CHAPTER TWO
AND THE PLOT THICKENS
Waking up with a terrible headache, John finds himself in the all too familiar position… collapsed on the floor. Face glued to it reminiscent of two lovers fused in passion’s tight embrace, body sticking up reminiscent of a... chair? There is some vomit not too far away from him ruining this artistic visage. Classic.
“Ugh! Not again,” John says, struggling to move.
Turning around, he sees a small boy staring at him.
“What the hell! Now I’m imagining things” John says, laughing at the yet another deterioration of his mind.
“Are you a detective?” the boy asks staring blankly at this unusual image.
“What the? You are real?” John asks surprised.
“Are any of us real?” the boy asks.
“What?” John asks, scratching his head in confusion.
“It is philosophy. We are learning it at the orphanage,” the boy says.
“Here is some philosophy for you, kid. Don’t do philosophy or you will get your ass kicked, said by the great Aristol,” John says.
“You mean Aristotle?” the boy asks.
“No, Aristol. He is a guy I used to know. Got his ass kicked a lot of times, poor but irritating guy,” John says fondly remembering his good old friend.
“You help people find people? I want you to help me find someone,” the boy says.
“Look, boy, I don’t do charity work,” John says as he struggles back to his spiny chair.
“I’m not a boy, my name is Alex Humbert. My friend Mary Stilsky is missing. I have money,” Alex says as he takes out a wad of cheap bills all squashed into one unkempt pile.
“Look, Mark, it costs a lot more than that to hire a detective,” John says.
“It is Alex,” Alex says.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve said, Barry,” John says as he holds his head to calm the piercing pain and head-ringing.
“I’ll get you the money. I will work hard for it. Just... just help me find Mary. She is my only friend,” Alex says barely holding the tears in his eyes.
“How the hell did you get in here?” John asks.
“The door was open. You should close it so that bad people can’t enter. That is what our teachers say,” Alex adds.
“Monumental advice. What do your teachers say you should do when your head wants to pop out from your body?” John says.
“I don’t know,” Alex says thinking about it.
Suddenly, there is a loud banging on the door. The banging continues in a non-stop fashion; rhythmically, almost. One-two, one-two. The hangover helps intensify the loud banging. Playing like drums in the head. Not the best place for drums also not the melody, one would hope to hear right after waking with a hangover.
“I’ve heard you the first time, hold your horses,” John says as he stumbles awkwardly to the door. One clumsy step at a clumsy time.
Opening the door, he is met with the sight of a little fat man with a greasy wife-beater shirt. Holding a fat lit cigar in one hand and a baseball bat in the other with sweat coming from his almost bald head. Not completely bald, there are some wild hairs here and there. A rent extortionist and a pervert in his spare time. He has a ladder which he uses to spy at one lady tenant on the first floor. She caught him and they made a deal that she would pay 50 bucks less for rent, I, myself wouldn’t be that cheap if it happened to me. I would be cheaper, I would agree for half that, John thinks.
“Well, look who it is. My favorite landlord, Pete. Just the person I hoped I wouldn’t see ever,” John says.
“I am your only landlord,” Pete adds.
“And my favorite one, but also my worst one. How good for you to be the number one on two of my lists,” John says.
“What a coincidence, you are also first on a couple of my lists. Worst tenant, the tenant who forgets to pay his rents the most. Do I need to continue?” Pete asks as puffing on his cigar. The sweat continues to run down his bald head. Luckily, his wife-beater shirt is there to aid him instead of a handkerchief.
“Is it rent time already? I’ve paid you two days ago... I think,” John says.
“It is rent time. What a glorious day. And you paid me two months ago. Do you have dementia or something, can you not keep up with what day it is?” Pete asks.
“I have trouble keeping up with what year it is,” John says with an all too serious expression.
“Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much. I saw you yesterday. It took you an hour to get inside the building. It was hilarious,” Pete says as he smiles.
“You could have helped,” John says.
“I could have,” Pete says, continuing to puff his cigar and staring.
“But?” John asks.
“But where would the fun be in that?” Pete adds, followed by a short laugh.
“You know you should take better care for people who regularly pay you rent,” John says.
“You haven’t paid rent regularly... not even once. Not once!” Pete yells in frustration.
“I’m not talking about myself, just worried about the other tenants,” John adds.
“Listen here you bum, you either pay or I’m will kick you out,” Pete says frustrated.
“You know words can hurt,” John says.
“Not as much as a baseball bat,” Pete says as he grips the baseball bat in his hands. Tapping it gently with a sinister smile on his face.
“Yes, but what truly hurts more? A baseball bat or the emotional damage you have to carry for the rest of your life?” John asks.
“I will still go with a baseball bat since words can’t break your legs,” Pete says. True, words are much less effective at breaking legs. John has to concede to this point.
“You know you don’t need a baseball bat for collecting rent,” John says.
“That is what you think,” Pete says.
“What kind of message are you sending to today’s youth? Why Barney here may become misguided because of your awful example,” John says as he looks at Alex.
“It is Alex,” Alex says.
“Yeah exactly,” John says.
“I can’t fathom to imagine you getting an unfortunate girl pregnant. And now, you are taking care of a child? I weep for his future,” Pete says.
“Hey, he may grow up...” John says as he stops talking and blankly stares in silence.
Pete and Alex stare at him in silence, expecting a follow-up. There is none.
