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Post by Sora on Jul 7, 2006 1:02:14 GMT -5
Oh very good. Hopefully I shall still be up too read the next chapter tonight. I quite like how J is taking a leading role in another fan-fic, her characters are wonderful as heroines.
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Post by PJ on Jul 7, 2006 5:55:03 GMT -5
Chapter Two –The Stiff and the Clone
Jenna had a method. Well, not really, but she liked to think so. She also put it on her business card, when she was able to get her hands on some. Lately, she had been scribbling the vital information onto squares of cut-out pieces of cardboard, as she was currently indebted to every printing firm in the city. Eventually, she reasoned, they would crack, and print some more for her, or a new firm would enter the industry, and she’d scam some new cards off them.
But unpaid business cards aside, she had a method. Or pseudo-method. It was far too general to be called a method, really, but Jenna didn’t really care. Her method was this: Look into things. Pretty simple, as it were, but you’d be surprised how incompetent most private detectives were. So Jenna’s path was clear. She would first pay a visit to the city morgue, and have a look at the late Mr. Poe, then she would talk to Akbar, the witness. If, by then, no clues had presented themselves, she would search PJ’s house, scour the local newspapers of the last few weeks, and interview the officers who had arrested PJ.
So now, instead of having no idea what to do next, she had several things to do. And even if she found nothing, she’d still get paid the $ 50 a day. It was a Win-Win situation. For Jenna, at least. For PJ, it was either deletion by virus injection, or sweet, sweet freedom.
So off to the morgue it was. Jenna knew the caretaker relatively well, as she had visited the stiff-house during numerous previous detective ventures. And, to Jenna’s discontentment, several people had already tried to send her there. One-Way. Jenna shuddered as she recalled her last trip to the morgue. The Peter Fiasco. What a nightmare that had been.
Jenna decided to walk. And I use “decided” in the loosest sense of the word. Jenna wasn’t a fan of physical exercise, but then again, she had no money, and taxi drivers were a notoriously cranky and violent lot. Try to run out on the bill with them, and they’d most likely run you over. Repeatedly. Jenna’s spine still didn’t feel right, and it had been several months since.
Ironically, Jenna was almost run down just outside the morgue by a taxi. She had developed a sixth-sense, of sorts, when it came to taxis. It had saved her more than once. So instead of reducing her organs to a pile of red slop, the taxi only clipped her side as she leapt aside. She landed hard on the pavement, her hip throbbing. She considered hurling abuse after the cab, but with taxi drivers, you never knew. He might come back and try to finish her off, lest she sue. Had Jenna not been so intent on leaping away from the speeding cab, she might have noticed that its passenger was PJ. Or, at least, something that looked like PJ.
But Jenna didn’t notice the other!PJ, and so wasn’t able to stop the rather tragic events that happen whilst she is in the morgue. Clutching her hip, she stumbled up the steps, and into the city morgue.
The receptionist was a young, rather bored-looking girl. She looked up as Jenna entered, and then immediately returned to filing her nails. She was relatively new, so Jenna only vaguely knew her. Her name was Twistedbrain.
“Is the doctor in?” Jenna asked, impatiently. Twistedbrain didn’t look up, and simply pointed her finger down the hall. Jenna took this as a “yes” and continued down the hallway, shaking her head. Teenagers these days were a troublesome lot.
The morgue was blindingly white. Due to health regulations, the place had to be in top hygienic condition, so a crack-team of cleaning ladies stormed the place every Friday morning and did their best. The floor was so clean and shiny that Jenna almost skated to Gretchen’s office. It had been one of the many perks of going to the morgue, but she had stopped the hall-skating after fracturing her collarbone.
She couldn’t resist skidding to a halt in front of Gretchen’s office, timing it perfectly so that she didn’t crash into the door. She wrenched it open, and stepped into the twilight that was Gretchen’s office. The head of the morgue liked the dark, apparently.
“Hello, J. I’ve been expecting you.” Gretchen said, her face hidden in the shadows of the office. She was a creepy person, but, then again, it was a creepy job. “I doubt it.” Jenna snorted, sitting down on the black leather chair. “No, really, I have. We recently installed cameras.” Gretchen said conversationally, turning the (jet black) monitor of her computer to face Jenna, where she could clearly see the viewpoints of numerous cameras around the morgue.
“Seems like overkill.” Jenna said, turning the monitor back. “Oh, you have no idea how valuable dead people can be.” Gretchen said cryptically, ignoring the pun.
“Actually, that’s why I’m here.” Jenna said, her eyes trying to pierce through the gloom in the office. “You don’t say? You’re at the morgue…for a corpse?” Gretchen asked, amused. “Yeah. Guy called Poe.” Jenna said, ignoring the jibe. “Ah yes. Mr. Poe, uh, checked in not too long ago. Quite nasty, actually. I’ve seen worse, naturally, but still.” “Well, I need to see him. It’s for PJ.”
Gretchen was silent for a moment. Although she and PJ weren’t exactly friends, they were…aware of each other. Their professions required it. Gretchen stood, stepping out of the darkness, her unnaturally pale face gleaming amongst all the black. “If it were anybody else, I’d forbid it.” Gretchen said, grabbing a key from her desk. “I still haven’t recovered from the Peter incident. We almost all resigned, you know. Even young Twistedbrain.”
