MK2K: Case Open

by Mystic

The money slipped from hand to hand and that was the end of the matter. Rafak shoved the marks down into the depths of his trench coat’s pockets, tipped his fedora and began the walk home. On the upper levels it was raining just hard enough to avoid being called a mist, and the street lamps would be starting to turn off for the morning. On the Street, however, there was only shadow and the dirty runoff of six hundred meters of urban planning. There were times when Rafak would’ve liked to shoot whoever came up with the idea for Metamor City’s vertical growth.

Maybe some day he’d get the chance, but until then he had grocery bills and rent to pay. He made his way through the sporadic brown waterfalls to the rundown building where he kept his office.

Rundown was simply what it was, if one avoided the cotton candy of relativity. The paint was yellowed, chipped, and peeling, and a few of the stairwells were a gamble. Still for a Street level building, the old gal was something of a find. There was little in the way of exposed wiring, nine out of ten windows remained intact, and there was every likelihood she’d survive an average storm.

Rafak’s office and home resided on the second floor. A modest set of black letters on the door proclaimed “Rafak Aliri, Private Eye”. The reception area was as neat as one could have hoped for, given where one was in Metamor City. A few potted plants struggled for life beneath pictures so cheap that the word art would have been an insult. A thing of nightmares sat behind a cramped desk, jabbing the keys of an ancient typewriter.

“Any calls while I was out, Betty?”
The seven foot tall demoness flexed her quill-studded batwings in agitation, probably at the typewriter. “No, Mr. Aliri,” she said in a voice subtly tinged with a sound that could skin a cat.

The detective removed the small roll of cash he’d been paid with, stripped a few bills from it, and tossed the rest on his secretary’s desk. “Put that in the safe, will ya, Betty? And close the Tyler case.”

The creature rose and picked the wad of currency up daintily with serrated claw fingers that could have disemboweled an ogre. After reaching up and lifting a painting that might have been cut from a cereal box, she awkwardly manipulated the dial of the safe below and tossed the money within.

Rafak slipped into his office and hung his trench coat on a coat rack to his right. It only took a few steps to reach the other side of the small room and settle in behind his desk. He tipped his hat down over his eyes, tilted his chair back and began to catch some shut eye. There was little enough time for it in between paying the bills.

He was awakened with a start as the buzzer on his desk went off. “There’s a customer here to see you, Mr. Aliri.” He could hear the smug satisfaction in her voice. Betty wasn’t much of a secretary, but she made a hell of a demon.

The woman who walked in was rather plain-looking, somewhere in the forty to fifty year-old range. She didn’t even look like she belonged on the Street. There was more of a First Level shabbiness about her than the open filth one found at rock bottom.

“You’re a lutin,” the woman said in genuine surprise as she halted a few steps into the door.

“That’s what it says on my skimmer license. Have a seat,” Rafak offered, letting her reaction pass easily enough.

“I’m sorry, it’s just I didn’t expect…” The woman stammered somewhat as she hesitant took to the chair.

The short green humanoid brushed away the fluster with a wave of his hand. Customers were allowed ignorance so long as they had enough marks for a job. And it didn’t take all that many marks to pay for a job. “What brings you here today, Miss—?”

“Harper,” she supplied. “I need your help. It’s my son, he’s gone missing.”

Rafak settled back a little in his chair. A few levels up and this case probably would have ended in someone’s embarrassment. On the Street it would have been a statistic. For someone on level one he suspected he was looking at a tragedy.

“Tell me about your son, Ms. Harper. What’s his name? How old is he? What does he look like? Has he done anything like this before?” he instructed, rattling off the standard questions.

The woman fumbled around in her purse and produced a photo. “His name is Danny, Danny Harper. He’s twenty-four years old. The police said that they couldn’t do much to help me since he was an adult, and there’s no evidence of a crime.”

The picture showed a clean shaven young man with dark hair and large glasses. A cement sign was visible over his shoulder in the background. “Saitec?” the detective read with some surprise. “That’s a pricey school. Pricier than Empire University, anyway. How’d someone from the lower levels manage to pay for that?”

The woman’s face colored slightly in embarrassment at being called on her social status. “Danny won a scholarship,” she answered, a measure of pride briefly surfacing above the tension. “He’s a very smart boy. That picture is from about a month before he finished his Master’s.”

The lutin just nodded. “What makes you think your son is missing?"

"He calls me every Friday, and this week he hasn't. I've been trying to reach him every day since. It's been five days now!"

"Maybe his phone's broken?"

"I went to his apartment today, but he wasn't home. I know that doesn't sound like much, but it isn't like him to go out." She stopped and looked down at her hands. "I'll understand if that doesn't convince you. It wasn't enough for the police."

"I'm not the police," the detective said with a shrug as he reached into his drawer. "I work for you, Ms. Harper. Whether or not I believe anything is wrong is beside the point." He pulled out a form and placed it on the desk. "This is a fairly standard contract. It guarantees my services for a week, non-exclusive. You pay up front, and I cover my own expenses."

The woman took the paper, skimmed it only briefly, and signed it, before opening her purse and removing the money. The lutin commented with some surprise, "You seem to treat contracts rather casually."

"I need help, Mr. Aliri," the older woman said with weariness. "I don't think I have the courage to shop around for it on the Street."

"There's no shame in that," Rafak admitted. “A woman like you shouldn’t be walking around the Street alone anyway.” He pushed the button on his intercom and said, “Betty, when Ms. Harper leaves take your coffee break and escort her back to Level One.”

“Yes, Mr. Aliri,” the secretary growled back. “I’m obligated to remind you, sir, that our contract expires at the end of the month. At which time I will flay the skin from your bones and devour your flesh.”

Rafak rolled his eyes as if asking for patience while the woman in his office visibly paled. “What is your secretary?” Ms. Harper asked nervously.

“Nothing you want to meet in a dark alley,” the lutin answered. “But she’s safe enough … while under contract.” He turned to a calendar on the side of his filing cabinet and drew a big red ‘X’ on the thirtieth and circled it three times. “I believe we have a deal, Ma’am, unless you have any further questions.”

After she shook her head, he walked over and opened the door for her. “Make sure fill out a contact card with Betty on the way out so I can get a hold of you if necessary.”

He closed the door and returned to his desk after the still visibly nervous middle-aged woman muttered her thanks and left. He noted again that Betty was a lousy secretary, but a skilled demon. One just couldn’t beat indentured servitude when it came to wages though.

He put on his trench coat again and slipped Danny’s picture inside a pocket. The first stop and probably last stop was going to have to be the morgues.

FIN

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