“No. I got nothing,” John adds, breaking the silence.
“Listen here you are three rents behind and today’s the fourth one. So you either pay up or I introduce you to the intricate game of baseball,” Pete says as he continues holding the bat... firmly.
“It would be just like with my father,” John says.
“You played baseball with your father?” Pete asks.
“No. He beat me with one,” John says.
“Then you understand completely,” Pete says.
“Look, I’ve got some money from the case,” John searches his pocket as he removes some cash along with a paper clip, a fluffy die, and a stale mushroom.
“The hell are these things?” Pete asks.
“The mushroom has an interesting story behind it,” John says.
“I don’t care. Just give me the rent,” Pete says, visibly annoyed.
“Here you go,” John says, handing over the unkempt pile of cash.
Pete takes the money as he counts it.
“I’m hurt that you don’t trust me,” John says.
“I wouldn’t trust you with a hair from my back,” Pete says as he counts the money.
“That is quite a disturbing image,” John says.
“You are fifteen short,” Pete says.
“Can’t you just overlook it,” John says.
“I can,” Pete says as he looks at John.
“Let me guess, you can but you won’t?” John asks.
“Bingo. I am glad that you are putting those detective skills of yours to good use,” Pete says with a big smile on his face.
“Hey, Jeremy, how much money do you have?” John asks Alex.
“It is Alex, and I got 28,” Alex says.
“Consider your case taken,” John says as he takes the money from Alex.
“Taking money from kids, how low can you sink?” Pete asks.
“As low as the depth allows me,” John adds.
“Well, I guess we are square until next time. Too bad I was looking forward to kicking your sorry ass out. Who knows? Maybe axes will rain today,” Pete says as he walks away counting his cash and laughing.
“Yeah, I never heard that one before,” John says as he slams the door.
John, with great effort, moves to a couch as he throws himself at it.
“Okay Jeremiah, let’s hear about Mary,” John says.
“It is Alex,” Alex says as he goes behind John’s desk and sits on the spinny chair.
Alex spins on the chair; he puts on John’s fedora hat.
“This hat stinks,” Alex says as he quickly removes it from his head.
“Life stinks,” John says as lying on the couch holding his head because of the head-splitting hangover.
“We played yesterday in the park, near the Lucky casino. I went away for only a moment and when I returned she was gone. I thought she went back to the orphanage, but she wasn’t there when I came back. I searched everywhere for her but I couldn’t find her and no one has seen her. She hasn’t been back since then. I tried telling the caretakers in the orphanage, but they just didn’t pay me any attention,” Alex explains.
“Who is Mary?” John asks.
“Mary, my friend I hired you to look for. Are you sure you are a detective?” Alex says.
“You get what you paid for, Mathew, that is a lesson that will serve you well,” John says.
“It is Alex. I think I overpaid for you,” Alex says.
“Okay, okay. Tell me about her and I’ll see what I can do,” John says.
“She likes playing pirates, her favorite color is blue, she...” Alex talks as he gets cut off.
“Tell me how she looks, not what she likes,” John says slightly annoyed.
“She is tall like me, she has red curly hair and she is a very good person. Please help me find her, I know something bad must have happened, she wouldn’t leave without telling me,” Alex says.
“Okay, I will look at it. Now if you would leave me I need to do something that needs to be done after you drink a bottle of questionable alcohol,” John says.
“What is that?” Alex asks.
“What comes up must also come down,” John says as he goes to the bathroom.
Alex sits confused in the spiny chair; he leaves as John spends a long time in the bathroom. A very long time.
We shall skip the part about John vomiting in the toilet seat making noises like a pregnant cow since most people gag and not take well the very mention of vomit; but there was vomit! Vomit everywhere, so much vomit that it seems humanly impossible. Vomit, vomit, and some more vomit. But as stated before, there shall be no mention of vomit.
This must be my lucky day because I have two cases open and even some money left in my pocket, John thinks.
He counts the money as there are thirteen bucks.
“Thirteen! Lucky thirteen,” John says with enthusiasm.
“Must be my lucky day,” John adds.
With few clues, there is still the creatively named motel Motel to check and the Lucky casino. If both things turn out to be a fail, I will have no choice but to check the police station for more information; something I would rather avoid. To put it simply, I would rather run naked in the bad parts of the city while singing London Bridge is falling down and juggling very sharp knives than have to stomach one second with those dimwitted corruptible buffoons. I hate that song.
I wish the bridge would just fall at the end, at least then the song would have an ending, my fair lady. Oh no! It is stuck in my head now.
Walking outside, I found it to be night again. How is it I always oversleep the day? I remember seeing the Sun once before. It was yellow and warm. I like the Sun! Maybe I should make a change and not drink, well not drink that much.
I will start today... tomorrow works much better. Yes, tomorrow I shall start; I’m 40% sure tomorrow will be the day. Small steps are the key.
So off to the motel.
As John walks outside, the rain falls again.
“Ah, my old friend the rain. I knew if anyone would wait for me it had to be you, you cold wet bastard,” John says as he walks through the dark streets of the city. What is worse? To be wet or to be cold? The answer is both.
Arriving at the motel Motel John sees two enormous figures of questionable nature coming outside of it.
People are generally questionable, but these two bruisers are more questionable than the questionable questionable’s. Quite questionable, John thinks to himself. Questionable indeed.
