Chapter Text
If there is anything that I’ve learnt over the last few years, it’s this; you don’t argue with Spades Slick.
There isn’t to do with him knowing more. Man’s a fool, if I ever saw one. He’ll work hard to come up with something witty and smart-sounding, but really it’ll be the most clichéd thing you’ll ever hear. But the man has a short temper, and the metal he carries is sharp, and combining those two is never a good idea. So the proper thing is to nod, to comment on how good the line was thought out, and that we should get moving, boss, before the Badges arrive.
Another thing I’ve learnt is that you need to always think; else you’ll eat your words. Though that lesson seemed to have slipped my mind tonight. Unfortunate, but inevitable. It you tell somebody like Slick that they need to get moving, he’ll be out the door and far away before you know it. And when he’s the ones with the keys to your ride back, he won’t be waiting for you to catch up.
So that summarizes why I was sitting on the metal bench of a railway station, at two in the morning, waiting for a train that may or may not arrive before the sun decides to rear its ugly head.
Rise with the moon, go to bed with the sun,
Early to bed and you’ll miss all the fun.
It used to be just a silly little ditty, an old record that Deuce found in one of the thousands of dusty cardboard boxes that litter our little base of operations. We didn’t even hear the thing until we found a gramophone a week after. Sure, the tech these days is decent, with iPods and iPads and iDon’tKnowWhatElses. But there’s something about an old gramophone, playing the old vinyl, that just makes the tune that much sweeter.
Where was I? Right, the song.
We played it on the gramophone when we found it. The instrumentation was alright, I suppose, but those vocals were what kept up playing it. We must have played that thing at least once a night. It became as much a part of our little group as the members themselves, and ended up giving us our name.
I’m a member of the Midnight Crew.
It’s got a ring to it, like none of the other names we came up with had. So it stuck. We used that song to make a name for ourselves. Midnight Crew. The crew at midnight. The streets were ours. All the roads, the lights, the alleyways.
Another thing I’ve learnt; the idea that alleyways are short straight things is a total lie. I suppose it would be in any other city, but in Canton it’s the exact opposite. The city planner must have had something about curves, because there’s barely a rectangular building to be found. It’s all curves, ovals, rhombuses. Maybe he had a bad experience with a square as a child. Sharp corners. It makes having a fight a little more interesting. You can’t just duck around a corner and get a surprise attack; you both see each other at the exact same time. It’s a fairer game. But there are those few areas of straightness, where everything’s not curvy. Like the train station
Yes, that was a thing I was talking about. I have a rather bad habit of trailing off the subject, as you have quite obviously caught on. But I regress; I do eventually get to the point of the matter.
So I was sitting on the bench, waiting for the train that may or may not come, depending on if the conductor had fallen asleep yet. The place was empty, just me sitting there. Not entirely peculiar; it was two in the morning. Only the Nocturnal residents of Canton would be out, and most of them wouldn’t have been ditched by their boss. But, I assured myself, being alone is better than having to get into another tumble. Right there and then, my thoughts were on getting back to the hideout and getting a well-deserved drink.
The job was a simple one, very much as simple as it gets. We got a call at about quarter past twelve, from the bouncer of a relatively classy dive that had enlisted us to protect their property. We didn’t operate like a regular gang. We left them alone, and if they offered us a drink every once in a while, we kept the less sophisticated criminals away. So the bouncer was just calling, because they had a wannabe patron who obviously was not the type that should be there. He got a little rough, the bouncer subdues him, and maybe we could come over and have a little talk to the guy, sort it out.
Boxcars took the call, and he knew that we’d never turn down something like that. So he said we’d send people over, told Slick, and he got in the car with me for a quick drive over. We got there at about half past, no problems, and the bouncer let us in.
You know you can judge a place by their bouncer. You get a burly guy; you know it’s a rough place. Skinny guy, you know that you’ll find some older gentlemen there. But a place with a woman outside, wearing a smart suit and eye patch, with a glare that’d kill you if you let it? Yeah, that’s a place for the real people. It’s a lucky thing I knew Serket, it’s always a good idea to have people like her in your good books. She let us through without a problem, of course, she called us direct. She tapped Slick on the shoulder, and simply said “My office. Not too rough.”
The trip to her office was short and sweet. Through the door, round the corner, past the bar, through the employee door, hang a right. I opened the door, and Slick swept in. I followed suit, and closed the door.
He didn’t take too long. They never do.
