Chapter 006

  Detective Cigar

  After his encounter with Stalvek Dyomin, the sun finally peeked over the rooftops of some of the shorter buildings. Bright rays of warmth cast long shadows across the street as Ethan found 1128 Whitaker Street and entered.

  Samuel Donovan's waiting area had a clock on the wall that ticked a few minutes after 7 a.m.

  Not knowing what he was in store for, he sat and waited for the man to finish with another client. It was a small place, covered in dust, and the detective didn't appear to have any assistants working with him.

  After a while the door opened. A NPC client left and an old man with a rough face nodded for Ethan to come into his office.

  A haze of smoke hung in the air. He guessed this would be one of the programmed NPCs that stereotypically had the growly voice and chain smoked cigars all day.

  An acrid scent wafted around him as he entered.

  The interior was just as he'd pictured it might be. The inner office was a dimly lit maze of overflowing folders stacked on top of filing cabinets. One wrong move or bump and there would be a giant mess of papers everywhere.

  Mismatched office furniture bore the look of hard use. A battered metal desk sat as the room's centerpiece. It was flanked by a pair of ratty leather armchairs that had seen better times.

  And there, hunched over a stack of folders with a smoldering cigar between his teeth, was Samuel Donovan. A full cup of coffee on his desk looked untouched, though it had left a fresh brown stain on the papers where he'd set it down.

  The man glanced up at Ethan. Deep lines in the old man's face showed him the faintest of smirks, and they glared at each other through the swirling smoke.

  “Jones, I presume?” he asked, with exactly the kind of growly voice he'd expected. Not waiting for him to answer, the man continued, “you look like an Ethan Jones. Have a seat."

  Ethan obliged, sinking into the chair with what he hoped was a casual indifference. As he sat, he wondered how his appearance was defined into a “look like an Ethan Jones” as if the man had met others like him before.

  Interesting dialogue choice by the game designers.

  Up close, Donovan's presence was imposing. He had hard-bitten features and a piercing stare, reminding Ethan of a character straight out of any hardboiled detective story.

  He knew this man had seen and done bad things. For a non-player character, Samuel was very intimidating. It made sense to him this guy was representing The Green Fists.

  Finally, the detective let out a low chuckle and leaned back in his chair.

  "Relax, kid. I’m not a killer no more. Now days I’m just an old man. I’m a detective technically, but I usually have other people do most of the private eye stuff. I just own the agency.”

  Some tension evaporated as he considered the man. He hadn't seen any other gangsters outside or inside, and no one else appeared ready to kill him if he said or did the wrong thing. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he was thinking this whole scenario could be.

  Samuel probably had a gun on him, or in his desk. Ethan had no idea if the man could use a weapon against him. Players couldn't attack him yet, he'd learned from Stalvek, but he wasn't sure about the NPCs.

  In any case, he convinced himself Samuel Donovan wouldn't attack. He convinced himself the game wouldn't send him to his first mission just for the system to kill him.

  "Listen, Jones. I'm gonna level with ya, that way we can go our separate ways. I hear things, alright. You stumbled ass-backwards into all this mess in The Green Yards on a certain night last week. Ain't that right?"

  Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but the detective waved him off with a calloused hand. Just as quickly as he'd asked a rhetorical question, he'd moved on to say more.

  "Eh, save it. Doesn't really matter. Fact is, we got a bunch of people saying you were the first one at the scene. People like to do a lot of talking but they don't always tell the truth. We need to know what you know!"

  His brow furrowed as Samuel hit him with the mission specifics. It seemed as though the detective didn't muck about with extra words. He cut right to the chase, just as he'd promised.

  Ethan either had to tell him exactly what he saw, which meant ratting on his boss, or he had to lie and say he never got a good look at who the killer was. He'd already made up his mind, but he decided to stall in hopes of getting information.

  He said, "I'm familiar with Owney 'The Owl' Johnson, but I didn't know him."

  Donovan fixed him with a look that suggested he was taking up his time.

  “C'mon, kid, keep up with me here. You saw 'The Owl' get killed. We both already know you knew him. Third in charge of The Greenies. But that ain't what I asked you. Who did the killing? Word is you might know. Don't waste all day on me, now. It's a simple question."