Jenna sighed. “I know, I know, but that was hardly my fault, was it? And Twistedbrain was here, then? I didn’t know she’d been working at the morgue for so long.” “Ahh, yes.” Gretchen said, opening the door and leading Jenna down the hallway. “At the time, she was working in the stiff-rooms. No wonder you didn’t see her. She only recently got the receptionist job. I have high hopes for her.”
Despite the blindingly white hallways, it was all still pretty dark. Gretchen’s black dress rendered her almost invisible in the gloom. “She didn’t seem too motivated when I passed her.” Jenna commented, squinting through the darkness. “Oh, she’s just cranky because I won’t let her play with the corpses in her free time. She’s not…professional enough to do that, yet.”
As you could imagine, Gretchen’s eccentric hobby hardly made her the life of dinner parties. Now, I could go as far as to bring yet another pun into this story, and claim that she was, in fact, the death of dinner parties, but I don’t rightly hold with puns, so I will, instead, skip ahead to the stiff-rooms.
The pair entered the stiff-rooms. They were named such, well, because they were filled with stiffs. Stiffs in the big drawers on the walls, stiffs on trolleys, one was even propped in a chair, covered in a white sheet. When Jenna shot Gretchen a quizzical look, she just shrugged, and said, “We’re running out of space. Seems there’s a surplus in corpses at the moment.” She gave one of the stiff’s a friendly pat.
For some reason, Jenna always whispered in the stiff rooms. It seemed appropriate. “Where is he?” She whispered. Gretchen just lazily waved her arm forwards, pointing. They wandered through several adjoined stiff-rooms, each packed with bodies. Finally, they alighted upon a small room in the back, in which there was barely enough space to pull the drawers out.
Gretchen approached the drawers, and as though she were a secretary picking a file out from a cabinet, she read through the drawers, until she stopped in front of one in the corner. “Here we are. M. Poe.” Gretchen said, undoing the lock with her morgue skeleton key. “M.?” Jenna asked, leaning against a wall. “Stands for Mr. That’s his name, apparently. Mr. Poe.” “Oh.”
Gretchen pulled the drawer out, revealing a rather chubby, and very naked, corpse. Jenna leaned in, and looked at his face. “Yep, it’s him.” She said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Mr. Poe hadn’t exactly been handsome alive and dressed, and now he looked quite ugly. His face was frozen in a snarl. Jenna noticed blue marks along his neck.
“He was strangled?” She asked, leaning in for a closer look. “Yes. The murderer hit him from behind on the head with some blunt object,” Gretchen indicated the blood around the deceased’s head, “and then he was strangled to death.”
“Any fingerprints?” Gretchen shook her head. “Where are his possessions?” Gretchen approached a tiny cabinet in the corner of the room, and opened it. It was surprisingly spacious, and she withdrew a pair of large, blood spattered clothes. She handed them to Jenna.
Jenna examined them, careful not to touch the bloody bits. “Anything interesting.” She said as she turned out his pockets, and inspected the clothes for tears or perhaps other stains. “Not really. Someone hits him, then strangles him. The first bang on the head didn’t knock him out, though, as can be seen by his face. All he had on him was his wallet, which was still full of money. So there was a motive.”
“Where’d all this blood come from?” Jenna said, indicating the over-sized bloody pants. “Uh, his head wound, I’m guessing.” “All that from a small tap on the head?” Jenna asked, instantly suspicious. “Well, obviously.” Gretchen asked.
Jenna glared at her. “What?” She asked, going on the defensive. “I just work here. It’s the police’s job to investigate things, not mine. I just store them.” “What exactly did the police do?” Jenna asked, cleaning her glasses. “Well…they just had a look at him, I guess. It’s pretty straightforward, isn’t it?” “So no forensics?” “Well, no, not really. Why? The bruises around his neck and the head-wound are clearly visible.”
Jenna sighed loudly. “Typical police. Can’t solve a case to save their own lives.” She said, then realized how inappropriate it was, considering her client, and shut up. “Well, could you check the DNA on the pants, then? Take multiple samples. I have a feeling that it isn’t Poe’s blood there. Perhaps he had a weapon of some sort, and fought back?” Gretchen sighed. “Allright. I’ll do it. It’ll cost you, though.” “Fine. The usual?” “Yes.”
Jenna showed herself out. She would add the DNA test-cost to the “expenses” bit of the bill she was sending PJ. That said, it looked as though PJ might not be around for too much longer. All the more reason to finish this case quickly.
If Jenna was right, and the blood wasn’t Poe’s, then the identity of the true killer would be revealed. At least, PJ would be in the clear. Unless Poe was in the habit of wandering around with other people’s blood on his pants.
Because, no matter how clever the disguise the murderer was in, even if they had taken surgery to disguise themselves as PJ, the DNA would reveal the truth. And then - Jenna’s taxi sense rang alarm bells in her head, and she dived aside just in time to avoid an unpleasant death at the hands of the same taxi that had almost killed her when she entered the morgue. As it was, the taxi only clipped her side, and threw her onto the pavement. Now the other side of Jenna’s hip was also throbbing. This time, she couldn’t contain herself, and let out a stream of swearwords that I am afraid I cannot include here.