We were out of that door at about quarter to, and there was no point in leaving straight away, so we did our usual inspection. Scan the crowd, look for any gang members, alert the security if there was. The lighting was flashy, but I was used to that. A quick scan relieved any worries I might have had. Serket was good; this place was as clean as clean could be. I could recognize most of these patrons, and they were certainly not one to cause any trouble relating to the gangs. Slick came back, and yes, he agreed with me, this place was perfectly fine. So back to base now. I nodded, and we reached the front entrance just in time to see some more trouble brewing.
“Does it look like I’m joking? I know you guys, and you are NOT coming in tonight.”
“Come on, you’ve got something against somebody w-with a bit of class?”
“Ampora, being a hipster does not make you ‘classy’.”
“W-well sorry, V-Vris, that I don’t fit your expectations!”
The rapport gave me a bit of a chuckle. Serket wasn’t exactly in the clear; the Amporas didn’t do anything too taxing; a little bit of desperate pickup attempts were not in any way banned by the establishment. But I knew for a fact that Serket and this guy, Eridan, had had a fling a while back. This was some old-fashioned revenge, and I can get behind that. Slick and I left her to it, and we were pulling away not ten seconds later.
Ten minutes passed. Five to one in the morning. We were just about to turn on the expressway, when a group dressed in green came into view on the road next to us. Slick swore, and I pulled over to the side. I didn’t like the Felt. They showed up about half a year ago, took a few blocks over, and started a protection racket that is a little more traditional than our own. Classic thugs, using intimidation to get what they want, without a sliver of class or respect for how things are run around here. We had to come out this way a lot more often now, with the businesses that were being “offered” protection calling in their actual protection to keep things running smoothly. The Felt stopped trying that after a few brawls and attacks, but they still tried to pick trouble every now and then. So, obviously, the easiest way to take care of them was to cause trouble first.
I sized up the situation. There were three of them standing there. A big guy at the back incredibly built. A medium guy, standing up straight and acting like the boss. And a shorter guy, slouching. I knew all three of them, though not by name. The short guy wouldn’t be a problem; he is usually too slow and unresponsive to put up any sort of fight. But the big guy could be a bit of trouble to take down. And the boss? He’d be a fair fight as well. So we’d better be careful, if we don’t want any killing on our hands.
I’m sure that Slick would have killed off all three of them, no problem. We both were packing heat; we could just shoot them down right now. But there are three main problems with that. First, if we kill these three, there’ll be plenty of others that will swear revenge straight out. Second, the Badges could be an issue. They don’t like us, sure, but we’ve kept clean. They couldn’t pin anything on us. But a triple homicide would be a far different story.
And third, where’s the fun in a shooting?
I turned off the engine, and the old engine spluttered a little before silently closing its trap. There was a bit of a creak as the two front doors opened, and then two distinct slams as they both closed. The gravel shifted underneath two pairs of feet, before going quieter as they reached the sidewalk.
Then Slick pulled out his knife, and things went a far bit quicker.
The wounds weren’t that great, for either side. A few scratches, some heavy bleeding, but nothing that’ll leave a mark after a month of healing. That’s how we played; leave them healthy, but with a lesson learnt. The three of them finally admitted defeat, and scuttled off, back down one of those curved alleyways, towards wherever they actually made base. I reached into my pocket, and got my handkerchief out. In the scuffle, I got some blood on my suit. I patted the spot, getting the worst of the liquid out. It wouldn’t be completely gone, of course, but it would save me a fortune in not having to replace the thing entirely.
Slick looked like he was thinking, which meant I was expecting the worst.
“I guess… they got cut by the shadows, huh?”
Dear god.
“Sure seems like it, boss. Nice one. We should get going, boss, before the badges arrive.”
And that is why I’m waiting at the train station. Lessons to learn about living in Canton, it’d be good if I started actually learning.
It took about half an hour to walk down to the station, moving slowly in case any more Felt were around. Two people, nobody would try a thing. But people view targets differently when they are alone. One person is easy to take by surprise. So you have to be careful. I took a less direct route, avoided major corners. I got there alright, so I scouted out the place for any secret nooks and crannies. When I was satisfied, I took my spot on the bench.
That was one thirty.
By the time it was two, nothing had happened. No trains, no pedestrian, not even any sounds of fighting on the streets nearby. It was getting past the late nights that the gangs usually run it. Eleven to one? That’s the time to be fighting. But after that, even the night people get tired, head home, and take a long and deserving rest. So when two o’clock rolled around, I knew I was safe. I finally leaned back, stretched my arms out, and let out a yawn.
