LHudson - Short and Fleshy Stories
May 20, 2016 22:30:58 GMT
AlexJ, iCaramelBird, and 2 more like this
Post by LHudson on May 20, 2016 22:30:58 GMT
So yeah, doing to do some writing on here, enjoy!
- NETWORK -
{Part One}Downtown Heartania.
It was a district on the southern side of the city, bordering on the Central, Business, and shipping districts that make up the blood of the streets. The population were working class, living in the low to mid range apartments that tower the roads and shadow the vehicles. Their work ranged from street cleaning to safety inspection, and their routine was clockwork. It was the district that was first to wake up and the last to sleep, largely due to the people and the small amount of clubs that the main road hosted. Full House Casino, still in renovation and about to open, The Village, struggling to maintain its image as a prime nightclub, falling under the popularity of it’s rivals, and the Golden Pineapple, rotten thanks to its ties with the local gangsters.
Walking through the streets on an early monday morning was a relatively new recruit of the Heartania Police Department. He knew the district, and specifically asked to base his patrols at his home so that he can respond more quickly thanks to his knowledge of its streets and alleyways. Officer Jonathan Kramer walked the streets with his assigned partner, greeting those who passed by, and built upon the foundation he set when he first moved to the busy area.
“Morning officer,” said one civilian, a fisherman about to depart.
“Morning,” Kramer replied, tipping his hat in response. His partner, Ralph Matthews, chuckled at the spectacle.
“You seem to be well connected,” his partner commented, taking note of the greetings Kramer continuously gave to the men, women, and children.
“Some time in working in a bar would do that.” Made sense, in his late teenage years he worked at the Golden Pineapple before the rotten influence took over. Kramer looked at the sky, it was a nice summer day. The birds flew over the cloudless sky and the children were in the alleyways, playing games behind trees and smelling dumpsters. Kramer smelled the air, wasn’t the most pleasant, but it was home.
A ball flew through the air and crashed into someone’s window. Kramer looked across the street, a teenager, maybe 15 or 16, got careless. The two locked eyes before Kramer started his approach. The boy bolted, with Kramer starting to run soon after.
The boy was quick, through the alleyways of Downtown to climbing the ladders of the apartment buildings, the kid knew his way around, but not well enough to accurately measure how long he would last. Half way down the main road, he tired out, and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Kramer was out of breath, though not enough to confront the young man.
“You know why I had to come after you?” he asked, just to make sure the two were on the same page.
The teenager nodded.
“You didn’t have to run you know.”
“And let you take me in?” the boy replied, slowly regaining his breath. “I can’t go there, I’ve heard things.”
Family member in prison? Likely. “Son, what’s your name?”
The boy hesitated, but replied, “Edward sir.”
Kramer smiled before standing up straight. He reached his hand out and lifted him back to his feet. “Was it an accident?”
The teenager nodded, his eyes showing sincerity.
“Then let’s explain what happened to the owner of that window, and we’ll come to a compromise.”
The window needed replacing, and at first the shop owner was fuming. It wasn’t wanted, as he had just moved over from a rough neighbourhood of Scarlet City with his wife, but a few words later calmed him down. The two reached a conclusion. No charges filed under the condition that Edward work for the amount that was needed to replace the window. The two agreed, no arguments, and under the watchful eye of Officer Kramer and Matthews.
“If anything happens, be sure to contact us!” Kramer enthusiastically proclaimed, before continuing his patrol.
“You know the Commissioner would fire your ass if he knew you did that?” Matthews commended, a little stunned at how peaceful the whole situation eventually became.
“Prison is not for children, the boy wasn’t dangerous, he didn’t need a cell to teach him a lesson.” He turned to Matthews and placed his finger on his own lips. “Our little secret.”
It was a district on the southern side of the city, bordering on the Central, Business, and shipping districts that make up the blood of the streets. The population were working class, living in the low to mid range apartments that tower the roads and shadow the vehicles. Their work ranged from street cleaning to safety inspection, and their routine was clockwork. It was the district that was first to wake up and the last to sleep, largely due to the people and the small amount of clubs that the main road hosted. Full House Casino, still in renovation and about to open, The Village, struggling to maintain its image as a prime nightclub, falling under the popularity of it’s rivals, and the Golden Pineapple, rotten thanks to its ties with the local gangsters.
Walking through the streets on an early monday morning was a relatively new recruit of the Heartania Police Department. He knew the district, and specifically asked to base his patrols at his home so that he can respond more quickly thanks to his knowledge of its streets and alleyways. Officer Jonathan Kramer walked the streets with his assigned partner, greeting those who passed by, and built upon the foundation he set when he first moved to the busy area.
“Morning officer,” said one civilian, a fisherman about to depart.
“Morning,” Kramer replied, tipping his hat in response. His partner, Ralph Matthews, chuckled at the spectacle.
“You seem to be well connected,” his partner commented, taking note of the greetings Kramer continuously gave to the men, women, and children.
“Some time in working in a bar would do that.” Made sense, in his late teenage years he worked at the Golden Pineapple before the rotten influence took over. Kramer looked at the sky, it was a nice summer day. The birds flew over the cloudless sky and the children were in the alleyways, playing games behind trees and smelling dumpsters. Kramer smelled the air, wasn’t the most pleasant, but it was home.
A ball flew through the air and crashed into someone’s window. Kramer looked across the street, a teenager, maybe 15 or 16, got careless. The two locked eyes before Kramer started his approach. The boy bolted, with Kramer starting to run soon after.
The boy was quick, through the alleyways of Downtown to climbing the ladders of the apartment buildings, the kid knew his way around, but not well enough to accurately measure how long he would last. Half way down the main road, he tired out, and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Kramer was out of breath, though not enough to confront the young man.
“You know why I had to come after you?” he asked, just to make sure the two were on the same page.
The teenager nodded.
“You didn’t have to run you know.”
“And let you take me in?” the boy replied, slowly regaining his breath. “I can’t go there, I’ve heard things.”
Family member in prison? Likely. “Son, what’s your name?”
The boy hesitated, but replied, “Edward sir.”
Kramer smiled before standing up straight. He reached his hand out and lifted him back to his feet. “Was it an accident?”
The teenager nodded, his eyes showing sincerity.
“Then let’s explain what happened to the owner of that window, and we’ll come to a compromise.”