Although Jenna did recognize the number plate of the taxi, and correctly identified it as the one that had almost killed her before, she did not, however, recognize the two passengers. Which is quite a shame, as it would have helped her investigations into the current case enormously. For seated in the back of the murderous taxi was not one, but two PJs. And they seemed to be fighting one another.
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Post by Linda Rhaldeen on Jul 7, 2006 6:31:54 GMT -5
Very good, PJ. I liked the puns and the mention of Peter. This taxi certainly seems suspicious...
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Post by twistedbrain on Jul 7, 2006 9:08:53 GMT -5
*troublesome lot* Yay, I'm in a 667 story!
Very nice, PJ.
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Post by s on Jul 7, 2006 14:06:27 GMT -5
I loved your descriptions in the morgue.
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Post by Skeleton Key on Jul 7, 2006 19:56:30 GMT -5
I'm a major character! *zombieglomps PJ*
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Post by Celinra on Jul 10, 2006 8:20:09 GMT -5
I've been reading this as it was posted, but I didn't feel like signing in. So, now I'm signed in. This is very interesting so far, I look forward to seeing what happens.
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Post by Dismay on Jul 10, 2006 11:48:08 GMT -5
Have I said how much i love this yet? I saw a PJ clone a while ago. I see two Derik clones in school. You have really good writing style PJ. I always enjoy your work.
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Post by PJ on Jul 11, 2006 2:09:06 GMT -5
Chapter Three – A chat or two
Next stop, the Witness. Akbar. And, as Jenna’s mistrust of taxi cabs was, if possible, even higher on this particular day, she chose, once again, to walk. It was quite a way to the Snob Section of the city, in which Akbar had his mansion, but Jenna decided it was worth it.
Well, she intended to go to the Pacifist’s. But today, things didn’t seem to be going her way. Murder cases were never pleasant, and neither was having one of your friends on death row. Throw in the two taxi incidents, and she was having one heck of a bad day. She was contemplating this when two enormous thugs came from around the corner and lunged at her.
Instead of screaming, or even fighting, she just sagged, and sighed half-heartedly. One of the human monolith’s grinned stupidly, before smashing her over the head with a stolen police nightstick.
She awoke to a bright light shining into her face. “Hello, J.” Said a deep voice from behind the light. She found that she was tied in a chair, and that the room was awfully dark, save the exceptionally bright light that was shining into her face. All she could make out was a dark figure sitting behind a desk.
“Only my friends call me J.” She slurred, still groggy from the nightstick. “Ah, I’m afraid my henchmen were rather rough with you. I’m terribly sorry. All a misunderstanding you see. I had planned on using some sort of sedative.”
“You could just have given me a phone call, Dante.” Jenna said, her head clearing somewhat. It still throbbed with pain, but it was manageable. The figure behind the light laughed softly. “I prefer conversations face-to-face. Especially in a matter this important.” “Which is?”
“PJ. I hear you’re his private eye.” Dante continued softly. “Is that so? And are the ropes really necessary? And the light?” “Well, no, not really, but I find it helps intimidate my opponent.” “Opponent?” “I consider every conversation to be a test of wills, of vocabulary, or wit and reason. At least you don’t have a knife point at the back of your neck.” Dante said, speaking fluently and articulately. “There is that.” Jenna said, and groaned. The light was still too bright.
“To business.” Dante sharply said, after a moment of silence. More silence. “It has come to my attention that Police Chief PJ has been framed for murder most foul. And you are his detective.” Dante said, making a little tent with his fingers, and flexing them, the perfect image of a professional mastermind/genius. The effect was lost somewhat, as Jenna couldn’t see more than a black outline. “What’s it to you?” Jenna said, suspiciously.
“Well, let us just say that it wouldn’t suit my…purposes…to have a new Police Chief. You understand?” Jenna considered acting dumb, but decided not to. Dante was a dangerous individual. He was one of the crime-lord of 667. One of the more powerful ones. “Yes, I do. PJ’s crooked, and you want him back in the job before some goody-two-shoes replaces him.” “Yes.” “So…what does that mean?” Jenna said, after another moment of silence. “It means that if you need any assistance in clearing up this case, I shall be ready to help. Antenora has informed me that she will also assist you in any way possible. Within reason, of course. Call this number.” He pushed a small yellow piece of paper with a telephone number on it across the table.
“So…you had me assaulted and abducted in order to offer me help?” “Yes.” “Well…uh…thank you. I guess I’ll be on my way, then. I think I may have a lead from the morgue. I was going to interview Akbar next.” “Transport will be arranged.”
There was yet another uncomfortable silence. “Well, if you have nothing terribly important to add to this conversation, I suggest you leave.” “Uh…Dante? How am I supposed to leave?” Jenna said, struggling against the ropes that held her. Behind the bright light, Dante grinned again. “Why, the same way you left.” He said maliciously. And before Jenna could say anything, a cloth soaked in chloroform was pressed against her face, and she lost consciousness.
