coat over his shoulders, ruffling its length until it falls right around his frame. Speaking matter-of-factly, he says to her,

"Part of the buy-in, sweetheart. Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm hands-off, but looking the way you do and dressing the way you dress, I'm gonna say you don't exactly mind being looked at."

[ Morgue, Harborview Medical ] Doc studies the corpse, arriving at several distinct conclusions almost immediately.

[ Malley's, Dowtown ]

Max and Molly step through the threshold, transforming their surroundings from a brisk Seattle night to a humid and hazy den of debauchery. Glasses clink, men guffaw and the sounds of Johnny Meltdon--the famous crooner--emanate from the wireless.

A stout dwarf in a leather apron is methodically cleaning glasses. His gaze drifts to the door, where it meets Molly's. He waves the two over to the bar.

"What can I get ya?"

A boisterous (and obviously drunk) oriental fellow bumps into Max. He spins around and stares at the elf.

"Hey, buddy. You spill my drink. You buy a new one, eh?"

Rawhide furrows his brows.

"Keep walking, Kato. I don't want to have a repeat of last Wednesday."

The oriental makes a disgusted sound. "Stupid bar... not even any sake..."

[ Malley's, Downtown ]

Max smirks and says confrontationally,

"I didn't touch you. Get lost pal. You don't want any part of this."

Max gestures to Molly with his head,

"Gin and tonic for the lady. Irish whiskey for me. Thanks bub."

Max stands patiently and waits for the drinks. Receiving them from the diminutive barkeep, he slides Molly her gin and tonic and pulls close his whiskey. Both drinks chatter coldly as the ice knocks around inside the glasses. Taking a pill bottle from his pocket, Max palms a single tab and tosses it in his mouth from a semi-closed fist. Washing it down with a slug of Old Irish Times, he nods at Molly and says,

"Men's multivitamin. Keeps me looking my best."

Molly arches a brow at Max as he swallows the pill, but the presence of a flickering smile denotes the lack of judgment.

Rawhide leans in to the pair and murmurs, "Funny you should come in tonight, Molly. That gal that used to date your Pop is back in town. The eskimo one, ya know? Is he trying to hide from her, cuz' I ain't seen him in a few days."

Almost subconsciously, Rawhide pours himself a shot of the whisky and slams it.

[ Morgue, Harborview Medical ]

Doc scribbles some notes down on a pad, pulling the overhead light here and there, and occasionally remarking something under his breath.

He sets the pad down, and switches on a reel-to-reel tape recorder.

"The body is one Jack Trade, found dead with multiple gunshot wounds.

"Body shows signs of electrical shock on the hands. Two shotgun wounds to the chest indicate gunfire was at close range. Precise placement suggest not only that the shooter had training, but that the body was immobile when the wounds were inflicted. There are no obvious signs of restraints, so it is likely that the body was incapacitated, perhaps in connection to the previously mentioned electrical burns."

Doc pauses, and looks closer at the man's face. Lifting his eyelid, Doc gives a surprised grunt.

"There's something strange about the man's eyes," he says, prodding the cornea with a pick, "They appear to be real and biological, but there is some kind of foreign material worked into them. I am unable to determine what the nature of the material, except to say that it does not look like a natural part of the eye."

Doc scribbles down some more notes, and shuts the recorder off. Donning his coat, he slips the notes and tape reel into an inside pocket.

Striding out of the medical center's lobby, he says, "Charlotte, dear, please call the police station and let the detective know that I'm on my way."

[ Malley's, Downtown ]

Max slugs back the rest of his Old Irish Times and taps the bar: hit me again. Taking the second drink from the oak bartop, Max says to Molly,

"Let's go see how things are back at the igloo."

Leading the way to the back of the bar, Max approaches the woman.

[ Lone Star Barrens Branch Office, Seattle ]

The Orc detective looks up from his coffee as Doc enters. He stubs out the cigar he was chewing on and leans back in his chair.

"You got good timing. I just got an anonymous tip relating to this case. What'd you find?"