The window needed replacing, and at first the shop owner was fuming. It wasn’t wanted, as he had just moved over from a rough neighbourhood of Scarlet City with his wife, but a few words later calmed him down. The two reached a conclusion. No charges filed under the condition that Edward work for the amount that was needed to replace the window. The two agreed, no arguments, and under the watchful eye of Officer Kramer and Matthews.
“If anything happens, be sure to contact us!” Kramer enthusiastically proclaimed, before continuing his patrol.
“You know the Commissioner would fire your ass if he knew you did that?” Matthews commended, a little stunned at how peaceful the whole situation eventually became.
“Prison is not for children, the boy wasn’t dangerous, he didn’t need a cell to teach him a lesson.” He turned to Matthews and placed his finger on his own lips. “Our little secret.”
{Part Two}Midafternoon.
It was cool, offices were air conditioned. The seats of the precinct weren’t the most comfortable but the environment allowed for there to be a sense of flow when it came to communication and walking. It was a nice wide open space, and Kramer was sat next to Matthews, filing a report on their day. Edward’s involvement was kept hidden, though the junkie they brought in later was mentioned.
“What sounds better, crashed, passed out, or a nuisance?” asked Kramer, stumped when describing the whole situation.
Matthews laughed. “He wasn’t exactly a nuisance, it was just by the dumpster.”
“Did the dumpster get scared of him?” asked a mutual colleague, behind the two of them. He had eavesdropped on the report, though this was something the two of them were comfortable with. “He getting released?”
“Recommending him for rehab,” Matthews replied.
“Would be better help for him than bars, Stamp,” Kramer added, before peering over to the colleague. “Though I doubt our quotas would agree.” He got a pat on the back. “What about you? Got anything interesting for us?”
“Ran into Marksmith again,” Stamp replied, sitting back at his cubicle and Kramer turned around.
“Again? I thought they got rid of that guy?”
“Come on Jon, you and I know Scarlett’s PD like their stacks big and they doughnuts jammy,” Matthews chimed in, causing Kramer to roll his eyes. “You ever met one of those guys?”
“Did they enter the meeting space with tubas behind each one?” Kramer snarked.
“Might as well, they’re larger than my wife, and she’s carrying twins!”
Stamp drowned in his coffee, before coughing it back up on the plastic floor. “Christ, I need to stop drinking when you guys talk.” It elicited a chuckle before he returned to the subject. “So, guy was reported between here and Shipping, so about five of us got wired to find him.”
“And he found you first?” Kramer interrupted.
“He found Ritali first. Two shots to the body and he cleared it. Five minutes later he vanished and we got a patrol officer recovering. Lucky girl.”
“How much you want to bet she’s out for?”
“Three weeks at most?” Kramer guessed.
Stamp shrugged off the suggestion. “That’s generous. I’d give it a week and she’d be back here still wired.”
“And yet, Argent didn’t pop by,” Matthews remarked
Kramer returned to his desk. “Such a party pooper aren’t you?”
“Nah, just a cynical bastard,” Stamp concluded, before returning to his work.
The report was filed, and it was time for some more administrative duties. The tapping of the keyboards were hypnotic, wasn’t a nice sensation. Kramer prefered it when it was filled with human vocals, kept him grounded in reality and reminded him of the people behind the depressing setting. He stood up, and wandered towards the kitchen. He needed some orange juice, cool, tasty, and refreshing.
“Attention Division 6 patrol officers. We have a situation at the Santo Liquorworks. Respond immediately and please bring your firearms,” Kramer’s communicator screamed out.
No time for caution, he had his firearm strapped to him as standard, and within a few minutes he and Matthews were at the brewery. Armed police took the brunt of the force and the patrol officers were to provide suppressing fire. It didn’t take long, couple of people were hurt but none that warranted any form of serious attention. They’d be back on their feet soon, attrition won the day.
Kramer and Matthews filled out the paperwork, marking and identifying the gangsters that were arrested. Firearms charges filed, attempted murder of police officers, and bootlegging liquor.
There was a sinister laugh above them, and Kramer looked up. The man was filled to the brim with tattoos and the markings were instantly identifiable. Carlos Martinez, high ranking member of smugglers affiliated with Mother Everest, a gang occupying the Golden Pineapple. The armed response team had nailed the guy, and now the rest of their ivory tower will start to crash down.
It was cool, offices were air conditioned. The seats of the precinct weren’t the most comfortable but the environment allowed for there to be a sense of flow when it came to communication and walking. It was a nice wide open space, and Kramer was sat next to Matthews, filing a report on their day. Edward’s involvement was kept hidden, though the junkie they brought in later was mentioned.
“What sounds better, crashed, passed out, or a nuisance?” asked Kramer, stumped when describing the whole situation.
Matthews laughed. “He wasn’t exactly a nuisance, it was just by the dumpster.”
“Did the dumpster get scared of him?” asked a mutual colleague, behind the two of them. He had eavesdropped on the report, though this was something the two of them were comfortable with. “He getting released?”
“Recommending him for rehab,” Matthews replied.
“Would be better help for him than bars, Stamp,” Kramer added, before peering over to the colleague. “Though I doubt our quotas would agree.” He got a pat on the back. “What about you? Got anything interesting for us?”
“Ran into Marksmith again,” Stamp replied, sitting back at his cubicle and Kramer turned around.
“Again? I thought they got rid of that guy?”
“Come on Jon, you and I know Scarlett’s PD like their stacks big and they doughnuts jammy,” Matthews chimed in, causing Kramer to roll his eyes. “You ever met one of those guys?”
“Did they enter the meeting space with tubas behind each one?” Kramer snarked.
“Might as well, they’re larger than my wife, and she’s carrying twins!”
Stamp drowned in his coffee, before coughing it back up on the plastic floor. “Christ, I need to stop drinking when you guys talk.” It elicited a chuckle before he returned to the subject. “So, guy was reported between here and Shipping, so about five of us got wired to find him.”
“And he found you first?” Kramer interrupted.
“He found Ritali first. Two shots to the body and he cleared it. Five minutes later he vanished and we got a patrol officer recovering. Lucky girl.”
“How much you want to bet she’s out for?”
“Three weeks at most?” Kramer guessed.
Stamp shrugged off the suggestion. “That’s generous. I’d give it a week and she’d be back here still wired.”
