Volume 1 - Chapter 9

Who Killed The Owl?

Samuel Donovan's waiting area had a clock on the wall that ticked towards 1 p.m.

Not knowing what I was in store for, I sat and waited for him to finish with another client.

After a while the door opened. A NPC client left and an old man with a rough face nodded for me to come into his office.

A haze of smoke hung in the air. I guess he would be one of the programmed NPCs that stereotypically had the growly voice and chain smoked cigars all day.

An acrid scent wafted around me as I entered.

The interior was just as I had pictured it might be. His office was a dimly lit maze of overflowing folders stacked on top of filing cabinets.

There were teetering stacks of paperwork and mismatched office furniture bearing the look of hard use.

A battered metal desk sat as the room's centerpiece. It was flanked by a pair of ratty leather armchairs that had seen better times.

And there, hunched over a stack of folders with a smoldering cigar between his teeth, was Samuel Donovan.

He glanced up at me. Deep lines in his face showed me the faintest of smirks. He watched me through the swirling smoke.

“Jones, I presume?” he asked, with exactly the kind of growly voice I expected. Not waiting for me to answer, he continued, “you look like an Ethan Jones. Have a seat."

I obliged, sinking into the chair with what I hoped was a casual indifference. As I sat, I wondered how my appearance was defined into a “look like an Ethan Jones” as if he’d met others like me before.

Interesting dialogue choice by the designers.

Up close, Donovan's presence was imposing. He had hard-bitten features and a piercing stare.

I knew this was a man who had seen and done bad things.

For a non-player character, he was very intimidating. It made sense to me this guy was representing The Green Fists.

Finally, he let out a low chuckle and leaned back in his chair.

"Relax, kid. I’m not a killer no more. Now days I’m just an old man. I’m a detective technically, but I usually have other people do most of the private eye stuff. I just own the agency.”

I thought I was already relaxed but I could feel my muscles loosen. I leaned back further and once again tried to look casual.

Some tension evaporated as I considered the man. I didn't see any other gangsters there ready to kill me if I said or did the wrong thing. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I was thinking it could be.

He probably had a gun on him, or in his desk. I had no idea if he could use it against me.

Players couldn't attack me yet. I had already learned that. But I wasn't sure about the NPCs.

I convinced myself Samuel Donovan wouldn't attack. The game wouldn't send me to my first mission just for the system to kill me.

"Listen, Jones. I'm gonna level with ya, that way we can go our separate ways. I hear things, alright. You stumbled ass-backwards into all this mess in The Green Yards on a certain night last week. Ain't that right?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but he waved me off with a calloused hand. I could tell he loved to ask rhetorical questions.

"Eh, save it. Doesn't really matter. Fact is, we got a bunch of people saying you were the first one at the scene. People like to do a lot of talking but they don't always tell the truth. We need to know what you know."

My brow furrowed as he hit me with the mission specifics. Samuel Donovan didn't muck about with extra words. He cut right to the chase, just as he promised.

I either had to tell him exactly what I saw, which meant ratting on my boss, or I had to lie and say I never got a good look at who the killer was.

I said, "I'm familiar with Owney 'The Owl' Johnson, but I didn't know him."

Donovan fixed me with a look that suggested I was taking up his time.

“C'mon, kid, keep up with me here. You saw 'The Owl' get killed. You knew who he was. Third in charge of The Greenies. But that ain't what I asked you. Who did the killing? Word is you might know. Don't waste all day on me, now. It's a simple question."

"Well, the thing of it is…"

I knew I should have come up with a plan before I ever walked into his office.

Still stalling, I said, "I'm not sure how to answer your question, so to me it's not that simple."

"Right, right," he said, "so you didn't come up with a good lie for me is what you're saying? I get it."

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"No, that's not what I mean."

"Then start talking, Jones. You're the only one that's got a story to tell here."

I exhaled slowly. He was a quick talker, right to the point, and he'd figured me out almost immediately.

"Well, you wanted me to come here and tell you what I know."

"That's the straight end," Donovan growled, half-chewing on his cigar. "So get on with it. Whole damn city claims they seen the murder, only they all had different stories. Only one thing added up in each of 'em. Know what that was, kid?"

"I…"

"It was you. That's the gospel. Now fess up. Don't want no lies or trickery. We know you didn't do nothing awful, we just need to know what you seen."

He leaned forward again, dark eyes boring into me with startling intensity. I couldn't stall any longer.

If I ratted on Mr. Gallagher it probably meant I would lose the handyman maintenance missions. I needed to level up as quickly as possible, so that was the main reason I was hesitant.

My initial thought was to blame the murder on Billy Sadler or Stalvek Dyomin. Sadler was already arrested, and he was a member of The Cortez Family.

It seemed believable to me. It would protect my bottom line when it came to earning experience from Mr. Gallagher.

Throwing Stalvek Dyomin under the bus would have been great, but it wouldn't work, since he hadn't hit level three yet. A detective might instantly spot that problem.

"Look, Mr. Donovan. I'm just an average guy trying to keep neutral. I don't want to align myself with or against The Green Fists, or anyone else yet."

His eyes narrowed at my words, but I pressed on before he could interject. He'd been doing all the talking, and it was my turn to wave off his responses.

"That said, I'm willing to tell you exactly what happened in exchange for a favor."

Donovan cocked an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued.

We looked at one another for a while. It was silent, and I felt awkward as the NPC glared at me.

