The sun was setting by the time Logan dropped her off outside HQ. Vic walked back to her office in the deep shadows of the city and her thoughts. Her next order of business was Azure. The club was located in a part of the city far from her normal haunts, but it just so happened she’d done a quick and quiet job for a slimy small-time politician in Dellner Ward last year involving his mistress and some illegal imports. Although he was rather unhappy to hear from her, he became more cooperative after learning she had no interest in blackmailing him. Aside from the usual racketts of slummy strip joints; prostitution, drugs, and hired thugs. Azure also housed a forger. The selection of ladies at Azure was likely below Nicole Quinn’s standards, and she could score at a lot less dangerous places closer to home. The forger was her only lead, no matter how slim. Lucky for her, she knew just the guy to get her in.

Rodney Foureyes was less than welcoming when Vic knocked on the door of his run-down apartment. He stared at her through the crack in the door, his eyes distorted by thick, dirty glasses.

“Go away Cross,” he whined.

“Now Rodney, that’s not very nice.”

“I told you last time I don’t help PIs no more.”

Vic smirked and lit a cigarette, “and yet you did and were very useful.”

“That’s because you tied me to a chair and threatened to set my place on fire.”

“It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?” She placed a hand on the door. “Besides, I’m not looking for one of your clients today. Just need a little dirt on your competition.”

“Competition?”

“Come on Rodney. Don’t make me kick in your door. Again.” The little man muttered to himself, but finally opened the door to let her in.

“No smoking in here. Hurry up. You’re bad for business.”

Vic snuffed her cigarette before shutting the door behind her. She immediately grimaced at the smell of the cramped flat; chemicals and dirty socks. She never knew if it was coming from Rodney’s equipment or the lanky little man himself.

“Whatcha mean about competition, Cross, huh?” He moved quickly through the maze of books, cabinets, and reams of paper to the other side of the room and began shoving things hastily into desk drawers. “Not like I know every ape with a copier in the city, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know. But I bet you know the guy working out of Azure? Fellow doesn’t get his own office without being pretty big.”

“You mean Jackie? Down in Dellner? Pfft. Little punk. He’s nothin' but a hack.” He stopped what he was doing and shuffled across the room to her. “You need some docs, huh? How come you didn’t ask me?” Vic thought she saw genuine hurt in Rodney's eyes, but it could have been the chemicals finally getting to her.

“I don’t need work done, Rodney. I need to find out who he may have done work for.” She pulled another cigarette out of her case but left it unlit. The forger watched her nervously. Fire was his biggest fear and she knew it. “I’m just asking for a little help gettin in front of this guy. No harm in that right?”

“Yeah, there’s harm. I ain’t no rat snitch.”

“But you are a rat snitch Rodney, that’s why I keep coming back here.”

“I told you last time to stay gone.”

“And yet here I am. But the quicker you tell me what I want, the quicker you get your wish.” She smiled down at him menacingly.

“Fine, but you didn’t get it from me. Guy’s name is Jackie Flex. Works outta the basement there at Azure. But that’s it, that’s all I know about any of it.” Rodney Four Eyes was a damn good forge but he was a terrible liar. Rather surprising, considering his line of work.

“That is not all you know. Tell me how you get to him.”

“Don’t know man. Not like I ever went there.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Oh, quit your bellyaching and answer me before I clear off one of these chairs for you.”

“You’re a fucking hector, Cross,” he rubbed his hands nervously on his stained shirt, “fine. Guy you want to see is Marcus, white door on the north side of the building. Tell him you need to buy some lumber. That’ll get you in. I don’t know no more.”

Vic dropped a small envelope on a stack of books as she walked to the door, “good doing business with you Rodney.”

“Don’t come back here no more, Cross!”

The longer Vic sat outside the Azure nightclub, the more doubts she had. Why would Nicole Quinn come all the way out here and risk her neck for a forge? Forgers were quiet and discreet by trade. Despite Rodney’s weasel nature, she had never gotten much from him on actual clients and she only got what she did because she wasn’t on the city payroll. No, if Nicole needed a forger, she had the contacts to find someone closer to home and not working out of a trash joint like Azure. Vic imagined Jackie Flex made his money from local thugs, low-level politicians, and the occasional lucky working girl. She rubbed her eyes irritably and got out of her car. Despite her doubts, the situation hadn’t changed. She was low on leads, so even slim ones would have to be played out.