One brown-haired, the other blond-haired but both build like a brick house, looking like they ate their vegetables every day and other people’s vegetables for that matter; by the looks of it, they didn’t bother asking those other people if they would be fine with them taking their vegetables away.
“Out of the way, pipsqueak,” the brown-haired bruiser says.
“Now, now there is no need to be rude,” the blond-haired bruiser says.
“Sometimes there is a need to be rude,” John adds.
“Perhaps. Let me introduce myself. I am Roderick and this here is my little brother Harry,” the blond-haired bruiser says. Even if he is younger, the term little just doesn’t suit them; either of them.
“My name is John,” John says.
“John what?” Roderick asks.
“Just John,” John says.
“Very well, Mr. John. You look like a private detective, tell me are you perhaps involved with a Mr.Aubrie, a Mark Aubrie?” Roderick asks.
“A private detective. Why I could be in real estate,” John says.
“Come now, Mr. John, you wouldn’t be a real estate agent with those clothes,” Roderick says.
“Why not?” John asks.
“You would scare away the customers,” Roderick says.
“I guess that makes. Let me take a wild guess that you also not real estate agents,” John adds.
“Quite right, Mr. John. We work for Mr.Malone. I am fairly certain you know that name,” Roderick says.
“The owner of the Lucky casino and a crime boss that specializes in drugs, sex, drugs, rock’n’roll, and drugs without the rock’n’roll part. Did I mention the drugs part?” John says.
“Quite so,” Roderick says.
“We do the rock’n’roll,” Harry adds.
“I’m not sure you quite understand what that term means,” John adds.
“Forgive my brother, he is a bit... common. But we use rocks and people roll when we conduct our business,” Roderick says as he faintly smiles.
“Must be quite a fulfilling and happy job, well for you anyway,” John says.
“It is a job and we are very, very good at it. Be that is it may if you come across Mark Aubrie please come to the Lucky casino you will be handsomely reimbursed for your troubles,” Roderick says.
“I will keep that in mind, but I wouldn’t hold much to it if I were you,” John says.
“Why is that Mr. John?” Roderick asks.
“I tend to blackout and forget things when I drink and I drink almost daily without the almost part,” John says.
“I see. Even if you forget, we won’t. Well, I’ll bid you a farewell Mr. John,” Roderick says with a menacing smile.
“You better tell us if you find him or me and you will rock’n’roll,” Harry says.
“That is a disturbing thought,” John adds.
“I still find it hard to believe we have the same parents. Come on, Harry,” Roderick says as he shakes his head in disbelief.
Trying to forget that I was threatened by rock’n’roll with an oversized simple man, I walk inside the motel. The inside of this place is like many other places in this city. Dirty and cheap. An older woman stands at the check-in. She has all the criteria and the look you would give someone who is a perfect example of a stick-up-her-behind. Glasses check, old sweater check, and a dull, inhuman discipline to stand for hours doing absolutely nothing check.
“Hello there,” John says.
“Hello and welcome to the motel Motel may I be of service?” the receptionist says withholding any form of emotion from her face.
“I am looking for a good friend of mine who stays here. Mr.Aubrie, Mark Aubrie,” John says as fake-smiling towards the receptionist.
“I’m afraid I can’t give information on our customers unless they gave advance notice of visitation,” the receptionist says as removing her glasses to clean them with a small handkerchief.
“Did he not say I was visiting? He must have forgotten. Could you perhaps double-check?” John asks as pretending to be courteous, more so courteous than he ever was in his life.
“There is no need to double-check. I don’t make mistakes. I am quite thorough,” the receptionist says, glancing at John without emotion.
“I can see that you look thorough. But I assure you there is no need for concern if such a lovely lady like yourself would help me this once I would be very appreciative,” John says as continuing to fake smile at the stuck up receptionist. The awkward fake smiles look more akin to a facial expression of a person chewing a lemon apart from an actual smile.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“I’m afraid there are rules and rules MUST be obeyed,” the receptionist says unhinged.
“Come now, you look like a person who always follows the rules but, perhaps, in your youth you were a bit of a rebel. I can see that youthful daring in your eyes. Maybe you could, maybe you want to play it dangerously just this once. Reliving your youthful rebellious nature, just once again for the good old time’s sake. Reliving the past fire, and invigorating your old flame,” John says as he leans close with an even larger awkward fake smile on his face. His face is hurting, he never fake smiled so much in his life; or smile for that matter.
“No,” the receptionist coldly answers with no emotions or pause.
Damn, out of all the people who don’t care about rules in this city, I had to find one that has a broom stuck up her broom closet. This will not be the end of this, I have ideas; I have methods and eventually I will, maybe, think of one to get what I want; not at this moment but soon, hopefully soon... hopefully.
“Could I perhaps bribe you to do so?” John asks.
“No,” the receptionist says.
“Good, because I don’t have money to bribe you,” John says as he shakes his head.
Life is usually bad, but this time it would get a lot worse. They say if you hit rock bottom there is no place to go but up. This is incorrect. There are always ways to go even further down. The never-ending down. I have a few options left than to go to the police station and talk to some of my friends there. Friends was perhaps an overstretching term, perhaps the more accurate description would be people I hated with all my soul, heart, mind, fingers, nails, and every other fiber of my body; people who hated me just as much. But it was a loving hate relationship, just without the loving part.
Arriving in front of the police stations, John takes a deep breath to calm himself; the deep breath is followed by intense coughs. After the serene coughs, he goes inside.
