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.
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Sugar
Justice...or...
Right Round
Sugar
About Me
- Daniel Cross
- A person with horns like a cow. I got questions, you don't have the answer.
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She brought the glass of red liquid to her lips, reflecting on the events of the
day, pondering over what would happen next. Her legs covered in dark boots crossed, swinging in the air off the stool. She didn’t lean on the bar, as did the gentlemen who had been continuously consuming shots since he got here. She hadn’t seen him before, at least not before she left. He’d looked at her only once and ignored her the rest of the time—she hated him.
Bored of the rather dull atmosphere—no music, no entertainment, no men—she finished her numbing elixir in a soft gulp, head tilted back, long dark hair sweeping her back in fierce strokes. Rising, she grabbed her leather jacket and proceeded to the door. Putting on the jacket, she reached to pull the door open. A wave of shock hit as the blinding white light met her eyes—and he entered. Compared to the atmosphere, he was a God.
“Excuse me,” I managed to purr, as I brushed past, careful to graze his perfect arm as he held the door for me. She’d have to keep special tabs on him.
Her boots echoed as she made her way on the pavement, boots echoing her every step, unable to penetrate the noise of the city traffic. Without a destination in mind, her thoughts crept to the men she’d just met. She envied them. The alcoholic, in all his distasteful existence, seemed to even then have purpose, a reason. Since she got back, the direction of her life seemed elusive. She’d always lacked specific direction in her life, but she had an overwhelming sense that something needed to be dealt with—she just didn’t know what yet. It was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched, no matter how much alcohol she consumed. Wine—she needed more. Interestingly enough, her mind had been one step ahead of her; she had somehow made it to the front of Manny’s Grocery.
She entered the store. Taking a basket, she made her down the aisles to get to wine section. She thought back to the women she hadn’t previously given notice to: the weird woman on the sidewalk and the annoying twit on the elevator; even they had some path that they were drifting along, no matter how insignificant. She stood in the aisle, staring at the glass bottles that would be her sweet aid. Some woman was muttering next to her, she was also staring. She appreciated this woman’s taste, but it was rude to stare, even if it was at Nicole. She left the aisle, and bought her wine. Number one task out of the way, she headed to the coffee shop.
Sun high in the sky, she entered the shop.
Oh dear. Molina was in the convenience store talking to Dillain. The ding of the bell signaled her entrance, and they both looked up. Molina made a smart comment, followed by another. Nicole ignored her and went to the back room. She set her bag down and changed. Dark jeans and red blouse on, she returned to the front. Dillain had left, which only left Molina. How she was not in the mood…
“So?” Molina questioned, hand on hip, impatience in her voice.
“I wasn’t in my apartment, obviously. How can I help you?” Nicole retorted with equal attitude.
“Jus’ wanted to check on ya, hadn’t heard from you in a long time.” Her lack of speaking skills always infuriated her, other than that, Molina wasn’t so bad. Nicole even enjoyed her company some of the time, she’d been a good friend before she left.
“I’ll try to answer my phone next time, or bring my cell phone with me; whichever.” Effectively assured, Molina left.
And so work began.
Dillain entered the shop at 12 a.m., right on time.
“I’ll see you later,” Nicole said as she flew past him in her hurry to leave. She’d bee so eager to leave she’d almost hit him on her way out. She loved and hated Sketch Coffee. Taking ownership from her uncle had been easy enough, but as far as she knew, her uncle got the better end of the deal. Walking back to her building, home, she considered the people who’d come in. A woman, young, pretty brown hair, poor. Taking out change like an imbecile to pay for her coffee, which had been difficult to “make” in and of itself. A man who’d bust in the store, unwashed. She knew that these people stayed in her building, but that didn’t make them any more appealing to talk to, however convenient it might be.
When she stepped off the elevator on the 11th floor, she noticed a strange and eaciated character jiggling the door knob of my apartment.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Well obviously I am trying to break into your apartment. It's much more difficult than it looks, I usually have someone else do this. Regardless, there is no point in continuing, I shall take my leave."
She'd of kicked his ass, but she had she more pressing matters to deal with; however, she wouldn't forget this encounter--or this insect. She watched him walk away and push the button of the elevator. She memorized his statue and appearance--she stored it in her memory for later. She entered the apartment. She breathed a huge sigh as she threw herself on the couch. Her dress and drinks were in the bag, but she’d get them later. With nothing to occupy her mind, she considered the problem that lay ahead and behind her. Something needed to be done about something, she just didn’t know what. She raised up and placed her arms on her knees, head in her hands. The unknown task harassed her thoughts until impatience flowed into her limbs. She had to get out.
She switched from jeans to her short, pleated, black skirt. She grabbed boots from her closet—red. The cold wouldn’t bother her after a few drinks, so she left her jacket and left the troubling apartment.
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