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[Heliman]

Original post here: http://www.bay12forums.com/smf/index.php?topic=75693.0



Characters made so far:

John: A cop with barely a penny to his name but plenty of years under his belt.
Samy: He's dead, Jim.
Lockland: Private Detective.

The story thus far:

It was about half past five, I'd said I'd meet my friend Samy down at the bar in downtown. I step outside and the harsh, gray New York rain comes down and hits my face. As I close and lock the door, I see commuters wander past, coats pulled up, papers over their heads, anything to keep them that little bit more dry.

Rain? Never bothered me. I'd like how in the big city the water came from the sky in unrelenting torrents. Somehow, I always found it calm.

I considered hailing a cab, but I decided that I'd calmly walk in the rain instead. Not like I had the money to spare, either. I turned and started walking up 8th, wondering what Samy wanted. My fellow walkers moved quickly, no doubt looking for warmth and dryness.

A paper boy stood vigilantly on the street side, soaked through to the skin with his coat wrapped around a stack of papers, now that's what I call work ethics. Murder, scandal and tragedy he cries out the headlines, but through the city’s veins the old core of the apple still beats, millions of people going about their business.

I turn a corner and I'm there, 'Smoky Joe’s' sits on the street. It's a classic bar, the front the standard concrete affair but the big, old window in the front gives a peek in to a world of drinks, cigarette smoke and conversation.

The small brass bell on the door jingled as I entered. Inside, the bar was as warm as it was musky, with the smell of cigars lingering heavily in the air. The hat and coat I hung on the rack were, like the many damp hats and coats alongside them, inexpensive, but used often. I sat in a chair as I waited, listening to the clinking of glass, and the sordid conversation of the intoxicated. The room was warm, but the walls were thin, and I could hear the rain outside, pattering on the wet cement.

I call over to the Joe, the barman, waving to him in a relaxed manner. I've known him a good few years, even if he isn't the nicest man I've ever met. He grunts in my direction and I order some cheap whiskey and water, my usual. I lay back in my chair, taking in the quiet atmosphere around me and knowing that this place was the closest thing I had to home. The bell jingles as a shorter man strolls in, hanging his coat and grey hat on the wall before lifting his soaked head up. He peers over at me and I see that it is my friend, Samy, drying himself out by the doorway.

I called out to my old friend. We'd known each other for years. It was amazing the stuff we'd been through. Hell, it was amazing that we were both still alive enough to sit in this pleasant little bar. I
stretched a bit, leaning back and enjoying the music while Samy came over and sat down.

We may have both been alive, but Samy looked less alive than I did. Years can creep up slowly on a man if gone unchecked, and men in his occupation, or rather, our occupation, had little time to notice the change. Wrinkles were already starting to form on our faces, and Samy's hairline was showing signs of receding. That's the life of a cop, I suppose.

I looked over at Samy and mumbled another greeting, the rain-induced calm starting to recede. Life had gotten hard for cops like us. Members of the Old Guard. Relics of a bygone age, when honor had meant something to those who wore blue. From his tone when Samy had requested this meeting, I knew something was happening. And very few happenings were good news for us.

I could always tell when Samy was being serious. He always got this wrinkle on his forehead. He was serious now. About what, I didn't know, but it must be something.

 "What's up, Samy?" I asked.

"It's Little Vicky, He's back."

We both knew what this meant, and it wasn't good news at all. Little Vicky Caparelli was the boss on the crime scene. Well, he was the boss. The department thought he died years ago, or, at the very least, said he wasn't coming back.

"Oh yeah," I replied, "and I bet the stock market crash was a set up by the government too. You know better than to listen to crocked up conspiracies like that."

"John, its true." responded Samy, with a look of determination in his eyes, "I saw the guy."

"Okay Samy," I said, taking one last swig of my drink, "If you saw him, where did you last see him?"

Samy's voice dropped to a hush as he glanced suspiciously about the bar. It seemed a little darker than it was a moment ago, though things tend to do that when talking about Vicky. "He was standing outside my window this morning, looking at me with a big sneer on his face. But when I grabbed Veronica and my gun, he was gone!" The tough, experienced cop looked like a little kid, scared stiff by the Bogeyman.

"God dammit Samy," I said, standing up, "I don't have time for nightmares, if you want help catching dream Vicky, go see a shrink. Joe! I'm going home, put the drinks on my tab."

Desperate to keep me here, Samy grabbed my arm, staring at me with the same desperate eyes of a private in a trench under shelling. Gripping my arm tighter, he told me again that he knew it was Vicky.

Shaking off his grip on me, I said, "Samy, if Vicky came back you know goddamn well that there's no good reason he would be standing outside your window." I added, sitting down again, "Good God Samy, he was a crime boss, not a peeping tom." I was a little disturbed by the manner of my friend, the night wasn't all that pleasant anymore. However, my apartment, which was as empty, barren, and desolate as the surface of the moon, didn't seem all that inviting either. Several more stiff drinks and we were drunk.