[ Malley's, Downtown ]

The Inuit woman is seated in a private booth, situated in the darkest part of the bar. Though nearly shrouded in darkness, the sharp outlines of her features are clearly visible as Max and Molly approach. She's engaged in conversation with a titanic troll who appears to be bussing the table she's seated at. The pair fall silent as their privacy is breached.

"Pandora," says Molly, not bothering to hide her contempt. "Finally get tired of those Alaskan winters? And, Tyros dear, why ever are you wasting your time talking to this... northern witch?"

Max insinuates himself,

"We're on the hunt for Molly's old man. A classy Northern lady like you wouldn't know anything about where he's gotten off to, would you?"

[ Lone Star Barrens Branch Office, Seattle ]

Doc pulls off his wet coat, and hangs it on the rack by the door. Pulling out the notepad, he tosses it on the detective's desk.

"I've got audio tape as well, but everything is in there," he says, pointing at the notepad.

Taking a seat, he reaches over, and turns to the relavent pages.

"Here's the meat of it. Close range execution, ugly stuff. I did find a couple of anomalies," Doc leans back in the chair, and crosses his heel over his knee, "but I don't know if they'd have any bearing on your case."

[ Lone Star Barrens Branch Office, Seattle ]

The detective scans the notepad, grunting to himself as he reads.

"Interesting. Very interesting. Seems our boy was involved in some kind of double-cross. He was picked up by the ambulance across the street from a medical supply warehouse--one that had just been robbed. Seems our veteran was down on his luck, slumming it with the wrong type of people. I've got the name of a possible eye-witness to the shooting."

He grins. "Of course, that part doesn't concern you. Nice work, Doc. What say I buy you a beer? There's a place just around the corner."

[ Malley's, Downtown ]

Pandora smiles artificially at Molly. "Molly, nice to see you looking so healthy. You've clearly put on some weight."

"I haven't seen Lo since we stopped dating. He made it very apparent that his interest in me had run its course. I'm actually in town on business and thought it might be nice to revisit old stomping grounds. Tyros was regaling me with tales of his youth in Scotland."
Max's mind begins to wander again... what was it he had forgotten?

[ Lone Star Barrens Branch Office, Seattle ]

Doc pulls out his pocket watch and glances at it.

"Sure thing, detective, though I'm more of a scotch man myself. I'd like to hear more about the case; at least what you're allowed to tell me. There was something about the corpse's eyes; I've never seen anything like it in all my years."

He grabs his coat and hat, and heads out the door with the Orc.

[ Malley's, Downtown ]

Max nods noncommittally,

"I see. And what is your line of business, Ms... ?"

[ Malley's, Downtown ]

"Her name is Pandora--what her folks were thinking, I've no idea," quips Molly.

Pandora's smile doesn't falter.

"That is indeed my name. I work in the import/export business for the US military. Mostly food and medical supplies. My local contact is here in Seattle."

Somewhere in the background noise, the drunken Kato slurs, "...n' someday... i have a very big boat... drink sake alla time..."

Max arches an eyebrow,

"Who's your contact?"

Doc and the Orcish detective arrive on scene and park themselves at the bar. The dwarven barkeep exchanges nods with the Lone Star cop and begins pouring him a beer. It may be coincidence, but the bar patrons seem a tad less rowdy with the officer carousing at the front of the establishment.

The detective folds his arms. "You heard of this company, Doc? Oriental company called Shiawase? They're the ones who owned that medical supply place that our victim hit."

Pandora's lips move in response to Max's question, but for reasons unknown to him, he can't decipher her words.

Something prods at the back of Doc's mind.

"Shiawase? Maybe. I've probably seen it on packaging somewhere. Any idea what he was after?"

Max is vaguely aware of the new arrivals to the bar, but is not paying any real mind to them. He presses Pandora instead,

"Excuse me? I didn't catch that."

Tyros feels a lost in the conversation. His flirting with Pandora clearly over, he looks down at the dish towel in his hand, more than a little confused by it's presence. "Uhhh, I think I have some more tables to clean...", his words trail off into a mumble as the big troll looks around for glasses to clear.

Molly reaches out and catches the troll by his enormous wrist.

"Tyros dear, did you see Papa at the house this week?"