“And yet, Argent didn’t pop by,” Matthews remarked
Kramer returned to his desk. “Such a party pooper aren’t you?”
“Nah, just a cynical bastard,” Stamp concluded, before returning to his work.
The report was filed, and it was time for some more administrative duties. The tapping of the keyboards were hypnotic, wasn’t a nice sensation. Kramer prefered it when it was filled with human vocals, kept him grounded in reality and reminded him of the people behind the depressing setting. He stood up, and wandered towards the kitchen. He needed some orange juice, cool, tasty, and refreshing.
“Attention Division 6 patrol officers. We have a situation at the Santo Liquorworks. Respond immediately and please bring your firearms,” Kramer’s communicator screamed out.
No time for caution, he had his firearm strapped to him as standard, and within a few minutes he and Matthews were at the brewery. Armed police took the brunt of the force and the patrol officers were to provide suppressing fire. It didn’t take long, couple of people were hurt but none that warranted any form of serious attention. They’d be back on their feet soon, attrition won the day.
Kramer and Matthews filled out the paperwork, marking and identifying the gangsters that were arrested. Firearms charges filed, attempted murder of police officers, and bootlegging liquor.
There was a sinister laugh above them, and Kramer looked up. The man was filled to the brim with tattoos and the markings were instantly identifiable. Carlos Martinez, high ranking member of smugglers affiliated with Mother Everest, a gang occupying the Golden Pineapple. The armed response team had nailed the guy, and now the rest of their ivory tower will start to crash down.
{Part Three}The madman was in the dark room with a one way looking mirror. He was handcuffed to the table with the inability to move. On the other side of the looking glass was Kramer, looking into the eyes of the notorious criminal. They had him, they had him in cuffs and under their mercy, but at best he would get off on a firearms charge. They needed to bag him, they needed a confession, but they only had two days to do it before they had to release him.
“He done anything?” Matthews said to Kramer, approaching him from behind.
Kramer kept his eyes on Martinez, not a sound. “Nope, just sat there, maybe twitched his nose a few times at best, be he hasn’t said anything.”
Matthews sighed. “You think he’ll crack?”
“Doubt it, he’s seen things we can’t imagine.” He took another look at the criminal before turning to Matthews. “Who’s going to to talk with him?”
“Shane Stevens.”
Kramer chuckled. Shane had a reputation for making people break within the first minute, he had a way of crawling inside people’s heads and administering pure vocal torture. It was entertaining to everyone but those on the receiving end, which fortunately were restricted to criminals that needed such treatment. “Money’s on five minutes.”
“Three,” Matthews responded.
“I’ll attempt two.” Quick look at the door and there he was. Shane Stevens walking through the door with two cups of coffee. Beaming smile as he passed the hot cup to Matthews. Breath smelled of mint and had the hair of Jesus. “Five bucks?”
Kramer and Matthews agreed. “Easiest ten bucks,” Kramer remarked.
“I prefer to work for my money, good challenge.” He took a sip. He took a look at his subject. “Cold, calculative, maybe a soft spot to family, hated father, siblings disowned him, yet still has pictures of them in his wallet.” He read the file. “Beer afterwards?”
Kramer nodded enthusiastically, whilst Matthews said, “Depends, will you win me ten dollars?”
Stevens chuckled before replying “second I get over two minutes, you guys win.” He drank the rest of his coffee before entering the shallow room.
He took his seat and the cameras rolled. The two titans, Stevens and Martinez, staring at each other with little remorse. “You know...when I was a kid I use to break windows and burn trash cans at Scarlett City, was a real bastard,” Stevens opened up, taking out a mint from his pocket. “Spent a couple of years in Juvie, didn’t have a good education, still have trouble reading and writing in fact.” He chewed the mint.
“What the hell is he doing?” Matthews asked.
Kramer chuckled. “Eating mints and being himself.”
“Mint?” offered Stevens.
Martinez looked at the mint offered, but signalled his hand in decline.
“No worries.” Stevens chewed the mint. “I know that you have a kid coming, beautiful thing a child, seeing one grew and molded into the person they would become.” He finished the mint. “But you and I know that you’d want that child the bury you, and not you burying the child.”
Martinez twitched.
“We can help you Martinez, help you escape to a better life, just work with us.”
Stevens kept talking, passed the two minute mark, to the delight of Matthews. Then three minutes went by, Matthews’ victory was in sight, but Martinez didn’t say a thing. Five minutes went by, Kramer didn’t react, after all he did predict five minutes would pass before he would crack. Five minutes turned into ten minutes, then fifteen, and then twenty. Kramer looked on. Here was the king of interrogation tactics through vocals alone, unable to make this man crack. The tattooed individual didn’t stick out in anyway from a lot of other people he’s arrested. Mid to high ranking thug, something that wouldn’t have taken long for Stevens to break through, he had a consigliere breaking in the span of one hundred and fifty seconds, destroying a large organised crime family in the process.
“This isn’t right. He should have broken this guy at least seven times over by now,” Kramer commented, still watching the interrogation that hasn’t caused Martinez to break a sweat. Soon it got to the point of it taking hours and Kramer had to leave. His shift was up, and he needed rest. He popped by the room, still occupied by the titan and his victim, still talking, the machine still turning.
His walk home wasn’t comfortable. Was there something that Martinez succeeded in doing to Stevens, or did he build up his defenses expecting the worst from the man? Or was it--
“Hey officer!”
Kramer turned around, Edward. He seemed a little happier, work might’ve built up his confidence. “Ah, Edward, how was your day?”
“Pretty good actually.” He took out a candy bar from his pocket. “Mr Wisk was so proud of me that he gave me a candy bar!”
First day too. Impressive. “Going back tomorrow?”
Edward’s face turned into a frown. “Umm...I can’t. My dad will be home and he doesn’t like me being out for long. It’s why I was out today, he was at work.”
Kramer had to keep walking, but maybe a chat would get his mind off things. “Walk and talk?”
Edward replied enthusiastically. “Sure!” and the two started walking. “What did you do today?”
“Well...I’ve had a bit of a tough day.”
“How come?”
“We’ve had difficulty regarding a case,” Kramer replied, choosing his words carefully, can’t talk outside the station. “But what about you? Who is your father?”
“My dad’s a real...umm” Edward had difficulty forming words. “He...hurts people for a living.”
“Security guard? Bouncer? People normally get hurt when confronting those guys.”
