Finale a la prologue

What does the time spent here represent? Have I learned anything? There are hundreds of other towns, cities, neighborhoods which I have and will infiltrate, will it make a difference?

Are there aliens? How do they view someone like me? They probably don't. They just need to take one look at a place like this and say, "nothing good comes from earth."

Do I really care about justice? All I seem to participate in is sneaking about, learning other peoples business. If I learn enough about a person, does that make it ok to report all the things that they do? Does justice only apply to those caught in the act?

My brain used to use a wider vocabulary. I'm far too focused on philosophy nowadays. Its only been a week? One week. Seven days ago I wondered about why people blink. Not exactly philosophical, but I still have too many erroneous thoughts. When was the last time I wrote down the things I have seen? I remember it, but I don't feel like i'm working.

"Come here, Baron."

The tabby whom had been staying in my apartment jumped from the floor onto my hunched knees. He was obviously fine with living with anyone who did not try to eat him or pelt him with stones. Petting his head, I decide I should at least come up with some lessons about life or something...

Lesson 1.

Humans were meant to work and sweat to earn a living. Those that try to get rich quick, or live at the expense of others, all get divine retribution somewhere along the line. That's the lesson. Unfortunately, we quickly forget the lessons we've learn. Then we have to learn them all over again.

I wander over to my stacks of documents and begin placing them in alphabetical order in their cardboard boxes.

Lesson 2.

"Survival of the fittest" is the law of nature. We deceive, or we are deceived. Thus, we flourish, or perish. Nothing good ever happened to me when I trusted others. That...is the lesson.

I desperately reach behind my wall of monitors and unplug each in succession.

Lesson 3.

Lesson, Lesson: If you see a stranger, follow him.

I walk over to my miniature fridgerator and open the door.

Lesson 4.

And what was the real lesson? Don't leave things in the fridge.

I close it and walk towards the window. Throwing aside the shutters, its suprisingly sunny outside. Perfect timing.

Clunk Clunk Clunk.

"Brone," I catch my breath as soon as I say the name and continually stroke the cat's head which is starved for affection.

The footsteps stop. I'm looking out the window at nothing much.

"Don't go."

Am I breaking my promise? Some promises are meant to be broken, in fact, most of them are. It doesn't matter, the footsteps continue down the hallway. What am I doing? Whatever was holding our partnership together was only such a small thing.

Meredith. Someone impossible to keep track of. Not that he was particularly fond of the idea of meeting her, but he still needed to find her. I help him, he helps me, whatever happens from that moment I will close my eyes and look away.

Was I clinging onto my worker like he was my personal bodyguard for life? Or did I actually think there was some kind of friendship that I could hold onto, no matter how many times my name changed? I could just have easily avoided this city entirely, why ever bother coming here? He would be fine either way with not finding her--perhaps for a couple of more years.

"Nana, hachi, kyû, konnichi wa to you."

"Are you sure you’re looking for her?"

"Ichi, zero, ichi, ichi, sayonara."

"Or are you just wasting time?"

...A siren was wailing outside, an ambulance. How rare. Few violences are reported here.

When you and I first met, you told me something. You said that you had died once. That you had seen death. Why can't you just let it go? Forget the past. Is it that hard?

What was my real name again? Just some letter, foreign scripture. Does it matter? I don't have time for such trivial things.

"I'm going to do my job," I stated simply. I walked out my door and left it wide open. I was moving at my pace towards where I told him she would be.

The graveyard was scarier exposed to full sunshine than at night. Gravestones with hundreds of my assumed names were everywhere, though I didn't see Mr. Barnheart's.

Brone leaned against a tall headstone holding a lit cigarette.

"..."

What is there to talk about? I hunched down next to him.

"Ever heard this story. There was once a tiger-striped cat. This cat died a million deaths, revived and lived a million lives. And he was owned by various people who he didn't really care for. The cat wasn't afraid to die. Then one day, the cat became a stray cat, which meant he was free. He met a white female cat and the two of them spent their days together happily. Well, years passed and the white cat grew weak and died of old age. The tiger-striped cat cried a million times and then he died too. Except this time he didn't come back to life."

"Hm. Thats a nice story."

"I hate that story."

"Ah?"

"I never liked cats, you know that."

"Oh yeah, thats right...Brone."

"Yeah?"

"I just want to ask you one thing."

"Whats that?"

"Is there something you need to do for her?"

"She's dead. There's nothing I can do for her now."

"Ah. Let's get the hell out of here shall we?"