The smell of broken dreams lingers hard in the air, so much so you can almost smell it. A police officer standing at the front desk looking like he spent a year in solitary with a dull look devoid of all life. Cheap prostitutes, small-time drug dealers, thieves, and generally uncontrollable drunks sit all around. An arrested person yelling/calling for the start of the apocalypse, a prostitute offering her services in the middle of a police station, junkies shaking like they are making a milkshake. It all looks bad, very bad; combined with the stale air you get an atmosphere where hanging yourself with a barbed wire seems reasonable. But alas, there is no barbed wire. The woes of life.
Come on, I just got to see Joseph, get some quick information and I can be out. I would say it won’t be all bad if I just don’t run across the Miller twins, but what are the chances of running into two exact cops at this exact moment in this exact time and place?
Just before saying that two men approach John. And it was the Miller twins.
Of course, it had to be them. Why wouldn’t the only two cops I wouldn’t want to see more than anything in the world be here just when I walked in once in all the years I was away?
I’m sure there is some Great Joker in the sky who finds me the source of his amusement, and his most fun amusement is my annoyance. Well, I have to say way to go oh great one; you win again.
The two twins with cartoon-ish mustaches come forward with an evil grin, an evil grin that a wicked child would have when tormenting some poor animal.
“Well, well, look what we have here,” D. Miller says.
“Do you smell something, brother?” B. Millers asks.
“Why I think I do. I smell failure,” D. Miller says with a cheek-to-cheek grin.
“I wonder where the smell of failure is coming from, brother?” B. Miller asks, looking around.
“It looks to be coming from this person,” D. Miller says as turning his look towards John.
“Look who it is, the two most corruptible cops in the city,” John says.
“Corruption? We were never accused of such a thing,” B. Miller says.
“All of us here know you take bribes regularly. I saw you taking them a couple of times myself,” John says.
“As I’ve said they never accused us of corruption, which it is more than I can say for you former detective John,” B. Miller says.
“You, on the other hand, were accused and let go because of corruption if I remember correctly, and I remember correctly,” D. Miller says as smirking.
“You both know full well that I didn’t take the bribe,” John says.
“Perhaps, but perhaps you should have,” B. Miller says.
“You see the irony of things? You two who take bribes are ridiculing me, the one who never took bribes,” John says.
“Now, now accusing detectives of taking bribes. Why that must be a crime, right?” D. Miller says.
“I’m guessing you two wouldn’t know since your knowledge of the law is as ridiculous as your mustaches,” John says.
“Ridiculous mustaches? You must be joking. These are Poirot mustaches and Poirot is an icon,” B. Miller says.
“He is fictional, you know this?” John says.
“Look, I just came here to talk to Joseph and then I’ll be off and you two can continue pretending to be good law-abiding detectives,” John says.
“Well, that will be a bit of a problem,” B. Miller says.
“Not unless he has an ouija board,” D. Miller adds.
“What?” John asks looking shocked.
“An ouija board, it helps you talk to the dead,” D. Miller says.
“I know what an ouija board is you, mustached cartoon villains. Are you saying Joseph is dead,” John asks.
“As dead as your career, well perhaps not that dead,” B.Miller says.
“What? When? How?” John asks.
“What death, when two years ago, how heart,” D.Miller says.
“Must have been such a good friend since he died two years ago and you just found out,” B.Miller says.
“Now, now brother, it is not his fault he is a failure of a cop and a dead beat drunk. I’m sure he was busy not having any cases to solve,” D.Miller says.
“But brother he is here now looking for Joseph, do my eyes deceive me, or does that mean he has a case?” B. Miller says pretending to be happy about John.
“Why it must be so brother, but he is just a poor private dick and I’m not talking only about his personality. Maybe, just maybe we should assist him as we are, after all, real detectives,” D.Miller says.
John takes a deep sigh as thinking, when will this nightmare end?
“You know what? Maybe you should help me out since you are such good detectives,” John says.
“I think not,” B.Miller says as he bursts out laughing.
“Look I just need to find a certain person. A man named Mark Aubrie,” John says.
“Mark Aubrie,” the Miller twins say as the joyful expression on their faces turns serious.
“What do you need with him?” B. Miller asks.
“I just need to find him,” John says.
“Well tough luck, he is dead,” D. Miller says.
“Dead? How? When?” John asks.
Both of the Miller twins say at the same time.
“He committed suicide,” B. Miller says
“A robbery went bad,” D. Miller says at the same time.
“He committed suicide while a robbery has gone bad?” John says as looking at them skeptically.
“Look, he is dead, so stop looking for him,” D. Miller says.
“If we catch you meddling in affairs, we will have no choice but to throw the book at you,” B. Miller says.
“On what charge? Walking the streets and talking to people?” John asks with a severe annoyance on his face.
“Just drop it dead beat,” D. Miller says.
Both of the Miller twins walk away.
Those two idiots don’t seem to realize that you can easily check if a person died. But then again, they never excelled at intelligence. Poirot would be ashamed of people like that wearing his mustache, hell even Dick Dastardly would be ashamed. With a little spectacular detective research, I found out that no one by the name of Mark Aubrie died in the last month.
“Hey, Steve, can you check if anyone by the name of Mark Aubrie died dating month back,” John asks.
“Sure,” Steve says as he quickly checks.
“Nope,” Steve adds.