“No, no no no. He’s...and enforcer.”
Gang member, common term. “For whom?” he asked out of habit, and was close to chewing on his words before Edward replied--
“A guy called Martinez, keeps talking about him and his job when he’s drunk.”
Kramer was stunned. It wasn’t something he anticipated or something he expected a child to be so open about, but here he was. He had a prime opportunity to get Martinez. “You love your dad?”
“I worry about him. If I keeps doing the stuff he yells about then I expect I’ll next see him six foot under.”
Kramer thought hard about his idea, something that’s likely unethical, but it would bring more advantages than disadvantages. The people of Downtown hated Martinez’ thugs and his arrest would break the crime family he worked for, but what he would ask for would be illegal.
“Is it ok if I help your father?”
“I don’t think he would like a cop to visit him.”
“No no no, I mean…” it was hard to find the words. Might as well get to the point. “Do you have a recording device?”
“My phone can record if that counts.”
“That’s ok. Do you think you can record your dad’s rantings tonight, so we can help him get help?” He wasn’t lying, taking Martinez down would give Kramer a reason to send Edward’s family into protection and give his father some counselling for his drinking problems.
Edward took a moment to think about it, but replied “if it helps dad, I’m more than happy to do it.”
Kramer smiled and replied “just...don’t tell anyone, don’t be too suspicious.” And with that, the two parties separated. One would go to sleep in thought, and the other would sleep hearing the yellings of the man who created him.
“He done anything?” Matthews said to Kramer, approaching him from behind.
Kramer kept his eyes on Martinez, not a sound. “Nope, just sat there, maybe twitched his nose a few times at best, be he hasn’t said anything.”
Matthews sighed. “You think he’ll crack?”
“Doubt it, he’s seen things we can’t imagine.” He took another look at the criminal before turning to Matthews. “Who’s going to to talk with him?”
“Shane Stevens.”
Kramer chuckled. Shane had a reputation for making people break within the first minute, he had a way of crawling inside people’s heads and administering pure vocal torture. It was entertaining to everyone but those on the receiving end, which fortunately were restricted to criminals that needed such treatment. “Money’s on five minutes.”
“Three,” Matthews responded.
“I’ll attempt two.” Quick look at the door and there he was. Shane Stevens walking through the door with two cups of coffee. Beaming smile as he passed the hot cup to Matthews. Breath smelled of mint and had the hair of Jesus. “Five bucks?”
Kramer and Matthews agreed. “Easiest ten bucks,” Kramer remarked.
“I prefer to work for my money, good challenge.” He took a sip. He took a look at his subject. “Cold, calculative, maybe a soft spot to family, hated father, siblings disowned him, yet still has pictures of them in his wallet.” He read the file. “Beer afterwards?”
Kramer nodded enthusiastically, whilst Matthews said, “Depends, will you win me ten dollars?”
Stevens chuckled before replying “second I get over two minutes, you guys win.” He drank the rest of his coffee before entering the shallow room.
He took his seat and the cameras rolled. The two titans, Stevens and Martinez, staring at each other with little remorse. “You know...when I was a kid I use to break windows and burn trash cans at Scarlett City, was a real bastard,” Stevens opened up, taking out a mint from his pocket. “Spent a couple of years in Juvie, didn’t have a good education, still have trouble reading and writing in fact.” He chewed the mint.
“What the hell is he doing?” Matthews asked.
Kramer chuckled. “Eating mints and being himself.”
“Mint?” offered Stevens.
Martinez looked at the mint offered, but signalled his hand in decline.
“No worries.” Stevens chewed the mint. “I know that you have a kid coming, beautiful thing a child, seeing one grew and molded into the person they would become.” He finished the mint. “But you and I know that you’d want that child the bury you, and not you burying the child.”
Martinez twitched.
“We can help you Martinez, help you escape to a better life, just work with us.”
Stevens kept talking, passed the two minute mark, to the delight of Matthews. Then three minutes went by, Matthews’ victory was in sight, but Martinez didn’t say a thing. Five minutes went by, Kramer didn’t react, after all he did predict five minutes would pass before he would crack. Five minutes turned into ten minutes, then fifteen, and then twenty. Kramer looked on. Here was the king of interrogation tactics through vocals alone, unable to make this man crack. The tattooed individual didn’t stick out in anyway from a lot of other people he’s arrested. Mid to high ranking thug, something that wouldn’t have taken long for Stevens to break through, he had a consigliere breaking in the span of one hundred and fifty seconds, destroying a large organised crime family in the process.
“This isn’t right. He should have broken this guy at least seven times over by now,” Kramer commented, still watching the interrogation that hasn’t caused Martinez to break a sweat. Soon it got to the point of it taking hours and Kramer had to leave. His shift was up, and he needed rest. He popped by the room, still occupied by the titan and his victim, still talking, the machine still turning.
His walk home wasn’t comfortable. Was there something that Martinez succeeded in doing to Stevens, or did he build up his defenses expecting the worst from the man? Or was it--
“Hey officer!”
Kramer turned around, Edward. He seemed a little happier, work might’ve built up his confidence. “Ah, Edward, how was your day?”
“Pretty good actually.” He took out a candy bar from his pocket. “Mr Wisk was so proud of me that he gave me a candy bar!”
First day too. Impressive. “Going back tomorrow?”
Edward’s face turned into a frown. “Umm...I can’t. My dad will be home and he doesn’t like me being out for long. It’s why I was out today, he was at work.”
Kramer had to keep walking, but maybe a chat would get his mind off things. “Walk and talk?”
Edward replied enthusiastically. “Sure!” and the two started walking. “What did you do today?”
“Well...I’ve had a bit of a tough day.”
“How come?”
“We’ve had difficulty regarding a case,” Kramer replied, choosing his words carefully, can’t talk outside the station. “But what about you? Who is your father?”
“My dad’s a real...umm” Edward had difficulty forming words. “He...hurts people for a living.”
“Security guard? Bouncer? People normally get hurt when confronting those guys.”
“No, no no no. He’s...and enforcer.”
Gang member, common term. “For whom?” he asked out of habit, and was close to chewing on his words before Edward replied--
“A guy called Martinez, keeps talking about him and his job when he’s drunk.”
Kramer was stunned. It wasn’t something he anticipated or something he expected a child to be so open about, but here he was. He had a prime opportunity to get Martinez. “You love your dad?”