She awoke to a bright light. Opening her eyes, she realized it was the sun. She sat up, and found that she was lying in Akbar’s front lawn. “Sonofamagee.” She said, and checked her pockets. All her possessions were still there. And the yellow slip of paper with Dante’s number. She shook her head, and set off towards Akbar’s front door. She felt that she should be doing something different, now, after being abducted, like being outraged, or calling the police, but these didn’t seem like good ideas. So she proceeded with the original plan, and rang the doorbell.
The butler opened the door, and let her in, sniffing distastefully at her. “Please wait here, Miss.” He said smoothly, and walked off to, presumably, find his master, and tell him of his visitor. In actual fact, he had just made himself a cup of tea, and wished to drink it before it went cold. His master had known of Jenna’s presence the moment she had been deposited on Akbar’s neatly trimmed lawn. But butler valued a cup of warm tea more than he did Jenna, so he made her wait for quite a while before he re-appeared, beckoning her to follow him up the stairs to the master’s office.
Akbar, or The Pacifist, as he was known, was somewhat of an enigmatic figure. Near-legendary to the layman, this man walked the halls of power. All of them. He rubbed shoulders with the most powerful politicians, as well as the most powerful criminals (often, they were one and the same). He was on excellent terms with everyone that mattered, it was said.
And while he was not a mobster, that is to say, he didn’t really commit crimes, he still held power. It was so that his name had come about – the pacifist – for he had no enemies, and wished none harm. He profited by being a mediator. He was friends with everyone, so he was able to work out contracts and deals between two different gangs, or between the gangs and the government. He always made a profit.
The mediator sat behind his desk, and smiled warmly as Jenna entered the room. Although she was a mere detective, she was known to Akbar. Jenna, if not the most professional detective of all of 667 Dark Avenue, was surely the most well connected. The butler quietly closed the door behind the private detective, and went off to sort his master’s extensive sock collection.
“How may I help you, Jenna?” Said Akbar, as diplomatically as is humanely possible. “I have a feeling that you already know.” Akbar was also one of the most informed man in the city. Within moments of anything important happening, Akbar would know it. He also made a profit trading information.
Akbar smiled warmly. “It’s true. You’re here to interview me about PJ.” He said, his smile slipping as he remember what had occurred. Jenna also looked worried as she sat down. “That’s right.”
Akbar nodded solemnly, and offered Jenna a cigar. She declined. Akbar himself didn’t take one either, and placed the packet back in his drawer. “Let’s begin then, shall we?” Jenna nodded.
“Just tell me about the night you saw the murder.” Akbar sat back, and sighed. “I was on the way home from an…ah…business meeting,” Jenna could guess what kind it had been. “When I heard a strangled cry. Curious as I am, I investigated, and found the source of the noise had come from a dark alley. I entered it, just in time to see a dark figure fall to the pavement, whilst another figure slipped away. It was too dark to see who the victim was, but the murderer looked back as he fled, and I was able to identify him by the light of the moon.”
“So you’re certain it was PJ?” Akbar sighed again. “Yes. I’m absolutely certain it was him.” “He’s your friend, is he not?” Akbar nodded. “So why did you come forward?”
“Well…I called the ambulance upon finding the body, and when they came I was…harrowed. Confused. I had been drinking at said business meeting, and wasn’t thinking clearly. So I identified the killer as PJ, and once I had said it, I couldn’t take it back. That said, I am not sure I wish to be friends with someone capable of such a vicious crime.”
Jenna nodded. It made sense. The gangs in the city, although criminal, were by no means cruel. Every single gang had one core rule: no killing. Sure, from time to time, accidents would happen, witnesses had to be taken care of, but only if there was no other way. Murder brought…unwanted attention upon the criminals.
“So, practically, what conclusion have you made?” Jenna asked, after a moment of quiet thinking. “Practically?” “Well, from the evidence given, and nothing else. As a witness.” “Well, practically, PJ is the murderer.” “And as PJ’s friend?” “I would say that it could not be him. PJ is many things, but he is not a murderer. As his friend…I would say it must be some elaborate ploy from one of the gangs.”
Jenna nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. Is there anything else you’d like to say? Anything special you noticed? Anything odd about PJ, or the victim?” Akbar was silent for quite a while. “Well, I’m not sure, but I think PJ was limping. He’s unhurt, though, so they imagine it was either a trick of the light, or some minor injury he received at the time.” “He was limping, you say? Perhaps as though he had been hit in the leg by Poe, or something?” “Well, I suppose, yes…”
Jenna considered it. Limping. That would back up the evidence from the morgue, if there was any. The story fit. He would have to check back with Gretchen… She realized she was still in Akbar’s office. “Oh, right. That is all. I guess I should go now…”
Akbar was nodding, when his phone rang. He swiftly picked it up and answered. “Hello?” “Ah, hello, Police Chief-“ “What?” “How?” “Oh dear. Thank you for calling.”
Akbar hung up. Solemnly, he turned back towards Jenna. “That was Police Chief Libitina. PJ has escaped from prison.”
