Now this is not a short story set within the likes of CoH, neithe rdoes it have superhuman powers and heros about the place... But CoH has definately inspired this in many ways.
This is a short story I call "A Case To Die For", I wrote it for my GCSE English Coursework, and got an A for it, so I hope you enjoy it.
Jonathan Smithe in
A Case to Die For
I could feel the destruction and suffering around me. I could hear the pull of the trigger, the click of the hammer, the bullet bursting from the nozzle.
With every gunshot I tensed with horror, and with every bullet whizzing past my ear with infallible speed I thought of another error that had led me to this dire situation
I'd call this day 'Autumn Misery', like the book, except I felt that the bitter wind and the drenching rain were much worse than described. The grey skies dulled all the once thriving colours around me, and the smooth paving slabs grew slick from the opened heavens. Even the rich reds and bright yellows of the autumn leaves were colourless against the weathered streets. My coat, oh don't get me started on my coat. This sopping rug of a rain coat I bought a few weeks back must be the most useless thing I had ever owned! A single drop of insignificant rain and the whole blasted thing was wet through! To make things better, the forecast for the next three months was set to stay sun-free, and leaving the skies a worse colour than a tarnished cutlery knife that's age-old, a horribly dull metal colour.
The windows of a nearby bank shone like pewter, the droplets of rain reflecting the yellowing street lamp.
As night approached the City Of Angels, cars began to become more frequent, each time one drove past and the ankle-deep puddle got even deeper, the spray got that little bit closer to where I was waiting. Why was I waiting, might you ask? For twenty five minutes in the rain? I was waiting for my contact. He had barked the directions down the phone to me almost two hours ago. "Wait between the bank and pretzel stand at 5:30pm, on the corner of Sunset and Fifth.". That's what I was told. I could smell the freshly baked pretzels since I turned onto the street, and my hunger was beginning to grow because of it. Five more minutes and I was out of here. He had never been late before, in fact the old guy never missed the time he set, he was always the one waiting for me, but then again, this time it was raining bullets of the stuff. I'd only had him since the start of the summer, but he was my most trusted guy, yet I knew almost nothing of him, strange huh?
A wave of relief ran through me as his excuse of a car pulled up, but to my surprise, his rust bucket was rather clean, it must have been the rain. The door swung open, but it wasn't with a bang and a creak, it almost looked as if it swooned open from a female touch. Instead of rugged leather boots stomping from the cabin, a pair of expensive-looking black high-heels slid to the ground, hesitating to even skim the surface of the puddle. As my eyes ventured up this female's glamorous figure, I caught sight of her elegant dress ending just below her knees, and I explored further upwards, to find her staring straight toward me, with the most piercing dark eyes I had ever witnessed shooting through my skull. She drew an umbrella from the passenger side of the rusty old vehicle and slid the release, opening it and shocking me slightly with the sharp flap of the waterproof material as it clicked into place. She slowly swayed toward me, and I stepped up from leaning against the slick limestone pillar to confront her. Holding a dull brown folder she offered it towards me and as I pulled my hand from my pocket to receive it, she smoothly put her lips to my ear whispering with a strange confidence "Bill won't be seeing you anytime soon." She paused for a second, licking her teeth. She continues, watching my face scrunch up with confusion. "He had an unfortunate accident with a bullet." I gasped at her notion, but she continued. "I'll be your contact from now on." A rush of anxiety ran through me as my muddled mind put the pieces together. I don't understand why I couldn't put it together, it was incredibly obvious. Maybe it's because I couldn't stop thinking about how careful he always was, and how he always kept himself to himself, no one knew who he was or what he did. How had this happened, how did he get killed and why? Did he find something he wasn't supposed to? Did he delve too deep into dangerous territory?
Her icy heart didn't show through her elegant dress sense and kind face. I didn't see the sinister interior, until she spoke of Bill like an animal that was put down. As she sauntered away from me, I took one last look at her, so I could remember her presence. I knew that I seemed to be in a lot of trouble but that always seemed to be the case.
I had just finished a case yesterday discovering yet another cheating husband. No surprise there. The cops would occasionally pop up to check I was doing everything legal. Of course I was, just I hated people following me, that was MY job. I managed to get a hold of my police file a while back, it described me as:
Name: Jonathan Smithe, aka John Smith
Gender: Male
Age: 37
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Height: 6'1"
Eye Colour: Dark Blue
Hair: Dark Brown/Grey
The cops decided to scrutinise my investigations ever since I caught the Chief Detective with a ****** in the alley behind my office. They accused me of following him in an attempt to incriminate the Department of Justice. Since I never really did anything wrong, they were unable to throw me in the slammer for more than a few days.