  "Well, the thing of it is… I'm not sure how to answer your question, so to me it's not that simple."

  "Right, right," the man said, "so you didn't come up with a good lie for me is what you're saying? I get it."

  He gulped, suddenly nervous. "No, that's not what I mean."

  "Then start talking, Jones. You're the only one that's got a story to tell."

  Ethan exhaled slowly. Samuel was a quick talker, right to the point, and he'd figured out the stalling tactic almost immediately.

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  "Well, you wanted me to come here and tell you what I know."

  "That's the straight end," Donovan growled, half-chewing on his cigar. "So get on with it. Whole damn city claims they seen the murder, only they all had different stories. Only one thing added up in each of 'em. Know what that was, kid?"

  "I…"

  "It was you! That's the gospel. Now fess up. Don't want no lies or trickery. We know you didn't do nothing awful, we just need to know what you seen."

  Samuel leaned forward, dark eyes boring into him with startling intensity. Ethan knew he couldn't stall any longer.

  If he ratted on Mr. Gallagher it meant he would lose the handyman maintenance missions. He needed to level up as quickly as possible, so that was the main reason he hesitated.

  He quickly thought about blaming the murder on Billy Sadler or Stalvek Dyomin. Sadler was already arrested, and he was a member of The Cortez Family.

  It seemed believable, at least to him it did. Who wouldn't suspect a member of some rival gang? It would protect his bottom line when it came to earning experience from Mr. Gallagher.

  Throwing Stalvek Dyomin under the bus would have been great, but it wouldn't work, since he hadn't hit level three yet. A detective like Samuel Donovan would instantly spot that problem.

  "Look, Mr. Donovan. I'm just an average guy trying to keep neutral. I don't want to align myself with or against The Green Fists, or anyone else yet."

  The man's eyes narrowed at his words, but Ethan pressed on before he could interject. Samuel had been doing all the talking, and he figured it was his turn now.

  "That said, I'm willing to tell you exactly what happened in exchange for a favor."

  Samuel cocked an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued.

  They looked at one another for a while. There was silence between them, and Ethan felt awkward as the NPC glared back.

  Samuel's hand reached for something in an open drawer. Ethan couldn't see the other side of the desk, and he started to panic, thinking it might be some type of weapon.

  The detective smirked. "Not getting yourself killed at the start, that’s already a pretty good favor if you ask me, kid. What do you say?"

  Ethan gulped, suddenly nervous. Forgetting all about the safety system that protected him until level three, he instantly imagined the man had a gun.

  “I thought you wasn’t a killer?”

  Samuel Donovan laughed, then tossed him a saltwater taffy he'd grabbed from some type of candy drawer. Ethan nervously caught it. The detective unwrapped one of his own and tossed it in his mouth, chewing harshly.

  "Tell me what you seen first, then we’ll negotiate whether it constitutes a favor."

  Ethan forced a chuckle out of himself, feeling a bit stupid again. He unwrapped the soft candy Samuel gave him and plopped it in his mouth. It was soft and savory, with a strong vanilla flavor.

  The reality of his situation set in as he chewed on the delicious sweet.

  "Well, okay," he said, finally deciding to spit out the truth.

  "Yeah, okay, so get to it."

  Smirking at the detective's quick response, Ethan launched right into what the game wanted him to say.

  "I was walking near The Owl's nightclub that night, just headed home. This black Packard's engine was sputtering like it was about to die. Sounded like the timing was off, and maybe there was some slack in a belt. Also, it was missing the front right fender."

  Donovan's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at hearing the information. He scrawled it all down. Clearly, none of the other witnesses had been able to provide that level of specificity.

  "Anything else you can recall about this machine? Like maybe the year?"

  He racked his brain, trying to conjure up more details from the false memories he'd received when he was first plugged in. Nothing new came to him.

  "As for the year, no idea." he gulped, getting to the important bit. "You know I work for Mr. Gallagher, right?"

  Donovan leaned back, steepling his thick fingers. The man seemed to mull over the new intel and why he might bring up one of their members. Ethan could practically see the gears turning behind those cold, calculating eyes, but had no idea what math he was doing.

  "Yeah, kid!" Samuel said after a minute. "He's one of us. You're his handyman or something like that, right?"