We both walk towards the direction of Washington Heights apartment complex at a casual stride. I could still hear the sirens from the ambulance wailing. Like I said, nothing good comes from earth.

"Hey," Brone suddenly speaks, "how are men and women different?"

"Hmm...I think women are hiding more vital secrets than men are."

"But there are women who aren't feminine."

"And men who aren't masculine"

"What about those that aren't usually feminine but show that side of themselves in some chance circumstances? I like that."

"Really?"

"I'm not talking about her."

"Who then?"

"Whatever, but betrayal may come easy to women, but men live by iron codes of honor."
"You believe that?"

"I'm trying to. Real hard."

Maybe it's that girl in the red dress who'se trying to kill us?

*****

Some time later...

"So, what's the deal with this job again?"
"I briefed you earlier, Brone."
"Yeah, I wasn't really listening."
"...An ex-CIA operative Decker has stolen a large amount of explosives and is planning to sell them by highest bidder in an auction today."
"Well I happen to be in the bar nearby, so relax."
"Didn't you have a hangover?"
"Yeah. I'm making a prairie oyster. Just need an egg--"
"Please stop drinking those, you'll die."
"...Some asshole just spilled my egg. I needed that egg. I can't do any crap like this, I'm going after some tail."
"Since when is it a bounty hunter's job to chase after a women's ass instead of money?"
"Why the heck is an ex-CIA agent doing such high grade illegal activity anyways?"
"He was kicked out. When angels are forced out of heaven, they become devils. Don't you agree?"
"I don't know and I have no opinion. Besides, this place is actually crawling with bounty hunters, they all know about Decker, and I have a hangover the size of Neptune."
"You're useless, why do we work well together?"
"You're tense, I'm calm. You apply excessive force and I control that force through fluid motion. So that means relaxing the whole body so it can react instantly without resistance, you know, without thought."
"Well, be careful. Anything could happen. It could blow sky high when it hits."
"Kinda makes it interesting."

*****

What is going on in this world? Though you're alive, darkness looms only inches away. A world where any move you make could be a dangerous mistake. So, we will step away from the mainstream and live like vagabonds and common dropouts. A psychedelic rhapsody for someone just like you.

Don't you wanna hang out and waste your life with us?

*****

CHAPTER: MICHAEL SEEBACH - THE END

Clinic Duty

Let me see...Mr. George Jefferson stopped by this morning for treatment. Major bruising and cuts. Refused to answer questions pertaining to injuries. Left before actual treatment. A similiar situation with a Mr. Ford...

Well I imagine he would be in a hurry to leave the clinic when they ask so many penetrating questions in this cloister of a city. In fact, in the bulk of the patient records there are few who stay more than one night. Of course it makes for a harder investigation when every single person acts suspiciously.

"Oh-Um...officer Seebach?"
"Ah, forgive me, this is Seebach."
"Um, yes. Thank you for coming in. It's always good to know you are helping out in hand with the clinic."

Even if I had something to do today, at Ms. Evans invitation, all the red markings on my calendar had magically disappeared. Even if she requested we meet on the 29th of February, I would still be there. Who cares about something as trivial as a leap year? It is always a profitable source of information at the free clinic. Injuries tell secrets.

"Well please continue to report in officer, thank you very much."
"Ah. Please turn the light out as you leave."
"Aren't you reading--? Alright."

I toyed with the golden badge on my shirt as I hunched over a box of documents. The small closet was a bit more spacious than the room in my apartment. Gratefully many people don't see what's important, just the uniform. Of course that is as good a factor as bad in a place like this. The name on my uniform read "Barnheart." Technically it was Brone's uniform which he uses on certain occasions, but thats why I took his identification for alteration earlier.

Ring Ring.

A normal ringtone for my normal role-playing.

"This is Seebach."
"Michael, what the hell. Give me my ID."
"It's purpose has not reached fulfillment, I would like to use it at least once."
"I need it much more than you idiot. Don't think you can trade me a hundred bucks for it."
"You were asked for identification? Really?"
"Unbelievable huh? but that's not important, of course I'm calling you for a reason. So listen carefully, because I'm serious about it."

You called all of a sudden just to say you're serious? After such an ambiguous sentence, my wits were at an end as to guessing just what he was trying to say. Listening carefully it did seem he had a real reason for calling me rather than to complain. This could be a critical situation.

"Perhaps...I shall rendevouz with you later, time and place shall depend on the developing situation."

I thought I would be finishing up around here but it seems the grandson of that cookie woman has just arrived.

"G-g-g-g--!"