“I worry about him. If I keeps doing the stuff he yells about then I expect I’ll next see him six foot under.”
Kramer thought hard about his idea, something that’s likely unethical, but it would bring more advantages than disadvantages. The people of Downtown hated Martinez’ thugs and his arrest would break the crime family he worked for, but what he would ask for would be illegal.
“Is it ok if I help your father?”
“I don’t think he would like a cop to visit him.”
“No no no, I mean…” it was hard to find the words. Might as well get to the point. “Do you have a recording device?”
“My phone can record if that counts.”
“That’s ok. Do you think you can record your dad’s rantings tonight, so we can help him get help?” He wasn’t lying, taking Martinez down would give Kramer a reason to send Edward’s family into protection and give his father some counselling for his drinking problems.
Edward took a moment to think about it, but replied “if it helps dad, I’m more than happy to do it.”
Kramer smiled and replied “just...don’t tell anyone, don’t be too suspicious.” And with that, the two parties separated. One would go to sleep in thought, and the other would sleep hearing the yellings of the man who created him.
{Part Four}Early morning, Jonathan came inside. “Morning Kramer.”
“Morning Mavis,” he replied, dropping off his present. “Happy birthday!”
Mavis gave out a smile. “You shouldn’t have Jon.”
“I insist!” he replied before heading towards the locker room. Uniform on, back into work. First stop was his desk and the admin work he needed to finish before the week was up. Old woman had called to complain about vandalism, but it turned out that the woman had damaged her own toasted and needed to be tested. With her diagnosed, it meant he needed to fill out a new report alongside the numerous petty crimes that have been called in.
“Jon!” said Matthews, now arriving.
Jonathan turned around. “Good morning to you too, you say that to your mother every morning?”
“Old habits die hard,” Matthews remarked, chuckling as he sat at his chair.
“Anything new?”
“Just some rowdy kids moving in, playing bad hip-hop next door.”
Jonathan chuckled. “You catch any lyrics?”
“Besides the one about hoes, bitches, cash, money?”
“Well, at least it’s narrowed it down to about five-hundred and fifty million possibilities.”
The two gave off a laugh before a third man entered to talk. “Morning guys.” Stevens sipped his morning coffee before sighing to himself.
“Problem?”
“The guy’s not cracking, been up all night--”
“All night? You’re joking!” Matthews replied.
“Nope, still there, smirking to himself while eating breakfast.” Stevens collapsed in his chair. “How the hell did he stop cracking--”
“MAIL BOYS!”
Stevens and Jonathan flinched. The obnoxious behaviour of the department’s mail boy was friendly enough to not have him thrown out, but irritating enough to grind a couple of gears. “Jesus Mike, could’ve announced your presence in a less irritating way!” Jonathan remarked, making a note to feed his favourite jacket to his neighbours pet goat.
“Come on! You love me really.”
He wasn’t wrong...much.
“Anyways, got something for you Kramer.”
His interest peaked. “Oh?” He was handed a bulky looking envelope that took some tearing to do. He looked inside, and took out the note within. Quick read, looked back at Mike. “This already been processed?”
“Yup, all logged, how come?”
Jonathan took out the contents within it, a memory disc with the message, “from anonymous” scrawled at the top. Must be Edward, he might have gotten what he needed. He took Matthews and Stevens into the conference room and played the disc. The three observed the recording on it, and they listened to every word that was spouted from the muffled mouth of a drunken idiot.
“Fucking kid, know what the fuck he wants. Thinks he can just talk to me like, the nerve!” There was the sound of smashed glass. “Eh, he’ll learn one day.” The sound of pillows clashing. “Fucking Delgado, thinks he can just pile everything on me now that Martinez is in the dock, doesn’t take a lot of skill to drive lead from one place to the other, thinking I’m a common animal.” An audible sigh. “Easy money for Mother Everest.”
Jonathan couldn’t help but smile to himself. An anonymous tipster, confession or not, will link Martinez to the gang and namedropped another high ranker. He couldn’t help but jump a little to himself before turning to Matthews and Stevens. “We got him!”
“What!?” cried out Jonathan, right in the police commissioner’s face.
“You heard, not enough evidence!”
“But you heard the tape! Not only do we have a link between Martinez and Everest, but Delgado has been implicated as well! The man is known to be part of this gang--”
“And it came from an anonymous tipster who could’ve manipulated audio to sound just like him.”
Jonathan sighed to himself. “You’re not seriously suggesting we ignore this, we can at least keep him in questioning for another week.”
“But the evidence is insubstantial.” The commissioner sighed as he stood up and looked at Jonathan. “You’re a good man Jon, and I would love to have this guy locked up, but we got to play by the book otherwise we are going to get our asses handed to us.” He rested his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “If he get’s behind bars again, then maybe it’ll hold some ground but until then, we follow procedure.”
Jonathan scrunched the corner of his mouth in bitter annoyance.
“Is that understood?”
He paused. “Yes sir,” before promptly leaving the room. Straight to the locker room, he needed to go out for lunch.
“What did he say--”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” It was Matthews, near hovering over his movements. “Actually, forget that, the commissioner has discarded it.”
“Excuse me--”
“You heard!” Tempers were high, and he needed to keep his cool. “If only the rest of the world heard this then they would agree it would amount to at least more holding for questioning, maybe he’ll break!”
“This isn’t right.”
Jonathan punched his locker closed. “Of course it isn’t right!” He breathed in and out audibly, before exhaling “I’ll be back, I’m going for lunch.”
“You’re not.”
Jonathan turned around to see a third voice entering the room. Stevens.
“We’ve got a problem out front.”
“Excuse me?”
“It seems news got out about the release, and now people are getting pissed.”
Jonathan was confused. “But this happens a lot of the time, false positives.”
“Has it ever happened alongside a recording of vital evidence getting released?”
He blinked twice. “Excuse me?” and Stevens showed him the recording. It seems it had gotten out, and apparently it was stirring up trouble. “But how?” He looked at Matthews and Stevens. “Don’t tell me you two didn--”
“Don’t be ridiculous, we got to stay within the lines of the law, now get some riot gear on, they’re running short.”
Jonathan was stunned. Riot gear? It can’t be. Were they keeping people away from the station or were they going to escort Martinez to where ever he would go? It was too absurd, but it was a job he needed to do. Gear on, outside, and the only order he and the rest of the unit got was to take the punishment.