“Thanks, Steve,” John responds.
Magnificent detective work.
So the question is, why would those two lie to me?
“The plot thickens,” John says out loud to himself.
I always wanted to say that. The plot thickens! I’m sorry I just had to get it out of my system now we can continue.
There are still places that need checking out and if I could stomach going to the police station, I can stomach going to an orphanage. After all, I was paid almost 28 bucks to do hard work. But it wasn’t about the money, it was about doing the right thing. That is why I took the case to find the poor, lost, orphaned girl; keep telling yourself that John and you may just delude yourself into believing it. Lying to yourself is, after all, a good way to go through life unless you are happy with your life, but who is?
The case was getting problematic since I was supposed to check if this Mark Aubrie was cheating on the tall beautiful long-legged blonde but for the life of me, I couldn’t picture a reason he would do that unless maybe he found a slightly more long-legged, tall beautiful blond. But why go through the trouble? Come to think of it, could it be that Jane von Riyn lied to me? This was more of a job to find a missing person than it was for finding a cheating partner. Thinking about it again, I should have probably realized this much sooner, but than again I drink a lot. Thinking about it, I haven’t had a proper drink since almost, well very early today or late today, depending on when you woke up. It was time I visited her to squeeze some more information about this entire case and get that drink that I’m craving; one cannot work on an empty stomach? But before that, I guess I could visit the orphanage and get some information about that missing girl.
Arriving at the orphanage, I was met with quite a spectacular sight. The walls that are supposed to surround the building have more than a good number of holes in them, plants and mushrooms are growing from the stone walls. How they grow from there I will never know, but at least they have a nice variety of mushrooms; to see if those mushrooms are edible, I guess I will have to get one orphan to test it, just for safety. What? Fine, fine, you don’t have to judge me like that. I promise I won’t let the orphans taste the possibly very delicious mushroom who may or may not be poisonous; but just for your information, you may be depriving the poor hungry orphans of some delicious snacks. But hey, you wanted to judge. The fields outside are desolate as only brown dead-like earth stands. This is somewhat interesting that nothing is growing from the earth, but on the walls, there is a jungle. Ah, mother nature, you never continue to amaze. Some kids are running around and playing with what they have available. Some broken dolls, a deflated ball, and what is that?
Rusty iron nails and they are running with them, well at least they aren’t running with rusty iron scissors because that would be a problem but no one ever said anything about running with rusty iron nails so I guess there is no problem. Right? The main building at the center of all this the most unimpressive mess is standing almost with no problems. The keyword here is almost. Some questionable parts may or may not be a bit wiggly but like my grandfather said if it isn’t broken there is no reason to fix it. He died on his favorite rocking chair that only broke once in all the years he had it. That is what I call good craftsmanship. Back to the building, I was going to describe that it looks so unimpressive that I feel bad just from looking at it. I wonder would the smelly little orphans be better off on the streets than this place, but I guess it would be harder to find improvised toys there, so all is good. Woah, the kid running with the dirty nail just fell! I’m sure that there isn’t anything to worry about, after all. Kids recover quickly. Oh, how I miss my youth.
John walks inside the orphanage.
“Hello, may I help you?” the orphanage receptionist says with an unbelievably nasal voice. Such a nasal voice that it makes you cringe, almost like the word cringe. Very cringe.
“Yes, I’m looking to adopt a child,” John says, nodding to himself in a sure-why-not manner.
“Well, that is very nice of you. These kids are angels. All so innocent and sweet,” the orphanage receptionist says as two small children run across the halls.
“You little shits stop running or I will drown you like I drowned your puppies,” the orphanage receptionist yells as suddenly completely changing personality.
“Um... okay?” John says watching in confusion.
“Where was I? Oh yes! Angels, little angels. If you would go see our headmistress she can take your inquiry,” the receptionist says.
John walks inside the door as from behind him he hears the receptionist quietly murmuring.
“Mur, mur, mur stupid brats, mur, mur,” the receptionist continues to murmur.
John knocks and the door.
“Yes, enter,” another nasal voice says.
Great, another one. This is getting old fast, John says in his quiet voice.
“Um, hello... my name is John... John Johnson,” John says as making up the last name.
John Johnson? And here I was making fun of the bartender Bartender and motel Motel, for shame.
But luckily for John he has experienced far too much shame in his lifetime, so much so that shame is a foreign aspect to his life, he proudly considers this as one of his better points; full disclosure, he should not.
“A pleasure. I am headmistress Ann McMann, please have a seat. Can I offer you a drink?” the headmistress asks.
A serious-looking older woman with thick glasses, so thick that one would wonder how she sees anything with them, or perhaps it is the opposite. Perhaps she sees everything with them as they are more akin to a microscope than actual glasses.
“Do you have any whiskey?” John asks.
“Of course not, this is an orphanage, not a bar,” Ann says as shrugging in displeasure at the mere mention of whiskey.
“I see,” John says being at a loss for words.
“We have some home-made schnapps if you are interested, it is good,” Ann says as she takes a bottle out and pours him some.
“Thank you,” John says as he takes a sip.
“How do you like it?” Ann asks.
“It is good,” John says. It wasn’t good at all, but John doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, more so for when free booze enters the equation.
“Do you make it yourself?” John asks.
“Of course not. I have the children here do it, it is a good thing to give them something to do otherwise they just waste time playing and eating,” Ann says.