His hand reached for something in an open drawer. I couldn't see beneath his side of the desk, and I started to panic.

He said, "Not getting yourself killed at the start, that’s already a pretty good favor if you ask me."

I gulped, suddenly nervous. Forgetting all about the level safety system, I instantly imagined him reaching for a gun.

“I thought you wasn’t a killer?”

Samuel Donovan laughed, then tossed me a saltwater taffy. I nervously caught it. He unwrapped one of his own and tossed it in his mouth.

"Tell me what you seen first, then we’ll negotiate whether it constitutes a favor."

I unwrapped the soft candy he gave me and plopped it in my mouth. It was soft and savory, with a strong vanilla flavor.

The reality of my situation set in as I chewed on the delicious sweet.

I really didn't want to be a rat, but other than losing my handyman missions, I had no reason to protect Mr. Gallagher. The man was just a NPC after all, and the game would probably give me plenty of other ways to earn experience.

The other option was to lie, which could piss off The Green Fists. Either way I might end up dead the minute I ticked over to level three.

"Well, okay," I said, finally deciding to offer the truth.

"So get to it."

Smirking at his response, I launched right into what the game wanted me to say.

"I was walking near The Owl's nightclub that night, just headed home. This black Packard's engine was sputtering like it was about to die. Sounded like the timing was off, and maybe there was some slack in a belt. Also, it was missing the front right fender."

Donovan's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at this information. He scrawled it all down. Clearly, none of the other witnesses had been able to provide that level of specificity.

"Anything else you can recall about this machine? Like maybe the year?"

I racked my brain, trying my damnedest to conjure up anything else useful. Nothing new came to me.

"As for the year, no idea." I gulped, getting to the important bit. "You know I work for Mr. Gallagher, right?"

Donovan leaned back, steepling his thick fingers. He mulled over the new intel and why I might bring up one of their members. I could practically see the gears turning behind those cold, calculating eyes.

"Yeah, kid. He's one of us. You're his handyman or something like that, right?"

I nodded. "Well, three of the guys, I have no idea who they were. But one of them I could see real good from where I hid behind a sedan along the sidewalk."

Samuel Donovan stared at me knowingly.

"It was Thomas Gallagher, sir. He was one of the gunmen I saw that night."

The old man didn't flinch a muscle. His face gave away no emotion or thought for the longest time.

Finally, he let out a measured breath. "Alright, Jones. Let's assume for a second that you're on the level about all this."

"I am."

We eyed each other for another long minute. His voice took on a dangerous edge as he leaned forward again.

“Okay, so let's assume,” he repeated ominously. "One of our mid-level boys and some other idiots killed our number three guy. Why would he do that?"

I shrugged. "No idea, but that's what happened."

The old man remained quiet. I swallowed hard, fearful he wasn't going to believe my story. I was an outsider trying to convince a mobster that one of their own had betrayed them.

After a while, Donovan's expression softened. His eyes remained as hard and unflinching as flint.

"That's a doozy of a story, ain't it?"

I nodded, even though I was the one telling it.

"Jones, I don't know what to tell you. This is some far-fetched nonsense if you ask me honestly. Might be true. Probably ain't. Fact of the matter is, you spoke your words and that's that."

I couldn't make sense of his non-answer, so I didn't know if he believed me or not.

I asked, "Well, do I get the mission reward?"

He laughed. "The what, kid? Listen. I've heard people say some strange things when they're nervous, but I don't know what you're talking about. We do have a small issue regarding whether I believe you, and that's a sinking ship far as I'm concerned."

My gut dropped as he let out a world-weary sigh, running a hand over his craggy features.

"Here's the thing, you see. If you rolled through that door yesterday, we might've been able to keep things nice and simple. No muss, no fuss."

The man paused, letting the words fizzle out.

"But the fact is, someone caught you shootin' the breeze with a fella by the name of Stalvek Dyomin last night. And from what I hear, young Stalvy's got himself tangled up pretty tight with The Cortez Family."

I gulped. It was a good thing I hadn't gone with that lie.

Donovan fixed me with a pointed look. His voice dropped to a gritty rasp.

"So you can see how that might look a bit compromising from my perspective. It’s almost like you're already picking sides in this whole mess. You talking with our enemy? Can't trust someone like you when it comes to internal Green Fist business now can I?"

I opened my mouth to protest. He held up a calloused hand.

"But…"

The old man shook his head. I didn't like the way he kept taking over the conversation, so I shook my head back at him.

"No, "I said, "let me respond, damnit!"

Donovan laughed, then appeared to consider the way I'd blurted out my frustration.

"Alright, go ahead, kid."

"What I told you is the truth. I have no reason to lie to you! Mr. Gallagher is my boss. No boss, no job, and no income. Get it? Why would I make up a lie about the man, and to you of all people knowing that I'd get on your bad side if I did?"

Donovan's eyes narrowed, calculating. "Stalvek made a deal with you, that's why?"

"No, he didn't."

The detective glared at me again for a while.

"Alright, now, I'm not saying that's what happened or didn't happen. Hell, for all I know, the two of you randomly bumped into each other on the street.”

I shook my head again. “He wanted to kill me actually, but we’re not level three yet.”

Donovan laughed again. “Yeah. Let’s go with that story. Either way, doesn't look good for ya, catch my drift?"

I did catch his drift. Samuel Donovan implied I was working with Stalvek Dyomin and The Cortez Family.