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Post by Wasabi on Jul 11, 2006 2:23:16 GMT -5
Wow. That was really fantastic. Keep up the good work! I thought that you described all the different scenarios really well, and the characters played significant roles. I wish you all the very best and can't wait to see what happens next.
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Post by twistedbrain on Jul 11, 2006 6:43:36 GMT -5
PJ, you murderer you.
Awesome, PJ. I enjoyed it.
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Post by PJ on Jul 15, 2006 20:09:46 GMT -5
D: Only two comments! And one of them has left! *dies*
Well, since I've already written all but the last chapter, I'll just keep on posting, even if no one's reading.
Chapter Four – Another chat or two
“Well, then, I had better go have a look in the Police Department.” Jenna said, her heart sinking. If PJ was innocent, why would he break out? Akbar nodded, somewhat stunned. “Do…do you think he’ll come after me? As witness?” Akbar asked, somewhat pale in the face. “What do you think?” Jenna asked, her eyes fixing upon Akbar’s. He turned away. “I don’t know…ever since the murder, I just don’t know…” And, for the first time, Akbar’s exterior – that of a powerful and wealthy man – was stripped away, and Jenna saw the worried and frightened man underneath. PJ’s crime had affected him more deeply than she had thought.
She patted him on his shoulder. “I spoke to PJ. I am certain that it was not he who perpetrated the crime. You will be safe. From him, at least.” Then she left.
She was thinking furiously as she wandered down the road, subconsciously heading towards the Police Station. She had that gift, she had realized a young age, when she had been able to read a book while she walked to school, or to the shop. Jenna never got lost. It was another useful little thing in her profession.
Speaking of, Jenna had her sixth sense, her taxi cab sense. But that was not all. Her seventh sense detected anyone who wanted money from Jenna, whilst her eighth told her whether or not she was being followed. Her ninth and tenth all had to do with dress sense, whilst her eleventh and twelfth sense told her, respectively, whether or not she was being watched, and whether or not she was about to be attacked. She speculated that she had a rare thirteenth sense, which either helped her steal things, or which told her when the toast was done. Once, for instance, she had tried to steal Police Chief Setnick’s toast, and had not only been caught red-handed, but had also found that the toast hadn’t been properly toasted yet. So she wasn’t quite sure.
It was a curious ensemble of her eighth, eleventh and twelfth sense that assaulted Jenna’s other senses like a barrage of fleas. It was like an incredibly annoying itch in her head. Unfortunately, she was still deeply entwined with in the PJ-Case, so she only realized far too late that she was being watched, followed, and was in danger.
A black limousine she had only just noticed stopped beside her, and before she could react, the door had swung open, and a huge goon sprang out and hurled her into the car quicker than she could comprehend. The goon then leapt back into the car, slammed the door, and they drove off.
Jenna found herself sitting between two large goons, facing a blank tv screen. The two muscles didn’t seem to want to talk to her (or, perhaps, they weren’t capable of speech), so she sat thinking about how to escape. After a few seconds of silence, the tv screen turned on, and Dupin’s large face filled it.
“’lo, J.” He said, looking behind him. He seemed harrowed and pre-occupied. Then again, he always did. “Hello, Dupin. Let me guess: this is about PJ.” “Why yes!” Dupin said, before turning to someone off-screen and yelling something. “Well, partly. I also want to know why Dante had you abducted.”
“I thought you two were allies!” Jenna said, surprised. “Alliances are such…delicate things.” Dupin said carefully. “So what did he want?”
Jenna considered not telling Dupin, but decided that this was probably wouldn’t be good for her health, so she spilt the beans. “He just informed me that he and Antenora were lending me their support in the PJ-case. They want his name cleared, and him back in power.” “Ah, yes. I though it might be something like that. Well, for the exact same reasons, I am giving you the exact same help. Anything you need, within reason, to solve this case.”
“So it wasn’t you?” “Nope. If it’s any one of the gangs, I’d guess it to be Pandora. She and PJ never were…friends. Gigi has no reason to be angry with him, either. As for the others…Trish, Snicketface and Songbird…they don’t have enough resources to pull something off like this.”
There were, strictly speaking, nine gangs. Eleven, if you included the three police forces. Tragedy was both the mayor of 667, and the boss of all the gangs, but that isn’t really important. You had the principal five gangs, led by the five most powerful men and women: Dupin, Pandora, Gigi, Antenora and Dante. Then you had the three lesser gangs, led by Sonbird, Snicketface and Trish. The three police forces led by PJ (well, not anymore), Libitina and Setnick. And you had Tragedy’s own gang, which was small, but consisted mostly of the most skilled fighters in all of 667 Dark Avenue. With these, he was able to rule the other gangs, and demand a certain percentage of their profits. So Tragedy didn’t do any actual work, like stealing, or extortion, he just sat there, and collected the cash, and made thinly veiled threats.
Many found this incredibly annoying. Some of the primary five gangs were already being more rebellious, keeping some extra money instead of sharing it with Tragedy and the like. Even the Police Forces were growing more bold. So now that you’ve had a brief crash course in the gangs of 667, we may return to this riveting detective tale.