Ghosts? Grandma? Speaking of which, Mrs. Pearl seems to be holding a klondike bar. Should I ask her for it-No, she's already seen me before, I can't ruin this relationship I hold at the hospital. I should be meeting with Brone shortly, before the scene dissolves to nothing. While i'm walking, let us organize Alexander's Andromeda Strain-induced ramblings. Not to say it has something to do with clotting.

Perhaps Mr. Jefferson. Strangely enough, he is the only person whom I can recall with a "G" in his name. Ah, well. Out into the rainy streets.

Ow.

Worthless doll. It's even sleeting now. The worst possible weather for me besides a desert country sandstorm. Snow melts quickly, sleet decides to wait awhile after it hits you in the eye to melt. I'm basically blind outside at dusk. I couldn't imagine a more fun-derful situation if I had payed for those tapes teaching one how to be more expressive.

Useless tapes.

I have put in a call to Brone to pick me up, his reply being; "somewhere in between the time he has to stop grabbing onto his carpet to stop himself from falling off the earth." Vodka is quite a powerful drink I suppose.

More interestingly, that is the seventh time that van has passed by this area. No license plate or markings, black. Or perhaps it only looks that way through one eye. I really wouldn't know, I usually have both in use. At least my ears work fine, and they are definitely telling me that it probably isn't safe outside.

"Excuse me."

A waitress with hands on hips looked appraisingly upon the thin stranger sitting yoga style in the booth.

"Yes?"
"Are you going to use all of the sugar you found? We put them on seperate tables for a reason."
"Perhaps the amount of sugar you placed was insufficient."
"...There were at least 50 packets."
"Yes. And I have had how many cups of coffee?"
"...Seven."
"Indeed."

She was still staring at me. Did she not understand our conversation? It should be simple enough to understand. Ah, she's servicing the woman at the table. Hm. Her laptop screen is either reflecting red light at a high percentage, or the woman is flushed. Well, the weather outside would cause such a change in health. I myself am rather uncomfortable with the numbing sensation in my bare toes. The fact that the waitress did not want to serve me while I had no shoes on did not temper my frustration.

"********* ice cream?"

Hm...I heard ask cream? Not a bad idea. I should ask for some as well.

"Elizabeth! ELIZABETH!?"

...She's busy, I'll ask later.

?

Shakka Shakka Shakka.

Someone was trying to enter? No. The warehouse shutter doors were being rattled noisily by the wind outside. This area seems prone to violent weather patterns. Maybe I should pray to the teru teru bozu? I should have enough time to waste to make around 50...

Perhaps this weather is here for a reason? Demons, Magicians, H.P. Lovecrafts fanclub, who knows. If anything, the girl whom walks around speaking in rhythmic tempo seems the most likely candidate for an unnatural occurrence in this vicinity. Mmmf, heavy. I've heard of something like her before...an Ameonna? No weather reports seem to be conclusive in terms of why the skies only become darker each day. Most likely a reference to my brain functions slowly wasting away in this place. Soon it will be pitch black and Dennis Quaid will have to come unthaw us from certain death.

Yes, there is certainly a large amount of materials here. Mr. Machelli really should care more about what and where he keeps his storage. Of course he doesn't have to, he does have a large area of influence. Reporting everything I have found comes for later, this is just one stop in many and I can only help when I'm gone. Only a few more days in this place.

**********************************************************

Yep. Still cloudy and very windy. My shoes have actually left my feet and are being blown down the sidewalk. I suppose I should put a stopper on any other investigation today.

Is that someone laying in the street?...It appears a bike crawled out from a manhole and attacked him, thats always unfortunate. Well, i'm certain there are rules for a situation like that. One of them most likely being, don't go near people bleeding violently in a ghetto. Its not as if I don't care, I am not a police officer. I am a detective. I should never be seen, only heard as a voice which aids with justice. This place isn't boring, you have to be awake most of the day to really know who and what is going to kill you. A mental challenge is what I want, and nothing here has more than a highschool degree.

"STOP! POLICE!"

And of course, there is always something going on. Someone is being chased down the street this very moment...

I wonder if brone bought any blueberry cream cheese with his bagels...