  He nodded. "Well, three of the guys, I have no idea who they were. But one of them I could see real good from where I hid behind a sedan along the sidewalk."

  Samuel Donovan stared at him with a blank face.

  "It was Thomas Gallagher, sir. He was one of the gunmen I saw that night."

  The old man didn't flinch a muscle. His face gave away no emotion or thought for the longest time.

  Finally, Samuel let out a measured breath. "Alright, Jones. Let's assume for a second that you're on the level about all this."

  "I am."

  They eyed each other for another long minute. Samuel's voice took on a dangerous edge as Ethan watched him lean forward, reiterating ominous words.

  “Okay, so let's assume,” the detective repeated. "One of our mid-level boys and some other stooges killed our number three guy? Why would he do that?"

  Ethan shrugged. "No idea, but that's what happened."

  The old man remained quiet. He swallowed hard, fearful Samuel wasn't going to believe the story. He was an outsider trying to convince a mobster that one of their own had betrayed them.

  After a while, the detective's expression softened. His eyes remained as hard and unflinching as flint, and Ethan still couldn't get a good read on the man.

  "That's a doozy of a tale," Samuel said, "ain't it?"

  He nodded, still nervously awaiting some type of verdict.

  "Jones, I don't know what to tell you. This is some far-fetched nonsense if you ask me honestly. Might be true. Probably ain't. Fact of the matter is, you spoke your words and that's that."

  Ethan furrowed his brows, attempting to make sense of the non-answer. Samuel certainly had a quick way with words, and he knew the old man could get right to a point if he wanted.

  He asked, "Well, do I get the mission reward or what?"

  Samuel laughed. "The what, kid? Listen. I've heard people say some strange things when they're nervous, but I don't know what you're talking about. We do have a small issue regarding whether I believe you, and that's a sinking ship. As far as I'm concerned, you're the Titanic and I'm the iceberg."

  Ethan's gut dropped as the detective let out a world-weary sigh, running a hand over his craggy features. He knew it made sense Samuel didn't want to believe one of his own men did the hit, but it was all true.

  He was about to break the awkward silence again, but Samuel spoke up first.

  "Here's the thing, you see. If you rolled through that door yesterday, we might've been able to keep things nice and simple. No muss, no fuss."

  The man paused, letting the words fizzle out.

  "But the fact is, someone caught you shootin' the breeze with a fella by the name of Stalvek Dyomin. And from what I hear, young Stalvy's got himself tangled up pretty tight with The Cortez Family."

  Ethan gulped. It was a good thing he hadn't gone with that lie. Trying to convince the detective either one of them had a part in The Owl's death might have been way worse.

  Samuel fixed him with a pointed look as he quickly tried to think of a way out of this mess.

  "So anyhow, you can see how it might look a bit compromising from my perspective. It’s almost like you're already picking sides in this whole mess. You talking with our enemy? Can't trust someone like you when it comes to internal Green Fist business now can I?"

  He opened his mouth to protest, but Samuel held up a calloused hand again.

  "But…"

  The old man shook his head. Ethan didn't like the way the detective kept stopping him and taking over the conversation, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. He shook his head back.

  "No," he said, "you're gonna believe me, damnit!"

  Samuel laughed, then appeared to consider the way he'd blurted out his frustration.

  "Alright, go ahead, kid."

  "What I told you is the truth. I have no reason to lie to you! Mr. Gallagher is my boss. If I have no boss, then I have no job, and then no income. Get it? Why would I make up a lie about the man, and to you of all people knowing I'd just get myself killed if I made you mad?"

  Samuel's eyes narrowed, calculating. "Stalvek made a deal with you, that's why?"

  "No, he didn't."

  The detective glared at him again. Ethan was getting tired of the staring game.

  "Alright, now," the old man said. "I'm not saying that's what happened or didn't happen. Hell, for all I know, the two of you randomly bumped into each other on the street.”

  He shook his head again. “That's exactly it! Stalvek wanted to kill me actually, but we’re not level three yet, so he couldn't.”

  Samuel laughed again. “Yeah. Let’s go with that story. Either way, doesn't look good for ya, catch my drift?"

  Ethan did catch his drift. Samuel Donovan was associating him with Stalvek Dyomin and The Cortez Family, and it pissed him off.