I don't like to mix my business into organizations such as the mafia and the cops. Everything gets messy from therein when you voyage into their territory, very messy.
I decided to drag myself back to the office, pondering still about the apparent death of my most trusted contact, Bill Arnold. I reached for my paper I had with me earlier, searching for any suspicious mob activity reported on, but there was nothing along the lines of someone being burned for intervening in business. There was nothing about Bill.
I had a quick glance at the files my she-devil of a contact had given me, and it just seemed to be an ordinary wandering husband's case, but something was missing, something was sounding an alarm in the back of my mind. There was no name provided for the person I was doing this for, neither contact number or address
this was strange, because usually a case like this would have at least a telephone number, how else was I supposed to get the information back to them? I decided to look into it a little more, but then again I wasn't far from the office, I thought I may as well wait until I was out of the rain and out of this dreadful raincoat. I gave the picture of the subject a final glance before I closed the folder and rolled it together so it would fit in my inside coat pocket, there it would at least only become damp.
I arrived at my office, admiring my emblem "Jonathan Smithe, P.I.". Reaching for my keys, I dived deep into my pocket with my left hand. I lent and looked towards my right side, almost doing a professional stretch down to the pocket which was a lot deeper and further away than I ever expected, precisely the reason I bought this coat, but back then I didn't know it wasn't rainproof either. As I looked down to the south end of the street, which was to my right, I noticed the face of my target walking towards me. I continued to fumble for my keys, as I wondered whether to bother in the pouring rain, since I did have his address. But he may be going to a key location, somewhere important. I needed to know more, to feed my growing curiosity. He's now about fifteen feet away, walking away, in the direction from which I had come. I stopped rummaging through my raincoat pocket and turned to follow him.
I took but a few steps and I suddenly got that cold staring feeling on the back of neck, making my greying hair stand on end. I decided to not look back, probably a wise idea, so as not to blow my self into the open in case they were bodyguards of the subject. I'd been in this rain for over an hour and a half now, my clothes were more than drenched, like I had just emerged from a body of water, with the cold eroding my skin. The rain didn't stop, so that the weather fit perfectly with my mood. You see, I had woken up in a cold sweat, and that only ever happens when something was going to go greatly awry. I have an intense sort of sixth sense I feel anyone that watches me, I know the signs of disaster, and sometimes anything more than a sniffle is a cue for something else significant to happen. I continued, keeping a good twenty feet away from the target, the file naming him as Harry Wynford. I could have sworn that name sounded familiar
The next corner was about fifty feet away, and I still sensed the staring in the back of my head, piercing through me, never slackening. I need to hasten myself in order not to lose too much distance with Wynford as I was going to lose the eyes following my every move by entering the shop on the corner. It was only a few minutes from closing time, and the shopkeeper was packing up a few things that needed refridgerating. I bought yet another newspaper; it must have been my fourth today. Wynford must have travelled over forty feet away from me since I entered the shop, and as I left the shop I peered around to find his distinct hairstyle and clothing taste, discovered that he had vanished. I dashed down the slicked pavement, but after about twenty feet I slowed down, so as not to be so obvious. Eventually I stopped to look about, but I discovered nothing, Wynford had completely disappeared, truly gone from sight. I returned to my office, disappointed by my own efforts, to go over the file and research into this character, before I decided to chase him any further. Arriving at my office, as I tried to unlock the door, I found that the lock had been broken, I hadn't noticed before because my key had decided to hide from me earlier, and of course because of the pointless interruption of Harry Wynford. I entered to find nothing visibly out of place, until I clambered through all my drawers to find absolutely nothing left. Everything had been taken, anything that was originally out of sight from the window was now gone. I found it troubling because ironically, I had planned to update the recovery list I had with my insurance company, scheduled in just two days. It would have taken several days but it would have been worth it, as it would have prevented this kind of thing causing too much hassle. But no, it had to happen today, this must be the worst day ever. Typical.
Nothing seemed right about it though, it looked professional, not some dumb kids messing around. The lock on the front door I didn't understand though. I mean it was in plain sight all the time, on the front of the street, a main street with a lot of people wondering about.
Reluctant to call the cops or the insurance company, knowing I'd only get an ear-full of why didn't I have one of those fancy security systems the Redridge Brothers have been selling.