“Well, they are children...” John says, staring blankly.
“When I was only eight years old, I already had a full-time job, and I turned out perfectly good. Kids these days are too spoiled if you ask me. I would make them work 8 hours even before they turn eight. Perhaps then we would have some productive members of society, not all this riff-raff that we have now,” Ann says very seriously and very nasally.
This does not come as a shock, John thinks to himself.
“If we only had more women like you, Miss McMann,” John says.
“Yes, but what can you do?” Ann says as even shrugging nasally.
How she managed this is truly unique.
“Excuse me for prying Miss McMann but may I ask are you and the receptionist related by any chance?” John asks.
“How perceptive of you Mr. Johnson, you must have noticed our similar likeness. Our parents always used to say that we are like two peas in a pod,” Ann says.
“Um... yes. That is it!” John says as hiding the true reason he asked.
“So I am busy as I am sure you are, not like these kids that do nothing, How may I be of service,” Ann asks.
“Well... you see madam, it is a tragic tale of love and loss,” John says.
“Oh my, I am quite an aficionado of those. Tell me more,” Ann says, smiling.
“You see, Madam. When I was young and beginning my illustrious career...” John says as he gets cut off.
“Ah yes, I haven’t even asked you what you do. We only consider those of good standings after all, this is a well-respected establishment. We can’t sully our reputation by giving children just to anyone,” Ann says, nodding to herself.
“Yes... um, I am a doctor, Dr. John Johnson,” John says.
“Oh, a doctor. That is quite something! I have this blister on my toe if you wouldn’t mind giving me your professional opinion on it,” Ann says as beginning to take off her shoe.
“No, no... not that kind of doctor,” John says as panicking.
“What kind of doctor are you then? You wouldn’t have made this all up?” Ann asks as looking piercingly and nasally at John.
It is a gift to do everything nasally. I guess we all have some gifts, even if some of them are useless and irritating.
“I am a...”
John says as he stops to think.
Looking around the office, he sees a lot of pictures of cats. With so many pictures of cats, she is an animal lover, and that is a good fish hook to throw.
“An animal doctor,” John says proudly.
“Ah, you mean a veterinary,” Ann says.
“Correct. You sure know your stuff,” John says as nodding with a serious expression on his face.
“Of course. What a grand occupation. Animals are after all much better than people,” Ann says, smiling proudly and nasally.
“They are something else,” John adds.
“So you were telling me about your story,” Ann says as she turns all ears. Slightly tilting her head while moving her head toward the upcoming story.
“Yes. As I was saying, quite a tragic tale. You see my long-deceased wife and I had a child but we couldn’t take care of her. It forced us to give her away,” John says, taking one sniff in the pretension of sadness.
“Ah the horror,” Ann says as listening to the story.
“But now when I became a lawyer, I want to find my missing girl and take care of her,” John says.
“A lawyer? I thought you said you were a veterinary physician?” Ann says.
“Yes... I consider myself a lawyer for the animals also because they suffer so much abuse, so much cruelty. These poor fluffy little innocent creatures,” John adds.
“So true, so true,” Ann says as nodding.
“So I have it on good authority that my little girl is here,” John says.
“Well, that wasn’t such a tragic tale. I hoped for some more juiciness to the story, but I guess it will have to do. So what is the little girl’s name?” Ann asks.
“Mary Stilsky,” John says.
The headmistress’s face turns serious for a moment.
“I am sorry, but we don’t have anyone by that name here,” Ann says.
“Are you sure? You have many children, maybe if you just...” John says as he gets cut off.
“I am sure. I know the orphanage like the back of my hand. And I know the back of my hand,” Ann says.
“I’m sure you know the back of your hand like no one knows the back of their hand, but is it possible that, maybe, you are mistaken?” John asks.
“It is not possible. We have many other children if you are interested,” Ann says.
“No, but thank you for your time,” John says.
“Well, if you change your mind, don’t be a stranger,” Ann says as she gets up.
“Well, I guess I’ll be taking my leave,” John says.
“Goodbye Mr. Johnson,” Ann says.
John goes out as he wonders why would the headmistress lie about something like that. He takes out a cigarette as he lights it.
“Everywhere I turn just more dead ends. This is early, similar to my life,” John says.
“John, John,” a voice yells.
John turns at the direction of the voice as he sees Alex running to him.
“Did you find Mary?” Alex says as he rushes to John, panting, trying to catch his breath.
“Not yet. The headmistress says she never was at the orphanage,” John says.
“What do you mean she never was here? She was here even before I came here,” Alex says.
“Yes, it is strange,” John says.
“She is lying. I didn’t make it up, I didn’t,” Alex says.
“I believe you,” John says.
“You do? What are you going to do now?” Alex asks.
“I have a plan, but I will need your help,” John says as he comes closer to Alex and whispers in his ear.
A moment passes as John goes back inside the orphanage as he returns to the headmistress’s office.
“Dr. Johnson? Did you forget anything?” Ann asks.
“Why yes, I just remembered I wanted to ask you something else,” John says.
“Dr. Johnson, I’m afraid I don’t have the time for any more queries. I am a very busy woman,” Ann says.
“Are you sure you can’t spare a minute?” John asks.
“Spare a minute concerning what?” Ann asks.
“Perhaps some more information about Mary that you could help me with?” John asks.
“No,” Ann answers shortly and coldly as showing John the door is not so a subtle manner.