"Teru-teru-bozu, teru bozu
Do make tomorrow a sunny day
Like the sky in a dream sometime
If it's sunny I'll give you a golden bell
Teru-teru-bozu, teru bozu
Do make tomorrow a sunny day
If you make my wish come true
We'll drink lots of sweet rice wine
Teru-teru-bozu, teru bozu
Do make tomorrow a sunny day
But if it's cloudy and you are crying
Then I shall snip your head off"

Going Out

He cannot follow one simple request. It's not that I do not understand our relationship enough to think of asking "why?" Over the time we have worked together I have learned the only thing he respects are sarcastic remarks and his payment, and his tactics of implementation upon his duties slightly resemble a hurricane. I, being too much of a good individual, feign ignorance to his misdeeds, not to say of course that my actions are technically what you would call "legal."

Is it because he was bred to be annoying, or does he enjoy watching me suffer? I remember an incident involving a random shooting, myself suffering a shot to the hand, where he refused to acknowledge that I could not pay him on the spot for "taking the guy out."

I said, exhaling into the empty air.

"There's no helping it."

So its up to me? Fine, I should have the efficiency required to fulfill this task. I suppose I shall head to the local grocer.

My miniature refrigerator had not been supplied with calorie-heavy foods since yesterday, causing my deduction capabilities to fall drastically. My house guest the baron does not seem to take well to the food I provided him as well. Cats need certain nutrients I realize and I'd rather not give the creature to Mrs. Lampshade. Brone's three main dislikes have affected my eating habits. Animals, kids and women with attitudes. There's nothing wrong with any of those things that I can think of...Do you speak in that arrogant way because the nature is carved into your DNA?

I heave a heavy sigh and decide to rest my eyes before heading outside. Going outside is dangerous in general. In Washington Heights, its fairly certain you will be attacked by one thing or another. I have evidence that numerous tenants have the capability to do so. Of course some rooms have been inaccessible, this is probably a good thing, It is not my job to break into every apartment anyways, my job is to analyze and find the solution to the puzzle. One bounty hunter under my supervision is not enough manpower to solve the problems of this town, and I have no intention of calling a full-scale operation into play for every town I visit.

SLAM.

The new polished door gleamed back at me. The two deadbolts which secured it in place were much more calming than the rusty old locks on the old door. Of course, the lack of numbers on my door may raise some questions. I at least, in all my effort in this place, will locate that missing number 6.

Chilling wind blew across my feet, making me realize that I should have worn socks this time, but the feet I stuffed onto the soles of my shoes felt cramped enough already. How could anyone put things like these on their feet all the time? Especially women, high heels must reduce a lifespan by at least 7 years. But I have owned these long enough to wear them into a soft, raggedy pair which is comfortable. Unfortunately it seemed to be raining. My feet would get wet no matter what, why bother wearing shoes?

What to buy? Pudding is good, as well as coffee, tea, sugar cubes. To balance the nutrition in my body I should buy different flavors of jell-o, possibly a cup of ramen and protein. Even I know that my body could deteriorate from nothing but sweets.

"Dansa med oss Klappa era händer Gör som vi gör Ta några steg åt vänster Lyssna och lär Missa inte chansen Nu är vi här med Caramelldansen O-o-oa-oa..."

One of my cellphones erupted in the fast paced Swedish tune. Which person was I on this one? It is hard to micromanage.

"This is Lambo Bovino."
"Were you seen?"
"That is fortunate, he is ranked high on the list of individuals whom would not leave a witness alive."
"Please head to the Washington Heights apartment complex, and go to room #_____. It should be empty, you may lock the door from inside, and wait if you wish."
"Very well."

How annoying, why would they call me with business when I am out in public? I still have an errand to attend to, the client may wait as long as he cares for his life.

I slowly stalked past the flower shop, hunched over and thinking about what puddings they may have in stock. I kept my eyes to the sidewalk, it's hard to stare at so many bright colors without blinking. Blinking is easy, realizing that you may have missed something in those milli-seconds is hard. Not to mention the involuntary impulse to blink is irresistible when raindrops hit your face.

Excuses.

I cannot abide this place. The insufferable pressure. I can't sleep, there is no time. So many things to fix, the entire populace is littered with despicable fiends. I will not look at it directly. The only way to observe is from behind a veil, otherwise I would go blind. Justice shall take hold in this place. Justice is holding me here.

"Butterscotch. Delicious."

I allowed a small smirk to pass by my mouth. I was already in Manny's Groceries observing the selection. Looking around on the street is not something I do, I have no time to observe and worry for my own safety while I'm outside. People shouldn't even know I'm here really, unless they require my assistance, or I want them to know. Why on earth do you think I would hire that man?