We didn't talk about that subject anymore, cops don’t generally talk too much about the past. Several drinks later we planned a fishing trip that both of us knew would never happen, and he paid me the cab home.

I got the call later that night. Samy committed suicide, they said. I almost believed it at first, but guys like Samy didn't even have retirement; their raison d'etre is the force... But i'm wasting my french here, he was in bad shape, but there's no shape bad enough to drive a guy to break into his own house and shoot himself three times in the chest. I'm staring down at my friend's corpse, surrounded by dirty cops, and I ain't clean either. I didn't really believe any of Samy's hallucinations, but now he was dead. Really. A cop who was onto something turning up dead one night? It stank of a cover-up.

 The question was, did Samy kill himself? With three bullet wounds in the chest, it seemed all but impossible. Something wasn’t right with this, but I needed information first, badly, especially about Vicky. If there was even a meager, infinitesimal chance that Vicky was back, it would definitely need following up on, and I knew just the person for it. He was detective by the name of Lockland, an old friend of mine. Lockland could get into anything, locate anything, and learn anything. It was still raining outside as I left the apartment.


***

I picked up the phone, drowsy, mind clouded by many thoughts.

"Hello, Lockland here." I said calmly.

A familiar voice spoke on the other side of the line.

"Hey, it's John."

"John, Long time no see, though this isn't exactly seeing."

"We need to cut this short, Samy is dead."

"Huh?" I spoke out, mind now alert, wondering what had transpired.

"His house was broken into and he was shot 3 times. Before that, he said he saw Vicky."

I held the phone in my hand, blankly looking out the window before responding.

"Well, what do you need me to do?"

"I need you to find information on Vicky, meet me back at Smoky Joe's on Tuesday."

Before I could respond, he hung up.

***

I hung up and lit a cigar as I left. I took a moment to stand on the porch and smoke it. My mind was ablaze with thought. Thoughts about who killed Samey, was Vickey really back, and if he was, how. I was so distracted that the flame nearly burnt my hand. I cursed and dropped the cigarette, which fell off the porch and onto the cement, where the rain put it out.  Either way, I decided it to be best to start fresh in the morning. Still unable to call a taxi, I headed home again.

***
Samy was dead.

Fuck.

I supposed that made this job a freebie. Not that John could ever afford to pay my fee, of course.

Only problem was, I knew Vicky was dead. I wouldn't care if Vicky's name was in Samy's goddamn murder note with a little picture of Vicky pinned on the wall underneath it, the Vicky was deader than... a guy with 3 bullets through his chest.

It was against my policy to do Goose-chases, but if I couldn't find Vicky, I supposed that I might as well find whoever killed Samy.

And I would find whoever killed Samy.

I headed over to Samy's home. It was surrounded by various police cruisers, but knew a couple of guys on the scene. They told me I owed them one.

I went in through a busted down door, then through an intact one. Samy was there, inside the second one. He was on the ground with three shots in his chest. The Cops said that it had to be suicide, because the second room was locked when they found it. I asked how they opened it without breaking the door down, but they were tight lipped about that. However, they did say that one of Samy's keys was missing.

 Puzzled, I walked back into the rain, and called a taxi. I took a trip down to Smokey Joe's to talk to the last people who may have saw Samy, especially the bartender.

Arriving at the bar, I paid the Taxicab's fee, and quickly ran in, trying to keep my coat dry from the rain. Inside, I could already see that the cops had already beaten me to telling Joe about Samy. He was enormous. In fact, because of his size, the pub didn't even have a bouncer, he did the bouncing it all by himself.

I've... never seen such a large man of cry like that.

One of the two cops talking to him was holding Samy's wife, Veronica. Or, at least, we called it his wife. It was really just a pet parrot, but he loved the thing so goddamn much it became an inside joke. One of the cops said it was willed to Joe. The little flying rat was agitated from being outside its home, and wouldn't stop squawking. I really hate birds.

After Smokey decided to stop blubbering like a big idiot I took him aside for questioning. He said that he saw Samy leave around 8pm-ish. He remembered because he ran out right after John left, apparently worried about something. He remembered there being some sort of commotion outside too, and that the Paper boy would probably have seen something.

The boy was still out on the street corner now. It was a shame to see a boy with so many working hours. He probably hadn't even the time to even sleep between now and the last time he saw Samy. I decided to have a little chat with him.

"Hey kid."

Guidelines made so far

Spoiler: Guidelines (click to show/hide)

Remember, it is 1953, so no cellphones, computers, etc.


__
Possibly more to come as the story is fleshed out.

Rules are as follows:

Spoiler: Rules (click to show/hide)

• You can reserve a slot for content posting by saying "reserved," and going back to edit it later. No, you cannot edit an OOC post to say it's "reserved" then edit it later.
  