I dealt with the break-in as if it was no big deal. I just did what I usually did once I arrived back to the office; I hung my coat on the cluttered coat rack, dropped my keys on the desk, and slid the new case across to my felt writing mat. I figured that someone had some explaining to do, so I checked my small hidden arsenal; two 1911 Colts, and my magnum revolver that I saved for special occasions. They were hidden in a secret compartment behind one of my pictures, no handle or crease visible, just a good thump to the wall and it showed itself. None of the guns had been used, they were for defensive purposes only. But I was realising I may need some extra ammunition, 'coz I got the feeling this was gonna get real big. I was gonna have to hit the seven eleven; I hadn't shot anything in a good while, so my aim would be a little rusty. As I walked back to my chair, I realised that there was something left on the top of one of my filing cabinets something that wasn't mine. It was the tool used to break my lock: a Swiss army knife, and the blade was still open. They must have used it to get into my files as well. My new contact must have had something to do with it, maybe it was the reason why I was held in the rain for twenty-five minutes
and it took me around 20 minutes to get back to the office anyway. That would have been plenty of time to break into my office. Was Harry Wynford also a distraction to allow them back in, in case they hadn't finished the job? This wasn't like criminals, this was a well thought out plan. Someone near the Kingpin must be controlling this ordeal around me
and I asked myself why am I the target? To my knowledge I hadn't mixed myself with any crime syndicates lately. But then again, even I don't know everything.
I needed to get some sleep, but somewhere safe, I decided to go to where Bill used to put me when I was on a slightly more dangerous task. I arrived, the first time I had seen it in the dark, with the dimly lit sign "Glenn's Motel house", claiming "cheap rooms, and every cent is worth it". Yeah, the beds may be a bit uncomfortable, and the bathroom is a bit leaky, but every cent is really worth it, like the sign says. Bill always said he could trust the place because he could trust the guy who ran it with his life. And Bill didn't trust people easily.
I slept almost eleven hours, and I had never before had such a vivid dream
it was like the evenings events were assorted into a jigsaw. First was the piece about the odd amount of time I had to wait for Bill, well, Ms Mysterious New Contact. The second piece was the fact of having a run-in with Wynford. The third was still hazy, I knew it was about my office being broken into, but I was missing something. Maybe the Swiss knife had something attached to it, or left with it, to find who had been going through my things?
I got back to my place and decided to relax, sit back in my leather chair for an hour and think about things. Almost an hour was up, before it hit me I realised the knife would have left marks wherever it was used, and so would anything else for that matter. I searched and squandered over the entire place, searching for even a hint of something else. I discovered some other knife marks, and in trying to fit the Swiss knife into the groove, I was surprised to find that the incline was too large. I also found some scorch marks, where following further investigation, I found my lock had been melted away. That pointed towards one of the thieves using a blowtorch, and that meant it was a professional attack.
I inspected the Army Knife some more, and found an insignia scribed into the inside of it. The letters 'WJM' were scratched into the crude monkey metal. I let my gut reaction take over for a moment. Then it hit me like a baseball to the face Wagner Jeriquiem Mafia. I returned to Wynford's file to flick through and find what I was hoping for. There it was "Member of the Wagner Jeriquiem Mafia, cousin of Mr Wagner himself." My newest job, was to follow the most powerful man in California's cousin? I wasn't amused.
I had run into this crime syndicate once before Mr Wagner and Mr Jeriquiem were partners in running the organization. That was, until Wagner began suffering an extreme hunger for money, he killed his partner in cold blood. I didn't know to this day why he kept Jeriquiem in the name of the mafia.
I needed to bring this case to a close; I wasn't satisfied with all this information gathering and nothing being done about it.
I gathered some well known acquaintances, hell, you could maybe even call them friends, to help me with the case. We were all investigators; I only kept company the same as myself. You see, if someone was to go to either the cops or the mafia with information, their job would become obsolete. That's why I felt so safe around these characters.
Three shady colleagues and I arrived at the address stated in the file: 471 Stalwart Street. There were a bunch of cars piled outside on the large estate's front entrance. Family reunion, we all thought the mob had always been keen on family. We began approaching the house when we heard silence beckon from the gigantic house. It was as if we had been noticed, and were about to be strewn with lead, when suddenly the music started again, and a smartly dressed gentleman stepped out from the front door. He lit a cigarette. Someone alerted him, as he swung around back towards the house. My deathly contact joined him! I found it as no shock, she had the evil deceptiveness of a mobster. As we soundlessly got closer we could hear their topic of conversation. "I wonder if that detective is gonna show up, I thought by now he'd have figured it out."
"Cynthia, are you positive this plan to rid of the investigator once and for all is going to work? I've heard terrible stories of this man."
"I'm sure, he has a thirsty curiosity for this kind of stuff, if it wasn't going to kill him, he'd be begging for seconds."
"Right then. Shall we return to your father's domain? I'm sure he'll want you to be at his side when this investigator arrives and exposes himself to death"
I froze when he mentioned her being Wagner's daughter, that why she was so familiar, I had seen her before in the newspaper I was reading right before she arrived before my very eyes!
The man inhaled a final lung full of smoke before clearing his throat and flicking the cigarette butt into the nearby hedgerow.