He had never done this before, he did get basic training but in the real work it worked completely different. The weight you fought against was ever changing in quantity and pace. Some moments there was nothing, and other moments there was a complete battering, but within the angry working lower class people were a sea of complaints. It ranged from mocking the police to demanding Martinez’s head on a stick, to demanding why such vital evidence was discarded so quickly.
The crowd’s anger turned to those around them, most notably the property. Tear gas got fired but it barely did anything. They wanted to send a message, and still the orders they got were mininal, stand there and observe, and observe Jonathan did.
The people being ignored, evidence being limited, and public exposure met with nothing. Their wrath came back when an armoured vehicle started to leave, and before anyone could throw anything the driver, likely scared out his mind, pushed the pedal. Three people went under the tires, before the vehicle itself was tipped over. The doors held on for as long as they could, but the last Jonathan saw of it only amounted to a few people successfully getting inside.
He could hear the screams of a spanish speaking man as the crowd continued their outbust.
And even still, his orders were to stay put.
To do nothing.
To obey.
“Morning Mavis,” he replied, dropping off his present. “Happy birthday!”
Mavis gave out a smile. “You shouldn’t have Jon.”
“I insist!” he replied before heading towards the locker room. Uniform on, back into work. First stop was his desk and the admin work he needed to finish before the week was up. Old woman had called to complain about vandalism, but it turned out that the woman had damaged her own toasted and needed to be tested. With her diagnosed, it meant he needed to fill out a new report alongside the numerous petty crimes that have been called in.
“Jon!” said Matthews, now arriving.
Jonathan turned around. “Good morning to you too, you say that to your mother every morning?”
“Old habits die hard,” Matthews remarked, chuckling as he sat at his chair.
“Anything new?”
“Just some rowdy kids moving in, playing bad hip-hop next door.”
Jonathan chuckled. “You catch any lyrics?”
“Besides the one about hoes, bitches, cash, money?”
“Well, at least it’s narrowed it down to about five-hundred and fifty million possibilities.”
The two gave off a laugh before a third man entered to talk. “Morning guys.” Stevens sipped his morning coffee before sighing to himself.
“Problem?”
“The guy’s not cracking, been up all night--”
“All night? You’re joking!” Matthews replied.
“Nope, still there, smirking to himself while eating breakfast.” Stevens collapsed in his chair. “How the hell did he stop cracking--”
“MAIL BOYS!”
Stevens and Jonathan flinched. The obnoxious behaviour of the department’s mail boy was friendly enough to not have him thrown out, but irritating enough to grind a couple of gears. “Jesus Mike, could’ve announced your presence in a less irritating way!” Jonathan remarked, making a note to feed his favourite jacket to his neighbours pet goat.
“Come on! You love me really.”
He wasn’t wrong...much.
“Anyways, got something for you Kramer.”
His interest peaked. “Oh?” He was handed a bulky looking envelope that took some tearing to do. He looked inside, and took out the note within. Quick read, looked back at Mike. “This already been processed?”
“Yup, all logged, how come?”
Jonathan took out the contents within it, a memory disc with the message, “from anonymous” scrawled at the top. Must be Edward, he might have gotten what he needed. He took Matthews and Stevens into the conference room and played the disc. The three observed the recording on it, and they listened to every word that was spouted from the muffled mouth of a drunken idiot.
“Fucking kid, know what the fuck he wants. Thinks he can just talk to me like, the nerve!” There was the sound of smashed glass. “Eh, he’ll learn one day.” The sound of pillows clashing. “Fucking Delgado, thinks he can just pile everything on me now that Martinez is in the dock, doesn’t take a lot of skill to drive lead from one place to the other, thinking I’m a common animal.” An audible sigh. “Easy money for Mother Everest.”
Jonathan couldn’t help but smile to himself. An anonymous tipster, confession or not, will link Martinez to the gang and namedropped another high ranker. He couldn’t help but jump a little to himself before turning to Matthews and Stevens. “We got him!”
“What!?” cried out Jonathan, right in the police commissioner’s face.
“You heard, not enough evidence!”
“But you heard the tape! Not only do we have a link between Martinez and Everest, but Delgado has been implicated as well! The man is known to be part of this gang--”
“And it came from an anonymous tipster who could’ve manipulated audio to sound just like him.”
Jonathan sighed to himself. “You’re not seriously suggesting we ignore this, we can at least keep him in questioning for another week.”
“But the evidence is insubstantial.” The commissioner sighed as he stood up and looked at Jonathan. “You’re a good man Jon, and I would love to have this guy locked up, but we got to play by the book otherwise we are going to get our asses handed to us.” He rested his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “If he get’s behind bars again, then maybe it’ll hold some ground but until then, we follow procedure.”
Jonathan scrunched the corner of his mouth in bitter annoyance.
“Is that understood?”
He paused. “Yes sir,” before promptly leaving the room. Straight to the locker room, he needed to go out for lunch.
“What did he say--”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” It was Matthews, near hovering over his movements. “Actually, forget that, the commissioner has discarded it.”
“Excuse me--”
“You heard!” Tempers were high, and he needed to keep his cool. “If only the rest of the world heard this then they would agree it would amount to at least more holding for questioning, maybe he’ll break!”
“This isn’t right.”
Jonathan punched his locker closed. “Of course it isn’t right!” He breathed in and out audibly, before exhaling “I’ll be back, I’m going for lunch.”
“You’re not.”
Jonathan turned around to see a third voice entering the room. Stevens.
“We’ve got a problem out front.”
“Excuse me?”
“It seems news got out about the release, and now people are getting pissed.”
Jonathan was confused. “But this happens a lot of the time, false positives.”
“Has it ever happened alongside a recording of vital evidence getting released?”
He blinked twice. “Excuse me?” and Stevens showed him the recording. It seems it had gotten out, and apparently it was stirring up trouble. “But how?” He looked at Matthews and Stevens. “Don’t tell me you two didn--”
“Don’t be ridiculous, we got to stay within the lines of the law, now get some riot gear on, they’re running short.”
Jonathan was stunned. Riot gear? It can’t be. Were they keeping people away from the station or were they going to escort Martinez to where ever he would go? It was too absurd, but it was a job he needed to do. Gear on, outside, and the only order he and the rest of the unit got was to take the punishment.