Twenty packs of pudding are quite difficult to handle when you usually only use the tips of your fingers to hold things. Coupled with a large bag of cat food, I am going to collapse any moment. The checkout counter was swamped with customers, and the man in front of me was tapping his cigarettes on the counter. Pineapple White Owls were stuck in the back pocket of his black jeans. I'm just going to assume he has purchased them. No, I should be slightly more vigil, let me just slowly- There. I hope he enjoys Pocky. He already has cigarettes, and from the small marks on his arm I can see he enjoys plenty of heroin injections. The leather straps on his arm are modified S&M straps,(I'm quite certain I have seen the brand before,) I wonder if he is a male prostitute. The clip of money in his pocket seems to suggest so.

Riding alone in the apartment elevator, my paper bag of pudding seems strangely small. This won't last me very long at all. Opening a door needing three keys is painfully difficult, you have to switch the arm holding the bag to search each pocket only to realize you left the door unlocked. Or did I...? Hm. I threw the large bag of cat food and puddings upon a small table, and walked over to my window. The rain blanketing the city made it difficult to observe at the moment. If the rain wasn't so difficult to predict, I would assume the flashing light I just saw was a rather large sword. There is no reason he would be running around simply because It was raining.

Another one? Every one seems to be heading for Oscar's Butchery tonight, perhaps a sample attraction for their little casino. Depending on whether it is "bring your blade" night, it may or may not be a busy night for me as well...Am I just bored, or is it loneliness? Impossible, I have a cat. I'm certain that people with cats cannot be lonely.

...

"Brone, be prepared to investigate please."

Cat Returns

I cannot take this much longer. What is it about that voice that does it? Perhaps the frequency or certain vibrational tone adversely effect my spiral ganglion. I should be observing without audio reception but I wished to test the microphone I painstakenly placed. Of course, he let me in the apartment, I being under the guise of a Mr. Axel Big Star. Never the less, it was still difficult to find a location with the most auditorial feedback. I really should have Brone take a second go through on the apartments I have checked, there should be footage of every room, otherwise it is as good as pointless. Ugh...Why on earth did I put it in his apartment, i'm fairly sure he is one of the few residents who does not indulge in criminal activity. Why on earth would a person who wants to become famous come to the ghetto. Is that my only source of suspicion? I seem to be lacking motivation.

"Yare yare." How boring, are there no cases which should baffle an intellect of a normal person, let alone myself? Perhaps I should have thought out this "tour" a bit more. That man really is going to get me killed. Speaking of which-

Clunk Clunk Clunk.

Someone is passing by? Let me see. Interesting, it has changed once again.

Knock Knock.

Perhaps I should give him his own key, he doesn't deal well with closed do-

BAM!

Am I dead? I feel no outer pain, of course that doesn't mean anything. The door was blown clean off its henges, perhaps an explosive? No, not loud enough, an extreme show of force only. I definitely dislike this complex. Was I wrong? Perhaps I have been discovered...Why is it so black? Of course, the door is on top of me, as well as something else from the shifting weight i'm feeling on my stomache.

"Yo, Michael you still alive?"

Nothing but a ne'er-do-well. Bum. Idler. Lazybones. Loafer. Sloucher. Wastrel. Ass. Brute...My legs should have sufficient strength to return the door. So-re, Once is once.

BAM.

Blocked it, of course he did. He has training in multiple fields of martial arts and combat, just a small revenge on my part.

“Brone, I was quite certain it was you.”
“Oh? How could you tell?”
“Your shoes make a unique sound against the tile in the hall. Along with the frequency of your step and knowledge of your usually languid stride I would say you are exactly 6 feet and 3/8ths of an inch tall. Strange, did you grow an eighth of an inch this week?”
“Hah, maybe. Here take this, a gift from me to you.”

A small furry beast launched from his hand to attack my face...Assasination? Oh, it's heavy, a very nice piece for a women who "stuffs while you wait."

“Expertly crafted, done quickly but no mistakes, this is the work of Miss Victoria Lampshade.”
“So that’s her name, listen I need to know where there’s gambling nearby.”
“There are precisely eight places within a 100 mile radius, six of them illegal.”
“Just gimmie the closest.”
“Oscars Butchery, password 'new york strip,' the entry fee is 50 dollars. Why? Must you indulge in the cheap thrill of losing money for nothing too?”
“You know me; my eyes are too sharp to lose. Besides, the thief, eyes like the bluest ocean, will appear with the rolling dice.”

Is that someone I should know about? Don't look at me with a face that says I should know everything that some mystic predicts. I can only think of 17 people with blue eyes at the moment in this town. I'm not so greedy that I won't give you your little amusement, I should make a face of puzzlement.

“Chow.”