Marcus looked just as sleazy as the club he half-heartedly guarded. The little hair he had left on his head was made up for by a heavily oiled mustache. He leered at Vic as she approached the small, white door she’d been watching for over an hour.

“Umm, but you’re a sweet thing.” She stood up straighter. Vic deeply regretted her pistol was now locked up in her office. It had been the right call, no reason to cause a fuss if it wasn’t needed, but she’d always found iron on your thigh was the best deterrent to catcalling. “I think you got the wrong door honey, stripers go in that way.” He waved toward the front of the building without looking away from her chest.

“I’m looking to buy some lumber,” she tried to sound convincingly intimidated, but the overwhelming desire to punch Marcus in his greasy mustache took away from the effect a little. But Rodney Foureyes knew what he was about and the phrase was all she needed to be ushered into the grimy hallway behind the white door.

The short hall led to a single plain door. Behind it was a brightly lit room that looked like some unholy mix of medical laboratory and drug den. A young man stood up from his desk when she walked in. He looked like a younger, greasier version of Rodney. Maybe there was a guild dress code for forgers.

“Well baby, you must have found just the right mark. Or the wrong one,” he gave a nasal laugh, “well you just come right on in and tell Jackie everything you need.” He offered her a chair, “new name? New job? New passport? Anything you need. At the right price, of course,” he licked his lips and stared at her. She was beginning to miss Foureyes.

“I don’t need papers,” she pulled out an envelope and laid it on the table between them, “but I am paying.” He looked at her suspiciously but took the money offered.

“Whatcha payin’ for, then?”

“Information.”

“Oh, no,” Jackie took a quick step away from her, “I don’t talk to cops and I ain’t fingering nobody.” He glanced at the door nervously, “how’d you get in?”

“Relax, I’m not a badge and Marcus is still out there leering at anything with tits.” Vic had dealt with the underbelly of Arch City most of her life. The trick was to hide your disgust and come at them like alley cats; moving slow and offering handouts. “I don’t want names, already have names. Just need a little confirmation is all. Nothing more than yes or no. Easy scratch, right Flex? And no one’s the wiser.”

“My clients expect privacy. And they pay well for it. I go squealing and that dries up.”

“And my clients pay me for information,” she pulled another envelope identical to the first from under her coat. He eyed it longingly.

“Private Dick then? Not much better than a cop in my books.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I pay better.” She tapped the envelope she was still holding.

“Whattaya want then?”

“Nicole Quinn.”

“Never been in my office.”

“Wrong answer, Jackie,” Vic smirked at him.

“I’m tellin' the truth.”

“Maybe you are Jackie. But some PI walks into your sleazy office asking after the most prominent dame in Arch City you’re either going to laugh her out or ask for a hit of whatever she’s smoking. That is unless you know I got some reason to be askin’.” She stood up from her chair and took a step toward him, “So, why don’t you be a little more clear, yeah? Before I have to ask, not so nicely. So, you done any work for Nicole Quinn lately?”

“Not her, no,” Vic moved towards him, shoving the envelope of money back under her coat. “But…I did some work for another girl who had a plus one that looked an awful lot like her.”

Vic stopped, “three days ago? Around eight?”

“Don’t know what time for sure,” he shrugged, “sounds about right, though.”

“She give you a name?”

“Nah, don’t usually. Real looker though. Real mean but paid top dollar. New everything for her and the plus one ‘friend’. Didn’t get a name on her either before you ask but the headshot she passed me was dead on for that fancy bitch Quinn in a bad wig. Thought maybe I was seeing things, though.”

“Why?”

“Girl paying said her friend had scored big with a flush mark. Figured if it was that Quinn lady she don’t need to score big with nobody, right?”

“At least not with her husband…,” Vic mumbled. She’d heard what she needed and made her way to the door. “Wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, Jackie…”

“Ehem…”

She turned to see Jackie Flex staring at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes but threw the second envelope on the table. No reason to burn bridges she might have to cross another day.