He had never done this before, he did get basic training but in the real work it worked completely different. The weight you fought against was ever changing in quantity and pace. Some moments there was nothing, and other moments there was a complete battering, but within the angry working lower class people were a sea of complaints. It ranged from mocking the police to demanding Martinez’s head on a stick, to demanding why such vital evidence was discarded so quickly.
The crowd’s anger turned to those around them, most notably the property. Tear gas got fired but it barely did anything. They wanted to send a message, and still the orders they got were mininal, stand there and observe, and observe Jonathan did.
The people being ignored, evidence being limited, and public exposure met with nothing. Their wrath came back when an armoured vehicle started to leave, and before anyone could throw anything the driver, likely scared out his mind, pushed the pedal. Three people went under the tires, before the vehicle itself was tipped over. The doors held on for as long as they could, but the last Jonathan saw of it only amounted to a few people successfully getting inside.
He could hear the screams of a spanish speaking man as the crowd continued their outbust.
And even still, his orders were to stay put.
To do nothing.
To obey.
{Part Five}The watering hole the young Kramer occupied gave him some sort of peace. The riot was over, damage to the district was amounting to about one billion, and the police force become more and more laughable thanks to the higher ups the commanded them. He drank another glass, lowering his ability to see coherently and lowering his guard as his balance began to collapse.
“Is this what you’re going to do for the rest of your days?”
The familiar voice he had heard for years showed itself, behind the beer goggles that Kramer was wearing. It was Matthews, bearing his casual attire as was recommended to everyone after the incident. It wasn’t pleasant to hide who you were, but considering the mess it was safe for everyone.
“I’ll drink until I forget, maybe that will help me.”
“You and I know that won’t help at all,” Matthews replied, sitting down in the seat opposite him. He ordered a drink, and observed his friend dive into a drunken stupor. “How are you coping?”
Kramer sighed, it was a sad case. He had the knowledge and contacts to prevent it, but his ability was hampered. “I had the kill switch and the incompetent idiot decided not to flick it. How the hell did he not see the possibility?”
Matthews sighed. “Is it a question worth sacrificing your liver for?”
Kramer stared at him, before returning to his drink. “I got the recording, we could’ve just thrown him into the pit, and the group would’ve been weaker for it.” Another gulp. “What the hell could incentivised him to go against hard evidence?”
“Hard cash,” Matthews replied, to the surprise of Kramer. Matthews had a small case by him, but within the case were some documents. “I thought something was wrong when he kicked you out after that recording, so I did some digging.”
Kramer observed what was in front of him. Little trinkets of money coming inside and outside of the commissioner’s account, hidden from public view in his office, the one place he would have all the control. Email records showing collaboration with not only a gangster, but also the editors of the city press. Phone records showed calls received from payphones coinciding the transfer of ten thousand dollars. Even with beer goggles, he was sitting on a corruption goldmine.
“How did you get this?” Kramer asked, shocked that Matthews would break the law for something that could land him in jail.
Matthews smiled. “You have some friends that were on the same page, so we checked for recent activity.”
Kramer looked at the papers one last time and smiled, before collapsing into his palms. “It’s no use, even if this was released to the public we would still be at a disadvantage. Here we are, sitting on a goldmine we can’t use.”
“Or maybe the best blackmail in the city.”
Kramer looked up, confused. “Blackmail? Are you crazy?”
“Maybe, but there is a saying. Fear of fear is worse than fear itself. The threat could push the commissioner over the edge.”
“So you’re saying I threaten him?”
“No, I’m saying someone else could threaten him.” Matthews leaned closer to Kramer. “You remember the story you told me about your sister and her experiments?”
Kramer nodded, god bless Claudia and her genius. “What about them?”
“Well…” Matthews cleared his throat. “...after that show trial, I began to think of ways to get the evidence out there. Unfortunately it didn’t look good, but it did get me thinking.” He took a sip of his drink. “What if you could pull strings from behind the scenes? Acquire information in less conventional means through trust and give it to the right people?”
“I’d still be found out.”
“Which is why I am suggesting someone else pull the strings in the same way the heroes have their strings pulled by their casual half.”
Kramer looked a little shocked, but at the same time intrigued. It was either the best or worst idea ever, but it would give him means to do some good. “But...how could I keep myself up?”
“Leave the department.” Matthews advised. “Say something like you was too distressed by the whole ordeal that you decided to quit the department for a more peaceful path. Sell information that can help companies and screw over those who would take advantage of it, all the while keeping the commissioner in check so that anything you find that contradicts his bank account gets some attention.”
It was something Kramer started to seriously consider. It wouldn’t be hard leaving, since the whole situation has started to make him question his ideals towards the police department, but to pull the strings would give him the necessary power to uproot what the heroes couldn’t find.
“Can you...give me a moment?”
Matthews left the bar, leaving Kramer to consider his options.
So what will be be? Stay within the police force and start climbing to ranks? Destroy the crime families bluntly in a way that would be beneficial for the police force’s image? He’d have the legal power to act on the smallest of evidence, but it runs the risk of interference from the commissioner. On the other-hand he could go underground and pull the strings of both the crime families and the police, finding evidence or directly hampering the growth of corruption. It could yield better results, but it can mean he would be imprisoned if caught, and he knew what would happen to ex-cops if put behind bars.
He finished his drink and he left the bar.
The laptop opened and he started typing. A harddrive was ready, and two emails were sent. The first one didn’t need a reply, it was a resignation letter. After the riots he has the true face of the police, filled with those with good intentions with the corrupt few unfortunately holding the power. The second email was sent to his sister, telling her of the situation and what he was about to do.
All around downtown the people ended up with a little storage stick. Edward the troublesome kid, Wilson the man with the broken window, Karol the safety inspector, Quinton the council member, Francesca the street cleaner, Bethany the museum manager, all walks of life with all sorts of professions ended up with a mysterious stick in their pockets. When Matthews returned to work, he too saw the stick, and the same were dished out to the same colleges who worked on gathering the papers. Those who Kramer knew from his time as a patrol officer, and those whom he knew he could trust, plugged in the mysterious stick on their computers.
Claudia replied. “Good luck,” the email said, followed by an attached file on her computer.
Kramer downloaded it and installed the unknown and largely untested code onto the harddrive. This could end well, or this could go horribly wrong. The drive started booting, and an unfamiliar interface with shared folders and communication IPs revealed itself. The chatbox was in front of him, and he typed “ready?”