• No stupid or otherwise incongruous posts. A general consensus of 3 people in a row or myself may determine this. _{(I'm pretty sure that this won't become a problem, but it's good to put provisions for this out there.)}
• If someone calls out a post for being stupid, all additions to the story must be halted until it's judged using Rule 1.
  
• Posts can't be only one sentence long.
  
• Make your posts legible. Be sure to proofread your content before submitting it.
  
• If someone posts their section before you do, do not post your own section if it no longer fits.
  
• ((All OOC posts are to be posted with double parenthesis, like this.))
  
• You may edit your post if you see errors as long as it changes nothing pertinent to the story
• I decide scene changes, I didn't think this could be a rule, but people were switching off way to fast.

Eventually, I'm going to have to do a little janitorial duty with your posts and sweep them into one post to keep coherence. when I do that I'll be sure to make a whole new thread for the next segment.

Special thanks to all of the users helping make this happen so far:
Metal Militia (Came up with the idea)
Heliman(Führer King Mega Asshole the 3rd)
Strife26(got the idea for tacking stuff on to metal's origional post)
Omegastick
Phantom(for the good name)
ricky
Deviled

[Phantom]

"Yes, sir?" The boy answered.
"Yeah, have you ever saw this man called Samy? He left at about 8:00 pm." I continued.
The boy gave me a confused look before finding the memory.
"Uh-huh, that guy left in some paranoid way, he was looking all around, then he yelled out because of something before flagging down a taxi."
"Right, know the cabs license plate?"
"I think it was 5Y39c. I'm not to sure though, mister."
I thanked the young boy for his time before walking off back towards my house to organize everything.

[Deviled]

((He said there was commotion))

[Phantom]

((Uh, what?))

[Deviled]

After Smokey decided to stop blubbering like a big idiot I took him aside for questioning. He said that he saw Samy leave around 8pm-ish. He remembered because he ran out right after John left, apparently worried about something. He remembered there being some sort of commotion outside too, and that the Paper boy would probably have seen something.

((See))

[Heliman]

((Oh, just say that Samy made a squeal when he thought he saw something or other, and we can get on to the part of Lockland going home))

I wanted to get a cab because of the rain, but I didn't have any more pocket money. I walked back towards my house, with my shoulder pressed against the building and my hands burrowed deep in my coat, trying to avoid the rain as much as possible.  I paused a moment under an eve to rewrap the scarf around my neck. It's not the right weather for a scarf, but a gal was gave it to me on a day like this, so I decided to wear it for the sake of Nostalgia. Nostalgia has a way of dribbling down your coat, though.

Eventually, I found my self walking beside a chain-link fence, on the other side was the taxi cab station. A cabbie splashed water on me as it pulled out of the lot. Me, my hat, my coat and my scarf would have been soaked, if it wasn't already pouring. I yelled a couple profanities, before realizing that the cab's license plate read 5Y39c, He probably wouldn't be back before some time next morning, and Tuesday was tomorrow. I decided instead of waiting for taxi in this torrent like an idiot I'd come back with John tomorrow to talk to the guy.

[Deviled]

When I got to my apartment I saw a familiar face waiting there for me. He was 6 feet tall and built like tank. His name was Rickey. I wasn't happy to see him.

((Edit:added a sentience I forgot.))

[Phantom]

When I got to my apartment I saw a familiar face waiting there for me. He was 6 feet tall and built like tank. His name was Rickey.

((Man, that barely goes with Rule 4.))

[Deviled]

When I got to my apartment I saw a familiar face waiting there for me. He was 6 feet tall and built like tank. His name was Rickey.

((Man, that barely goes with Rule 4.))

((Slight writers block made it hard to continue myself.))

[Phantom]

Rickey. A man I haven't seen a long time in my life, is back, and neither of us are happy to see each other. I clenched my fists, anticipating a fight in order.
"Long time no see, Lockland." He said towards me, a strong hint of anger in his voice. I simply responded with a grunt, and a sharp stare. It was nearing the dead of night, and I was stuck trapped by this hulk of a man. In fact, he was basically standing at my homes front door. I could easily run, but where else would I go?

[Heliman]

((<--bluh-bluh Führer huge asshole butting in here. Try to be more descriptive with regards to how he is trapped, usually when one pictures an apartment they see a large hall. Ricky would predictably be at the end of this hall, and Lockland should be closest to the stairs, be sure to specify if the situation isn't what I described.))

[Deviled]

((Let's have them be in the apartment It's self))
"How did you get in here Rickey."
"Doesn't matter" He said, "What does matter is where my money is."

[Phantom]

"I paid that off a long time ago, you know that!"
"Says the man that had sent my brother off to jail, and my father in a crumpled mess."
"It wasn't my fault! Get out of here, there's nothing for you!"
It was clear there was not going to be any negotiation between us, as things have boiled down to quite a cesspool.

[Phantom]

((Wow, this was promising.))