“Right. Well, that’s all, I guess. Where shall we drop you off?” Dupin picked up a phone and dialed a number. “Uh…the Police Station. East-Town.” “It will be done.” Dupin said, and spoke into the telephone. The screen went blank.
Jenna spent the next ten minutes in uncomfortable silence. She once again tried to draw the goons into conversation, but they were remarkably resilient. Or, as was seeming increasingly to be the case, they weren’t capable of talk.
Without speaking, one of them opened the door, and let Jenna out. She waved at him and said goodbye, but he just hopped back into the limousine, and drove away. As Jenna stood in front of the Police Station, pondering over whether the two were either mute, stupid, or simply very professional. She never found out, as it happens, but I do know for a fact that as soon as she was gone, the two continued their debate over capital punishment, and whether or not it went completely against the moral pillars of the community. As it turns out, the two were professional debaters, who were only part-time goons, for the cash.
But enough about more-intelligent-than-they-might-seem-at-first-glance-goons-for-hire. This is Jenna’s tale, after all. She entered the police station, and was surprised to see two heavily armed guards guarding the entrance with a large assortment of tazers, nightsticks and knives (guns have been outlawed in 667 Dark Avenue, so their role in this story is somewhat diminished). They halted her, and asked her who she was, and after producing an ID card, she was allowed to pass. She gave the receptionist a little wave. He ignored her, and steadily chomped his way through a dozen-packet of krispy-kreme donuts. Jenna considered filching one, but thought better of it. Hell hath no fury like a fat-man protecting his donuts.
She entered Libitina’s office for the second time today. It was getting late; Jenna wanted some lunch. Or, more befitting to the actual time, dinner. Call it what you will.
Libitina scowled at her, and Jenna remembered the coffee-mug. “Uh, hi.” Jenna said, sitting down. “I presume you’re here about the PJ-breakout?” She said, coldly. “Yes. Yes I am.” “As usual, your information network doesn’t cease to astound. Very well. Follow me. I’ll brief you personally. Sad as it is, you’re the best bet we have for this case. It’s ironic, really. You civilians are less burdened by the law than we are.”
Police Chief Libitina led Jenna down to the dungeons. “Where’s the guard?” Jenna asked, looking around. “He slipped on a coffee cup, as it were. Quite embarrassing, really. Broke his arm. Lucky for him, really. All the other guards on watch were mercilessly slaughtered.” I won’t have to tell you which coffee mug it was that the guard slipped on.
Jenna turned pale as she saw two guards lying on the floor, their throats cut. “Here we are.” Libitina said, casually stepping over the corpses. She pointed at PJ’s former cell. The lock had been melted through, and the door was ajar.
“So he somehow melted through the lock, and cut the throats of two police officers?” “Four. It was shift change. He stashed their corpses into a cupboard upstairs, to avoid detection. Hardly anyone comes down here, so he just left these here.”
“Still doesn’t explain how he was able to melt through a lock and kill four cops with his bare hands.” “Well, he was patted down when they put him in. He didn’t have that lightsaber-spoon on him or any other weapons or blowtorches. We assume he had a companion who killed the guards, and melted through the lock.”
“Any video tape?” “I’m afraid not. Bastard killed the fellow in the camera room and smashed all the machines and tapes. He must have had inside information, to get as far as he did.” “And no-one thought to stop him?” “Well, nothing like this has ever happened before. Assault on a police station?”
“So he’s guilty, then.” “Yes, it would seem so.” “So why are you showing me this? He’s my client, after all. And since he’s guilty and missing, I’m hardly the person you’d want to help.” Jenna mused. “Well, yes. I thought you might have had a lead, or something.” Libitina said, sighing loudly.
“Well, I kinda do, but I need to check back with Gretchen. And no, I have no idea were he could be. With one of the gangs, I’m guessing. Probably Dante or Dupin.” “Why those?” Libitina asked, curiously. “Oh, just a hunch.” Jenna said, with a grin. Then she remembered that she was standing next to a pair of corpses. “You checked his house?” “Naturally.”
There was a silence. “He’s going to be awfully hard to find, isn’t he? All those contacts…plus knowledge of how Police Stations work. He would be…invaluable to some of the gangs. Perhaps they’re behind this?” Somehow, Jenna doubted it. Why would Dante, Antenora and Dupin bother specifically talking to her, and then just break him out? No, someone else was behind this. Another gang? Doubtful.
“Well, I’d best get going, then. Check on that lead I mentioned.” Libitina nodded, and they went back upstairs. In the lobby, Libitina stopped Jenna. “J….if you know anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call. Six people have died. We need to get him before he does anymore harm to others, or even himself.” Jenna nodded sadly.
It was precisely at that moment that Libitina’s coffee mug struck again. A young cop, who had found the mug in the bin (presumably thrown away in anger by the guard who slipped on it and broke his arm) had washed it, and was now drinking coffee from it. Sadly, the mug was destined for much more than holding coffee, and tried to escape. The escape took form in a fold in the carpet which the young cop tripped over, spilling the scalding hot brew right over another officer, who cried out in pain.