What do you mean, "chow?" fix this right away, I can't leave with all of this equipment in such a dangerous and unguarded complex. He left. Chasing his own bounties again? I'm fairly sure I have marked all the appropriate targets out for him, the others should only leave an negative effect on his wallet. Oh well. I suppose I shall have to call in someone to get me a better door, or does the Super take care of such matters. Anyhow I do not plan to leave this room without proper security...Perhaps...In a ritualistic fashion for those known to worship idols, this squirrel statue's spirit or soul may guard over this room. Unfortunately I have no reason to start thinking about religion or souls at the moment, that movie was quite interesting though...

Hm? An animal has found it's way to the second floor. A squirrel looking for it's lost sibling perhaps? How sad. Oh, a cat. A Tickled Tabby, perhaps? The sand-ish tan coloring and triangular pointed ear structure are similar. Emerald eyes. How strange, he looks to be the living equivalent of the character. What is this, he is staring at me. Ah of course, staring is considered a threat to animals, perhaps he is waiting for me to blink. I should, naturally cats inner eyelids should allow them to not blink much longer than a human. It's been about five minutes now, is there something he wants in my doorway? Ah, the squirrel would arouse the animals primal instincts, even if it is stuffed. Oh. He blinked first. He seems to be approaching me, does this cat agree with the unspoken rules of a staring game, submitting to the winner? Cat's are much more agreeable than dogs, they are quiet and watch things carefully. They know when to act and when to wait and watch. They have little habits that help them think, how adorable. To think that something would need a distraction to-

BSHAAA.

...My puzzle. The cat seems to have invited itself into my house as a guest...It is a better prospect than to imagine it sold as a paperweight at the stand outside. Perhaps I shall let it stay, of course a cat has the freedom to wander off on its own. Now let me see, which phone did I use to dial for...Ah. Let me just order a new door...

"This is Rue Kamina, A new door and titanium boltings are required."
"Yes, today."
"My associate."
"Thank you."

It is good to know that I still have credablity, or is it that I know things about people? It does not matter...A name should be appropriate if I ever wish to locate the cat again. Hm..........

"Baron Humbert von Gikkigen."

Oh, he has ruined a stack of papers. I forgot about the care a pet needs. Brone will definitely reimburse me for both of these problems.

Employees

"This is Michael."
"I'm fairly certain that I am only two years younger than yourself."
"Not at the moment. I am preoccupied."
"I am currently in the home of a tenant of Washington Heights. Breaking into each of their homes is slightly more complex when you are not here to kick down the door. It is most tedious to place an observational camera, why do you not complain more?"
"I'm not quite sure what you mean, please do not call this line unless you have information or more urgent matters to discuss within the next ten hours or so."

click.

He is a rather intelligent man himself, it is a shame he indulges in the drink so frequently. What is the use of a mystic? Do I not pay him with money and information for his assignments? What a strange man. His passive nature may lead to my death. There are some things I suppose even I will not be able to solve, such as that man's brain. That and the where abouts of my missing #6.

Wasting Time

Nope...nothing here.

I thought not, the slim chance this elderly woman was connected with that man hardly made sense. I suppose I shall update my employee---Hm? Oh. Her meeting should not be over for some time...This is troublesome.

Michael Seebach was not in his apartment. He was not even in an apartment of a friend of his. His head was stuck underneath the quilted sheets adorned over the side of the bed of a Mrs. Pearl. He was studying every little inch of the penthouse home, which seemed to house two, knowing that the owner in question attended daily meetings. And now the front door was opening a little early.

"Terrible, there's no point to it..." Mrs. Pearl seemed to be indignant. "Just thinking about these meetings causes stress, even less time to prepare for that boy..." She slowly walked inward and placed her purse on the counter. "I'll make my own food for those meetings from now on."

Hm. A slight southern drawl, I had guessed correctly. I suppose she grew frustrated with the stress relief meeting, she is home far too early. How should I deal with this...Perhaps it is best to sneak out of the front door when she is preoccupied. I'm fairly sure that an elderly woman will not take well to finding a stranger underneath her---"WHO'S THERE!?" Oops.

Grandma Pearl was staring at the two naked feet jutting from underneath her bed with a fierce glare mixed between fear and confusion. "...You're not Alex. Come out from there!" Michael slowly crawled on all fours out from under the bed, as if he were trying to scale a wall using his palms. He slowly stood up and stared at the old woman, who had decided to brandish a firewood poker, and began biting his thumb.

I might as well confirm some things...