John thinks hard as he wonders where is that damn kid.
“I wanted to talk about your cats?” John says picking at straws trying to stall for time.
“No,” Ann says again.
“About the orphanage?” John asks blindly fishing for...something.
“No,” Ann answers as she gets up and points at the door. The simple gesture of get out of here.
Come on, John, think! What would make her interested?
An idea pops to his head.
“To be honest, Miss Ann, I wanted to talk about you,” John says.
“About me?” Ann asks, looking puzzled.
“Why I was left infatuated by you. A strong independent woman likes you who leads this establishment with an iron fist. A woman who understands the value of hard work, a woman who always puts her work first. I can tell such a sort from miles away. There is a certain air about you,” John says as words come pouring out like a magnificent waterfall of gibberish.
Usually, a person with some pride would not stoop so low, but considering this is John we are talking about, there is rarely a thing such as too low for him. Some people say you can hit rock bottom, but those people don’t know that digging is also an option.
“Well, I know about hard work. What sort is this air around me you were talking about?” Ann asks as twirling her hair.
“An air of...” John says, trying to think what to add.
“Yes?” Ann curiously asks.
“Dedication,” John says proudly.
“Ah yes, I am very dedicated,” Ann says.
“And I can see you put the well-being of others above your own,” John says.
“Well, it is my job,” Ann says as she slightly chuckles.
“But sometimes Miss Ann we should...” John says as Alex runs into the office.
“Headmistress, headmistress,” Alex yells.
“What is it now, I am busy,” Ann says.
“Quickly come with me, there is a problem,” John says.
“Can’t it wait?” Ann says.
“No, quickly, there is a problem,” Alex says.
“I don’t think...” Ann says as she gets cut by John.
“You are so dedicated Miss Ann that you even help poor orphans when you are so busy. Why here I thought you couldn’t be any grander in my eyes,” John says as he puts on an enormous smile.
“Well, yes... I will be right back,” Ann says as she smiles.
As soon as she leaves her office, the smile turns to a serious frown.
“I’ll be here unless I leave,” John says to no one around.
Alex and the headmistress leave.
“Uh, finally,” John says as he gets up and opens her file cabinet.
He searches the cabinet containing all the files of the orphans and he soon finds out there is a file about a Mary Stilsky.
“Since she said there is no child here by that name, I guess she won’t be missing the file,” John says as he puts the file in his coat and leaves.
John sits upon a bench little further away as he reads it. Inside the file is the picture of a small red-haired girl with some basic information; nothing to use. But it says that she was considered for adoption a few times but never adopted. Father is an unknown and mother a Lauren Stilsky. There is no further information to use. John returns the file in the cabinet.
So a child just disappears into the air, and the headmistress lies about it. Something smells fishy around here, and I’m not talking about the smell of this bench. Well, I guess it is time to visit Jane von Riyn.
He takes out the card containing her information as he checks her residence. Beckinsale Street! I don’t remember the last time I went to the good part of town. That would explain her willingness to pay more or to pay at all. John takes his leave as he heads towards her residence.
Like all houses in Beckinsale Street, the one where Jane von Riyn lives leaves you with a sour thought of what if I worked harder? Could I live in a place as grand as this? But then again, working hard is hard, it says so right in the sentence. Hard! Sure you can live in a castle-like residence, sure you probably have a butler or two and sure your life is easier, but then again who would want to bother with managing all this space. I would rather have a small cozy space where I can see everything, at least in that space there would be no chance for a sneak attack. I know, I know... what are the chances that someone would do something like that? Then again, one does not lose something if he is prepared for many dangers. Right? Apart from his sanity, but who needs that? Just look at me; I’ve turned out almost reasonably well. A deep and philosophical book once said sanity is for the weak or maybe was from a very expensive children figure game, but then again I always mix these things up. The house was large; it was colossal. It was too large. To be fair, it couldn’t even be called a house. This is a mansion. A mansion with a garden filled with statues of small naked angels holding a bow. The building shined as they waxed it yesterday; how much effort does it take to have a mansion look like that? Well, it is time to knock.
John walks and knocks on the gargoyle-like door knocker. This is quite an impressive door knocker if I have to say so for myself and I do because there is no one else here.
A butler opens the door.
The world’s most stereotypical butler. Black smoking, bold head with some gray hair on the back, older and a look in his eyes that says I have done this for so many times I wish that someone would just end my misery. He wouldn’t say that though, being a professional and all.
“Welcome to the residence of von Riyn, how may I be of service?” The butler asks.
“Good afternoon Jeeves, I am here to see Jane von Riyn,” John says.
“Sir, my name is not... Jeeves. Is the lady of the house expecting you?” the butler asks.
“I’m sure she will if you tell her to expect me,” John says.
“Very good, Sir, but I’m afraid that I cannot just let anyone in... even someone as... refined as yourself,” the butler says with a purposeful pause and pronunciation on the term refined.
“Tell her it is detective John, the one she hired,” John says.
“Ah, I am sorry, Sir. She has left instructions to let you in, but I thought you looked different,” the butler says.
“How different?” John asks.
“More heroic... cleaner... refined... taller, smarter...” the butler says as he gets cut off.
“How dare you Jeeves, I am tall,” John says nodding with pride.
“Very good, Sir. I shall announce your arrival. Please come inside and wait. And touch nothing. Most of the things here are worth more than you make in a lifetime,” the butler says.