In the resulting confusion, a cloaked figure slipped in through the glass doors of the station, past the armed guards who’s attention was focused sorely on the screaming police officer. He tapped Libitina on the shoulder, and she swung around to see who he was. “Hello, Libitina.” Said PJ. “Just thought I’d come back.” He said, smiling weakly. In a fluid movement, Libitina produced a knife and held it at PJ’s throat.
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Post by Dante on Jul 16, 2006 2:52:46 GMT -5
Hi. I don't know why I didn't review the last couple chapters, but I did enjoy this one; in terms of humour alone, it's excellent, and little details like the truth about the goons and the troublesome coffee mug really spark it up, whatever that means.
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Post by PJ on Jul 20, 2006 5:16:16 GMT -5
I won't comment on the lack of comments, I'll just give everyone who didn't reply a scathing glare.
*gives everyone who didn't reply a scathing glare*
Chapter Five – “It wasn’t me, I swear!”
“It wasn’t me, I swear!” PJ yelled, only succeeding in drawing attention to himself. Jenna stepped back as the two door-guards tackled him and hand-cuffed him, while holding knives to his throat. Libitina seemed speechless. “Take….take him to the cell.” She said, stepping back. PJ, was led away. He turned back and stared at the stunned Jenna and Libitina. He seemed to be trying to tell them something.
The entire police station seemed to be quiet. “What are you all standing around for?” Libitina yelled, suddenly. “Get back to work!” They all did, even the coffee-stained guard, his discomfort forgotten. Libitina turned back to Jenna. “Well…I did not see that happening.” Jenna nodded. “Neither did I, I must admit. Can we go interview him, now?” “I guess so.”
This time, they took chairs. The corpses had, finally, been cleaned away, but a sickening stench remained. PJ sat in his cell, looking somewhat depressed. “Well.” He said, when Jenna and Libitina approached.
“How did you break out?” Libitina instantly demanded, sitting down. PJ smiled weakly. “And hello to you too. May I speak with Jenna first?” Libitina was about to say something, but thought better of it. PJ could be awfully stubborn at time. “You may.”
“Well, any leads?” PJ asked her quietly, looking hopeful. “Well…some. Akbar says the murderer limped away, as though he had been hurt in the leg. And I found some suspicious looking blood on Poe’s pants. Gretchen’s checking to see if it’s Poe’s, or someone else’s. I’m guessing that Poe had a weapon on him, and stabbed the attacker in the leg before he died. If I’m right, then the blood will belong to someone else, and you’ll be freed.” PJ nodded.
“Well, somehow, I doubt that is gonna help you.” He indicated for Jenna to step back, turned back to Libitina. “Ok. So I’m just sitting here, right? When suddenly this cloaked guy comes rushing down the stairs, and slits the throats of the two guards down here before they can do anything.”
“What did he look like?” Libitina said, getting out a notepad. Jenna herself liked to memorize any details herself. Notepads were so easy to lose, or have stolen. “I’m getting to that. So he comes up to my jail, and I’m quite afraid, because of the way he so mercilessly killed the guards. He pulls out some keys, opens the lock, and tells me to come with him. I was somewhat hesitant, what with it making me an accomplice and all, but he had a knife on him, and, there was something that convinced me to come with him, if only to find out more about his intentions.”
“What?” Libitina demanded, her pen ready. “He showed me his face. And it was exactly like mine. I mean, exactly. It can’t have been surgery. His ears, hair, face, he looked exactly like I did. He even showed me a scar on his arm which was identical to one I received as a kid. He was, essentially, me.”
“So you went with him?” “What else could I do? If I’d stayed here, I’d probably get blamed for the murders, and put back in jail. Besides, he had a knife. And I wasn’t thinking straight. If I stayed with him, I might found out some more information. So we fled. We took a taxi, and he took me back to his place. An abandoned warehouse. I’ll give you the address.”
“And then?” “Well, then he talked to me. He told me he was a clone of me. A glitch, or something. He looked exactly like me. And he had some of my personality, too. He liked to read. And write. Had a sense of humour. But he wasn’t exactly like me. There was something missing. A soul, perhaps. Or an upbringing. I dunno. Just he had no morals. He was like a robot wearing my face and my personality. That’s why he so effortlessly killed Poe, and those four guards. He’s basically a machine. No proper feelings. The ends justify the means, and all that. Because he was me, he hated Poe, so he decided to kill him. He felt some empathy towards me, having put me in jail because of his actions, so he planned to break in, and get me out. The guards were just factors, that’s all. Factors that had to be removed.”
“So how did you escape?” “Well, I argued with him. Told him he couldn’t go around killing people. I told him to leave 667. But, cos he’s me, he likes it here, and wanted to stay. So I told him I’m leaving, going back to the jail. He told me not to. We got really angry. Then I just left, and came back here.”
“So why did he let you leave?” “I dunno. He was probably disappointed in me. I got the feeling that he had lost all empathy for me, in the end. I doubt he’ll try and rescue me again. But he’ll probably kill more. Anyone who inconveniences him will die.”
Libitina nodded. “Well, your story fits everything pretty perfectly. But it’s just not believable. I mean, a clone created by a glitch? A soulless glitch-clone? It’s just not possible. Can’t be true.” “Actually, things like this have happened before. Well, not so elaborate, but there have been phantoms, clones that faded after a bit, ghosts, that sort of thing. Check the records. Not only 667 Dark Avenue, the entire internet. You’ll find heaps.”