"What are you doing in my apartment? You're not a maid or something..."
"Hello madame, I was just wasting time."
"What?!"
"Perhaps not. I was cleaning."
"What are you saying?"
"No good. I was investigating, I am a detective. My clients hired me to search your home for evidence."
"What on earth are you talking about, what do I have to investigate!?"
"OK, no one hired me. I actually am wasting time. I would have kept lying, but it's rather annoying to keep changing my alibi."

Michael decided it was best to voice out all of his options as a complete stranger, it didn't really matter anyways. Mrs. Pearl was looking absolutely furious from participating in this unbelievably esoteric conversation. She was slowly tiptoeing towards the phone with the poker held firmly in the direction of Michael's eyes. Michael decided it was better to crouch down. Might as well feel comfortable while trying to think of something to say.

"Stay right there, I'm dialing the police."
"Naturally."
"..............!?"
"Oh wait. I disconnected the phone, the ringing distracted me. Sorry."

The elderly woman was looking particularly stressed at this moment. She obviously couldn't comprehend what in the world this psycho wanted. Mrs. Pearl moved away from the phone while keeping her eyes on Michael, who was staring up from his crouched position, and slowly lowered herself into a large chair.

She does seem to be highly stressed, perhaps she should have stayed to finish her meeting...Or perhaps I'm just feeling guilty about being caught? Hm.

"If you want money or valuables, you are free to take them, but please leave my home."
"I'm sorry for intruding madame, I was just wasting time, as I mentioned earlier."
"...How, did you get in here?"
"A simple lock is easy enough to open. It's even simpler when you tell the Super you're with the police."
"You're with the police, you mean you really are an official detective?"
"Mmm...yes, except the 'with the police' part."
"........"

This grandmother had lived long enough to see alot of things. It wasn't hard for her to notice that the person in front of her was absolutely insane. Perhaps not very dangerous, but she didn't want him in her house all the same.

"...Pardon?"
"Hm?"
"I must excuse myself to the restroom."
"Of course, it is your home."

Michael watched as the woman walked deftly towards the hallway, not so discretely placing her cellphone to her hip. Ah. Perhaps he should...No, he could get some reading done.

Mrs. Pearl returned a few short minutes later, a flushed look on her face. Michael released the copy of "The Catcher in the Rye" from his thumb and pointer finger, and placed it beside him on a coffee table.

"Welcome back. Just making small talk, but your bathroom does not have a signal. How strange. Bye the way, you forgot to flush madame."
"..."
"Well, before I leave I wonder if I may make an enquiry."
"...Yes, what do you want?"
"Do you know a Marcus Manuel?"
"? No, I don't recall that name..."
"Perhaps a Mr. Dominic Machelli?"
"...Doesn't he live above that rotten bar?"
"Are you certain you are not lying?"
"I don't have any reason to-"
"A Mr. Marcus Manuel is a drug pusher in this city."
"What are you?-"
"I am quite certain you are partaking of some illegal drug activities."

Mrs. Pearl stood up slowly and pointed a finger at the tool for justice, the detective who broke into people's homes for no reason.

"YOU BREAK INTO MY HOME. AND ACCUSE ME OF USING ILLEGAL DRUGS!? YOU OBVIOUSLY HAVE A MENTAL DISORDER, I WOULD LIKE IT IF YOU WOULD LEAVE!"
"I have proof."
"!? WHAT IN THE WORLD-"

Michael stood up and walked slowly over to the kitchen. Placing his hand on a plate, he undid plastic wrap revealing...

"...My cookies."
"Yes madame."
"...What in the world is wrong with you?"
"Madame, upon tasting these cookies my body has become severely addicted. I cannot stop with just one, I suspect a small dosage of morphine or perhaps cocaine has been added to the mix."

Michael delicately picked up a cookie in two fingers and chewed on the chocolaty goodness.

"..."
"..."

The aged woman was trying her best to keep her face steady and stare directly into this deranged man's eyes, but he didn't seem to have a way to express his emotions on his face. She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic, but that didn't really matter.

"...You came here to eat my cookies."
"That deduction is of a high possibility."
"Please leave, I shall be calling the police."
"Of course, I wouldn't suspect any less. I am guessing it would be futile to mention that the police station across the street has no credibility, and would be of no use to you without a top class forensic team..."
"..."

Michael moved towards the doorway, and did a sidestep as a teenage boy walked up.

"Thank your grandmother for these cookies, and perhaps talk to her a bit more, she seems quite stressed. By the way, have you seen a number #6 anywhere?"