“Ha! The joke is on you Jeeves because I make horribly little money,” John says proudly.
“Indeed, it is, Sir,” the butler adds slightly shaking his head.
The butler walks upstairs as leaving John to wait in the museum-like living space. Too many statues, too many books, a good deal of everything, and everything looks like it is worth a lot of money. John looks and sees a spiny ornamented chair.
“Aha!” John adds with excitement.
He quickly sits down and does a half spin left and a half spin right. He moved nowhere, eerily similar to his life.
“This is a good chair,” John says as a look of pure bliss appears on his face.
“I am glad you are enjoying yourself, detective,” Jane says as gracefully sliding down the stairs smoking a thin cigarette. Walking in slow motion like time itself said let me enjoy this moment for longer. Her red graceful dress covering all the right spots and all the wrong spots at the same time just exuding sexiness and glamour... it exuded glexiness very sexlamourly.
“I rarely enjoy myself, but I get around by amusing myself where I can,” John says.
“So how goes the investigation?” Jane asks as she walks down and sits on a large red chair.
“That is why I came here. I’m having more trouble finding the person of interest. Has he been in touch?” John asks.
“No. I haven’t seen or heard from him in some time,” Jane says.
“If I remember correctly and I think I do, you’ve said that this was a tail job, not a search and find one,” John says as he takes out a cigarette.
“Does it matter detective, either way, it is a job,” Jane says.
“Usually it wouldn’t matter so much, but I have a feeling I am lied to. As much as I am used to such things I still don’t like being played like a sock puppet at a cheap street theater,” John says.
“A shame. Sometimes being played with can be an interesting sensation,” Jane says with a light smile.
“It depends on how hard you are being played,” John adds.
“I always play hard,” Jane says as she smiles.
“I am sure that you do. Either way, can you perhaps tell me something more? You know that the cases I take are strictly confidential, so if...” John says as he gets cut.
“I’m afraid that there isn’t much more to tell. Perhaps...” Jane says.
“Perhaps?” John asks.
“Well, Mark was distraught the last time I saw him,” Jane says.
“How distraught? Like a man that spilled his drink on his favorite coat or like a man whose coat is on fire and he is wearing it?” John asks.
“Quite an imaginary comparison,” Jane adds feign amusement.
“Oh, I didn’t imagine it. Just remembering,” John says.
“Your coat was on fire as you were wearing it?” Jane asks.
“Indeed, it was quite, and forgive the pun, a shocking sensation,” John says.
“I believe that isn’t the right pun for that situation,” Jane adds.
“Sadly, it is more right than you can imagine but enough about that. You were saying about Mark being distraught?” John asks.
“Yes, the last time I saw him. I thought it was because perhaps he has done something he shouldn’t have, something like seeing another woman, and because of that he felt guilty,” Jane says.
“Why do I have a feeling that you are tip-toeing around the truth,” John says.
“You don’t trust me?” Jane says as she smiles.
“I rarely trust anyone,” John says.
“Must be quite a tough life,” Jane says.
“It provides less disappointment,” John adds.
“Tell me, detective, do you have any children?” Jane asks, looking at John intensely.
“Not that I am aware of you?” John asks back.
“No. I wasn’t blessed with the opportunity,” Jane says with somewhat sad eyes. Eyes almost glimmering, almost.
“Well, I’m afraid that I have nothing more to tell you. If the case is getting problematic we can always stop,” Jane says.
“No, no... I will do it, after all, I am a professional,” John says as leaning back on the chair and taking a half-spin left followed by a full right spin like a child but all while retaining his sense of professionalism; at least in his mind.
“That and I pay you,” Jane says.
“This is not only about the money,” John says.
“Is it about something else?” Jane asks.
“No, but it sounds better if I put it that way,” John says.
“Well then, keep me informed and if you will excuse me I have some other engagements to attend to,” Jane says.
“Well then, till next time,” John says.
John walks outside as Jane leaves to head back upstairs. The butler stands at the door, waiting to show him out with enthusiasm.
“I trust the visit was productive,” the butler says.
“As productive as fake fruit. It looks good on the outside, but you don’t get many uses from it,” John says.
“Very good, Sir,” the butler responds with a blank expression.
“Tell me um... I never caught your name,” John says.
“I never threw it,” the butler says.
“Good, since I never was a good catcher,” John says.
“If that will be all, Sir, I shall bid you adieu,” the butler says, pointing to the door.
“I never was bidden adieu before. So this must be what a gentleman feels like,” John says.
“Sir, you are a paragon of the aristocracy,” the butler says with a blank expression.
“I wouldn’t go so far, but maybe to say a champion of the aristocracy would be more accurate,” John says as he leaves. The butler shakes his head as he closes the door.
John gets back to the office. He lies on his couch with that old bottle of questionable alcohol in his hands. The one he got from the bar. He thinks, my employer lying to me, the cops lying to me, the headmistress of the orphanage is lying to me. I am used to being lied to, but this much in such a short time makes my stomach hurt and growl. John’s stomach makes a loud noise. So much of everything has made my disdain for it all manifest in an actual physical representation of it. His stomach growls for a second time. John thinks for a moment. No! Wait! It wasn’t the lying; it is the hunger. I guess that makes much more sense. Either way, tomorrow I will get to the bottom of this if my name isn’t John and my surname isn’t... John falls asleep as the world goes dark again.