“I’ll ask some of our scientists. In the meantime, you’ll stay down here. If, as you say, it will kill again, then the evidence pointing towards your innocence will be strengthened. And if Jenna here can find out who’s blood she found on those pants, all the better.” “Actually, Libitina, that won’t work.” PJ said, shaking his head. “Why not?” “Well, it’s a clone of me. The DNA will probably be exactly the same.”
Jenna nodded. “He has a point. By the way, PJ, did you notice anything special about him? Did he limp, for instance?” PJ’s face broke into a smile. “Why yes, he did. I forgot, cos it didn’t seem important at the time…well, do your best. I hope I can get out of this cell soon enough.” Libitina stood. “Yes, we’d better get back to work.” “Actually, I’d like to speak to PJ. In private.” Said Jenna, remaining seated. Libitina rolled her eyes, and strolled away.
“What is it?” PJ asked, leaning closer. “The cameras are still offline, I’d think.” “So you really didn’t break out of here? It was your clone, or something?” “Yeah. I wasn’t lying. If I had wanted to break out, I’d have done so ages ago.” He produced a small blue lightsaber spoon from his pocket. “Dave!” Jenna exclaimed, wondrously. “Didn’t they confiscate him?” “Well, yeah, but that didn’t stop him.”
Jenna raised her eyebrow, but said nothing. Most people ridiculed PJ for giving his spoon a name, and for talking to it, but not Jenna. She herself had a pen-knife she had named Walter. At times, she even thought it was alive. It certainly had been a great help in the past.
“Well,” Jenna continued, “I just wanted to say that Dante, Antenora and Dupin have contacted me, and will do what they can to help. Anything you want me to say to them?” “Well…just to keep an eye out for a PJ-clone, if they can. And beware. He’s very dangerous.”
Jenna stood. “Anything else you’d like to say?” She said softly. PJ shook his head. “I’ve said all I need to say. In light of recent events, they’ll probably post-pone this case, so you have a little more time, but still. I’d prefer it if you hurried. I don’t want to be deleted.” Jenna nodded. “Goodbye, then.” She left.
When Jenna finally came home, it she didn’t stay for long. Her eleventh sense told her she was being watched, and soon after she took off her fedora, she found out why. The phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello? Is this Jenna Sottle?” Said a female voice. “Uh, yeah.” “Oh, hey. This is Snicketface.” Jenna’s ears instantly picked up. “Hello. What can I do for you?” She said, adopting a polite tone. Although Snicketface’s gang was relatively small, it was still a gang. And gangs traditionally had a large variety of sharp instruments mostly used to harm people.
“Oh. I’m just here to tell you that if you need any help with the PJ case, you can call me. Just dial 001. Goodbye.” Jenna held the telephone for a moment, and then put it down. Snicketface must have sent a man to watch her house, so she would know when to call. Now four of the gangs had already contacted her in less than 12 hours, she thought, entering the kitchen to make herself lunch/dinner. Then the phone rang. Again.
“Hey, it’s Gretchen. I identified the sample. Can you come down here? The phone might be tapped.” “Fine.” Jenna sighed. “I’ll be there.”
She was. Twenty minutes later. Twistedbrain had, apparently, gone home, but the door was still open. It was getting quite dark, and, although a morgue is always creepy, it is especially so at night-time.
This time, Jenna couldn’t resist skating down the hallway, before she slid into the office door. “Sup?” She said, as Gretchen looked up at her. “Hello, J.” She said, searching through her folder for a file. She found it, and pulled it out. “Basically, it’s PJ’s DNA. No doubt about it.” “Ah. I had thought as much.” Jenna said, taking the file.
“Really?” Gretchen asked, puzzled. “Well, turns out the murderer is a clone of PJ’s.” “Ah.” Said Gretchen, as though it explained everything. “Listen, this is important. Was there a lot of blood?”
“Well, yeah. Quite a bit.” “So it was a serious wound?” “Relatively. Not fatal, but this clone will be walking around with a limp for a few days.” “So could it be used as direct proof to prove that PJ isn’t the murderer, on account of him being completely unmarked?”
Gretchen considered for a moment. “Well, it IS somewhat helpful. It’s possible that the wound was very shallow, and healed quickly, but bled a lot, or that Poe happened to already have PJ’s blood on his pants. But it’s pretty solid, yeah.” “Thanks, Gretchen. I owe you one.” Jenna said, before leaving.
And so Jenna returned to the police station for the third time that day. Unfortunately for her, the evidence she had just gathered was about to become useless.
She burst into Libitina’s office. “I have evidence!” She cried, waving the file about. Libitina looked at her. “For the PJ case? Well, give it here, but I doubt it will be of much importance.” “What, why not?” “Haven’t you heard? Snicket has been found dead in an alley, his throat cut.”
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Post by Dante on Jul 20, 2006 5:52:50 GMT -5
Interesting chapter, and I think you explained the premise/mystery well (which was good in itself). How many chapters is the full story going to have?
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