Sweets for Breakfast

Michael Seebach Apt. 236

Chick tick tick tick. The 2nd floor of Washington Heights echoed with a continuous flow of noise from underneath a doorway. It was 4 o'clock in the morning.

Hm...Again? Already? It is a normal human function I suppose, but I waste time and capability every time I wish to indulge in these urges. It's not like there was anything in particular that activated this bodily response, I suppose staring at a glowing monitor in a completely dark room long enough it can happen to anyone. Fine, I have no strict schedule to adhere to, I suppose I can take time to make my body happy.

Blink.

Ah, much better. Blinking seems to be such a trivial activity to partake of really, if one doesn't keep their eyes open as much as possible, what point is there in eyesight at all? Information gathering is the only real use for eyes, how else would I monitor and intake data from 5 different screens at once? But it does begin to strain ones concentration eventually and the mind finds less time to focus. Wait, what did I just type? My concentration has totally been lost due to my little personal indulgence. Great, you type three pages of information and you forget every word because you happen to blink during that period. Let me see...Ah of course. I suppose this information is credible. No understanding should be lost through the transmission of information to a person of average intelligence.

Now what? My legs? Hm. Thinking back, this position does seem to be used for balance and training of leg muscles. A yoga position, or was it just called crouching? I suppose it isn't the way most people sit in their computer chairs. But it is imperative, my analyzing ability would drop at least 40% if i didn't sit this way. Perhaps I shall stretch for a moment. Oh wait, there is no room to walk around in here...I should have used my resources more wisely, there is no room to store important documents in such a small complex. The alcoholic whom shall remain anonymous for now should have let me arrange for more comfortable quarters. I suppose his persona is one of extreme yearning for simplicity. Speaking of which, he should awaken in a few hours. Much earlier than he expects I'm sure, he really shouldn't have a clock which can be tampered with so easily. If that doesn't wake him, giving clients that mans number should at least annoy him enough to arouse his thirst for a drink. His instructions have been prepared, I think I placed it next to the typewriter. I'll just wait for him to wake up, I'd rather not have other tenants finding payment in the hallway.

What could it be now? Ah. My stomach. I forget to give myself the proper amount of calories now and then. The coffee with 10 sugars had gone cold before I finished it. Usually I have more time to eat, I used to have assistants for typing. Perhaps...no, he wouldn't know how to type. Unless I want a boot print lodged into a computer, Mr. Barnheart wouldn't be of help...Where is the miniature fridge? These stacks of paper are quite inconvenient. Ah, I'm in the bathroom. Hm...My eyes seem to be lacking rest perhaps, these large black bags under my eyes do not seem to be normal. Are these considered scary? Or perhaps what I heard that one time...What was it...The eyes of a pervert? I suppose they are appropriate for someone with my birthday? Eventually my hair will need to be cut, I cannot observe and analyze with my eyes covered. My physique seems to be lacking something as well...for someone of mid-twenties I am perhaps severely underweight? What nationality am I again? I think a quarter Japanese, a quarter English, a quarter Russian and...maybe a quarter French or Italian? Something like that.

I need to consume nutrition, where in the world is that miniature refrigerator...Ah, that hurt. Not wearing shoes or socks has some disadvantages, but my long blue jeans seem to have padded the stubbing of my foot. Ah, I have located the fridge, excellent. Let me see...Hershey's chocolate, black tea, canned coffee, pudding, jam. What should I eat? Jam seems appropriate for breakfast. Mnm...My wrist strength also seems to be lacking, perhaps the result of typing so frequently. This jar is being very difficult. Alright, Brone gets an extra 3 hour wake-up call---Oh, I have it. The jam is a wonderfully cool temperature for this early in the morning, this apartment complex is quite hot. I should perhaps buy a shorter sleeved shirt. My fingers fit into the jar to the very bottom, good, I can eat as much sugar as I need. Mmmm...Raspberry is a very good flavor, my brain is charging with energy already. According to medical journals and scientific studies, this does not seem to be the best diet for a person. But it is fine, the brain is an organ which consumes more calories than any other, as long as I continue to think in the procedure which I do, my health should be adequate.

"I look at the world through apple eyes, and cut myself a slice of sunshine pie, and dance with the peanut-butter flies..."

Oh wait, that is one my ring tones. I should answer the phone, only clients should have this number, unless the alcoholic miraculously woke up so early. I should never try a "prairie oyster" again. I'm just gonna deposit his money from now on, he only uses it for meat and booze. Oh right, the phone.

"This is Deneuve. Is there a situation?"