“Tired?”
Lesson number three; you’ll always screw up.
The voice was from a tall guy about ten metres away from me. He was wearing a white suit, and leaning against the wall. If it was five hours in the future, I would have placed him as a business man. A pretty wealthy guy, waiting for his morning train to an important evening. But it wasn’t five hours in the future; it was two in the morning. And that meant that this guy was a Dick. A Private Eye. An investigator. Or, to put it in simple terms, the exact kind of guy that would be my enemy.
I considered my options. How I react now can make all the difference at the end of this conversation. I come off as rude, he’ll immediately start being suspicious, and that’ll be no good. But if I come off too open, he might start trying to have an actual conversation. And these sorts of people pick up on everything. Still, I decided that he might be a little easier to deal with if I kept things peaceful.
“I had a long night, and my friend skipped out on me. I’d much rather be in bed right now.”
He gives a little nod, and a shrug, as if to say “I know exactly what you mean”. Then he goes quiet again, looking around for a bit. Perhaps he was seeing if anybody was around, so he could pull a gun on me. But he didn’t do that, instead electing to push off the wall and walk over, taking a seat on the other side of the bench as me. Again, it was time to start thinking. Either this was him trying to get friendly, or he was getting ready to spring a trap. But it was most likely a trap right now would have a backup for if I left. So it was time to play along with him.
“So, what are you doing up so late?” I posed the question as casually as I could. This was my chance to begin to have an upper foot on the sleuth, start some mind games of my own. Either he gives some terrible explanation, which will be obvious to spot, or he gives a half-truth. He couldn’t tell the truth, that would be completely idiotic-
“I was looking for a guy called Slick, you look like you know him.”
Obviously the guy was an idiot after all.
Unfortunately, that made him even more dangerous. If this guy wasn't competent, that meant he wouldn't follow the obvious steps, which made tricking him a whole lot harder. I couldn't rely on tactics anymore, I’d have to improvise.
“What makes you say I know the guy?” Defensive, doesn't give anything away. The perfect response, all things considered.
“Well, I did see you with him fighting those Felt guys, before he drove off, so I figured.” He leaned back into the bench, looking outwards and away, while I quietly panicked. He saw the fight? How long had this guy been tailing me? And why the hell didn't I notice him?
I stared at him, in silent shock, but he didn’t notice my expression. His gaze was on the buildings across from us, not a stare, but a sort of motionless state of rest, like he was zoned out. Without moving from this state, he started talking again.
“See, I was supposed to find Slick and haul him in so my buddy could talk to him. But he left too quickly after that tumble with the other guys, so I thought, ‘well, the guy he showed up with dresses almost exactly alike, and they didn’t try to kill each other, so maybe they’re buddies.’ So, I thought some more, and I thought, ‘it might be easier to ask this guy, since he’s still here’. You get what I’m saying?”
All the time he was talking, he didn’t look at me. Not once. He was so zoned out, I probably could have just walked away and he wouldn’t have noticed until it was too late. Then again, with how he had managed to tail me, that mightn’t be the case. But obviously, being in a rather embarrassing state of paralysing shock, I just sat there and listened to the guy rattle on. When he finally finished his little speech, he turned to look at me, waiting for an answer. He kept that strange stare on me, and it felt like he was seeing right through me. However strange this inspector was, I immediately knew that lying would do absolutely no good.
“Yes, he’s my boss. But he was in a rush to get back, so he ditched me there. You must have seen that part. But I most likely won’t be willing to come with you, on account that you are obviously on the side of the Badges, and if it was Slick you were after, I don’t understand how asking me could possibly work.”
He looked at me silently for a moment, before shaking his head. “I don’t know either. I don’t think things through very well, except for when I do, but that’s not very often.” Suddenly he was standing up, dusting his jacket, and looking away again. “I’ll leave you be then, sorry for disturbing you. But if you wouldn't mind passing on a message, well, letting him know that he was wanted, that would be very helpful, see. Just tell him that, that P.I. was looking to talk to him.” Then he turned away and walked out of my view. I was left with a vague feeling of worry, of dread, and a much less vague feeling of complete and utter confusion.
The train arrived a few minutes later, and by twenty to three I was back through the door of the hideout, greeted by the wonderful sight of three men sprawled out in different places in the room. They had been drinking, of course. I gave them no notice, and left for my room. The message could wait until the morning.