The chatbox was filled with yeses from multiple sources, sources that became dots on a small map in another window. Kramer observed his reach, and slowly but surely the folders began to fill up and the code for the interface was being upgraded by people who knew what they were doing. Kramer was a little uneasy about what was in his hand, but he knew he decided to take this path to accomplish what he couldn’t do legally.
The Network, the one built by people scurrying through information like mice, was in his grasp. He controlled the information that flowed through Downtown.
It was time to broker a deal with Downtown’s crime commissioner.
“Is this what you’re going to do for the rest of your days?”
The familiar voice he had heard for years showed itself, behind the beer goggles that Kramer was wearing. It was Matthews, bearing his casual attire as was recommended to everyone after the incident. It wasn’t pleasant to hide who you were, but considering the mess it was safe for everyone.
“I’ll drink until I forget, maybe that will help me.”
“You and I know that won’t help at all,” Matthews replied, sitting down in the seat opposite him. He ordered a drink, and observed his friend dive into a drunken stupor. “How are you coping?”
Kramer sighed, it was a sad case. He had the knowledge and contacts to prevent it, but his ability was hampered. “I had the kill switch and the incompetent idiot decided not to flick it. How the hell did he not see the possibility?”
Matthews sighed. “Is it a question worth sacrificing your liver for?”
Kramer stared at him, before returning to his drink. “I got the recording, we could’ve just thrown him into the pit, and the group would’ve been weaker for it.” Another gulp. “What the hell could incentivised him to go against hard evidence?”
“Hard cash,” Matthews replied, to the surprise of Kramer. Matthews had a small case by him, but within the case were some documents. “I thought something was wrong when he kicked you out after that recording, so I did some digging.”
Kramer observed what was in front of him. Little trinkets of money coming inside and outside of the commissioner’s account, hidden from public view in his office, the one place he would have all the control. Email records showing collaboration with not only a gangster, but also the editors of the city press. Phone records showed calls received from payphones coinciding the transfer of ten thousand dollars. Even with beer goggles, he was sitting on a corruption goldmine.
“How did you get this?” Kramer asked, shocked that Matthews would break the law for something that could land him in jail.
Matthews smiled. “You have some friends that were on the same page, so we checked for recent activity.”
Kramer looked at the papers one last time and smiled, before collapsing into his palms. “It’s no use, even if this was released to the public we would still be at a disadvantage. Here we are, sitting on a goldmine we can’t use.”
“Or maybe the best blackmail in the city.”
Kramer looked up, confused. “Blackmail? Are you crazy?”
“Maybe, but there is a saying. Fear of fear is worse than fear itself. The threat could push the commissioner over the edge.”
“So you’re saying I threaten him?”
“No, I’m saying someone else could threaten him.” Matthews leaned closer to Kramer. “You remember the story you told me about your sister and her experiments?”
Kramer nodded, god bless Claudia and her genius. “What about them?”
“Well…” Matthews cleared his throat. “...after that show trial, I began to think of ways to get the evidence out there. Unfortunately it didn’t look good, but it did get me thinking.” He took a sip of his drink. “What if you could pull strings from behind the scenes? Acquire information in less conventional means through trust and give it to the right people?”
“I’d still be found out.”
“Which is why I am suggesting someone else pull the strings in the same way the heroes have their strings pulled by their casual half.”
Kramer looked a little shocked, but at the same time intrigued. It was either the best or worst idea ever, but it would give him means to do some good. “But...how could I keep myself up?”
“Leave the department.” Matthews advised. “Say something like you was too distressed by the whole ordeal that you decided to quit the department for a more peaceful path. Sell information that can help companies and screw over those who would take advantage of it, all the while keeping the commissioner in check so that anything you find that contradicts his bank account gets some attention.”
It was something Kramer started to seriously consider. It wouldn’t be hard leaving, since the whole situation has started to make him question his ideals towards the police department, but to pull the strings would give him the necessary power to uproot what the heroes couldn’t find.
“Can you...give me a moment?”
Matthews left the bar, leaving Kramer to consider his options.
So what will be be? Stay within the police force and start climbing to ranks? Destroy the crime families bluntly in a way that would be beneficial for the police force’s image? He’d have the legal power to act on the smallest of evidence, but it runs the risk of interference from the commissioner. On the other-hand he could go underground and pull the strings of both the crime families and the police, finding evidence or directly hampering the growth of corruption. It could yield better results, but it can mean he would be imprisoned if caught, and he knew what would happen to ex-cops if put behind bars.
He finished his drink and he left the bar.
The laptop opened and he started typing. A harddrive was ready, and two emails were sent. The first one didn’t need a reply, it was a resignation letter. After the riots he has the true face of the police, filled with those with good intentions with the corrupt few unfortunately holding the power. The second email was sent to his sister, telling her of the situation and what he was about to do.
All around downtown the people ended up with a little storage stick. Edward the troublesome kid, Wilson the man with the broken window, Karol the safety inspector, Quinton the council member, Francesca the street cleaner, Bethany the museum manager, all walks of life with all sorts of professions ended up with a mysterious stick in their pockets. When Matthews returned to work, he too saw the stick, and the same were dished out to the same colleges who worked on gathering the papers. Those who Kramer knew from his time as a patrol officer, and those whom he knew he could trust, plugged in the mysterious stick on their computers.
Claudia replied. “Good luck,” the email said, followed by an attached file on her computer.
Kramer downloaded it and installed the unknown and largely untested code onto the harddrive. This could end well, or this could go horribly wrong. The drive started booting, and an unfamiliar interface with shared folders and communication IPs revealed itself. The chatbox was in front of him, and he typed “ready?”
The chatbox was filled with yeses from multiple sources, sources that became dots on a small map in another window. Kramer observed his reach, and slowly but surely the folders began to fill up and the code for the interface was being upgraded by people who knew what they were doing. Kramer was a little uneasy about what was in his hand, but he knew he decided to take this path to accomplish what he couldn’t do legally.
The Network, the one built by people scurrying through information like mice, was in his grasp. He controlled the information that flowed through Downtown.
It was time to broker a deal with Downtown’s crime commissioner.
- BABEL -
COMING SOON
- IN SCOPE -
COMING SOON
COMING SOON
- IN SCOPE -
COMING SOON