We had to devise a plan. Possibly infiltrate the house from the back, and enter through the kitchens and unpopulated rooms? We thought better of it, as we needed to figure out the risks we were willing to take.
We managed to sneak past the patrons hanging by the doorways without alert, and clamber over the seven foot tall wall separating the front and back gardens, as the doorway was populated by a group of wheezing old cigar-supping men, twittering on about how they fought off the Nazis the first time they came around. It was still raining. We entered through the backdoor of the butler's kitchen, and swiftly flew through the doorways leading closer and closer towards the main guest hall. We managed to pass through unnoticed, as we ditched our raincoats and fedoras, revealing the business-like suits we were wearing underneath, giving us the edge of blending with the crowd. I had lent each of my colts to the two brothers of my shady colleagues, I kept my magnum to myself, and the quietest of us all had a pair of Smith & Westerns that he personally owned. I was usually the resourceful one, the one with all the guns and equipment. Not the case this time, as he had actually brought his own stuff.
We migrated further into the crowd and as we got close to the wealthy Mr Wagner, we slowed to identify our adversaries.
I felt a presence watching us, as we moved towards the mobster. The others felt it too, their spines tingled with an icy stare.
I saw my target, Wynford, and the person standing opposite him the contact. I seized the moment and drew my magnum, pressing the cold barrel of the gun hard into the skin of Wynford's neck. My colleagues each took a mark, the brothers each got the contact and Wagner's wife, whilst the third of my shady musketeers pulled both his revolvers out on the Mob Boss, Gordon Wagner.
We soon felt the cold metal barrels of our many foes' weapons, as the music fell silent and all mouths collapsed into nothingness. I begin to reinact what I have not done in so long. I started barking at Wynford and the contact. "Why am I here!? Why was I sent here!? Why have I been set up!?"
The contact replies "You were sent here to be killed, Mr Smithe. You feed your curiosity too much; some things are needed to be left unknown in the world. We found you a nuisance. Bill was the main problem, but you were one of his assests, and assests always know something."
I lost my will to continue, after such a short conversation, and retracted the arm I was wielding my revolver with. Now with great velocity I painfully gauged the back of Wynford's head with the grip of my pistol. His body shuddered to the floor, and blood poured from his wound. My contact, Ms Wagner, drew her pistol and aimed for me, squeezing the trigger and barely missing as I threw myself away from the path of her bullet. I dived beneath the table and upturned it, giving me cover. My comrades soon followed my action, as they shot their hostages in non-fatal areas, the brothers aiming for legs and the third giving Wagner holes in the palms of his hands the size of Kansas. I stayed low behind the table, with clusters of bullets creating irregular patterns on the tables surface.
We checked our ammo, and rose from the table after counting the shots the enemies had to reload at, finding the prime moment with the least percentage of injury. We popped up, squeezing the triggers of our weapons, feeling the recoil of every shot fired. The crowd was in chaos, most running for the exits and some scrambling across the floor escaping from the crossfire. Lead was flying and as we retreated back behind the table we realised what we had really got ourselves into. The gunfire just seemed to be getting heavier and heavier. One of the brothers was shot, bleeding from the opening in his right lung. I popped back up, but as I did, I felt a bullet clip my ear, and screaming in agony I weakly aimed my gun and frenzied myself. I threw my gun at the nearest mobster, missing completely, and kneeled to grab the colts I had lent the brothers. Jumping from the cover, leaving the others to tend for the wounded brethren, I took my fully loaded colts and started shooting at the remainder of the gang members. Five left - and there I was running right into the middle of them. I shot the first in the shoulder, the second in the knee cap, dropping him to the floor. The fourth got me in the shin, knocking me to the ground. I then managed to aim with my good eye and hit the third right between the eyes. The fourth got me again, this time in the right arm, luckily, I was a lefty, and managed to shoot him at his feet, bringing him to the ground. The fifth was aiming at me, but not shooting, as if he was a cop, telling a suspect to surrender. I dragged my colt in front of me, lining up the sights. I pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked. But there was no bullet. I had run out of ammo. The fifth sauntered up to me. I rolled over, and asked "What are you gonna do now?"
He greedily sniggered "I'm gonna fry you, slowly and painfully."
A bullet entered my inner thigh, then my chest. I was past pain now, all that there was left was a blackening room. As the world started to fade, I heard the whistle that could have only been Benjamin, the third musketeer.
He had two full six-slotted chambers in his revolvers, and began squeezing the triggers smoothly, filling the remaining adversary with enough contorted metal to kill a bull. I felt redemption as the room continued to fade away. Benjamin rushed towards me, but as he slid to comfort me, the world disappeared. Death overwhelmed me. I felt nothing.
(Lugo Orzech - name from test all that time ago)