I am known by many names. Bane of the five
clans. The daemon of the night of a thousand blades. The wrecker of your shit.
World's number three competitive steak eater. That guy. “Is he using a sword!?”
But
the one I shall remember most fondly is Olanus, AKA Gigglebits. The name I
assumed while helping an old friend and his detective agency. These are the
tales of my time with them. These are the tales of.....
The Dick-tectives
The year, some time vaguely in the 1920's.
The place, a New York City analogue. I remember the day like it was yesterday;
because it was. The rain came down hard like a hail of bullets, a bad
foreshadowing of the night we were about to have. A man walks down the road,
ignorant to nature's fury. Desperate and on the edge. The police won't help
him. His mother calls every hour asking where his brother is. He's down to his
last cigarette and his dog just died. He sees the sign on the door. No one else
will take the case. They are his only hope.
If you're wondering how I know about the
parts I wasn't there for, don't think too much about it. Its fine trust me.
Just roll with it.
After
some effort with the doorman - he's an Orc, I presume he shook him down for
money and/or drugs first, you know what their kind are like - he was allowed
in. Before we let him speak, we had a sudden urge to go round the room and
introduce ourselves and our back story.
“Solid” Dick Valentine. Ex-cop and a good
man. I don't remember how we met, but I do know he's got me out of trouble more
times than I can count. He's the kind of Dick you want when things get hard.
The kind of Dick you can have a good time with. The kind of Dick that, when you
embrace, you feel safe and satisfied. The kind of guy you can just get a beer
with and, like, its not gay, ya know?
Knuckles...I wanna say Malloy? Some sort of
typical Orc name no doubt. He was OK, for an Orc. I still wouldn't leave my
wallet unattended around him. A large fellow with fists as thick as his skull.
He acted as our doorman and phone operator. He had a habit of getting uppity,
but I gotta say I like that Greenskin.
Toni Gunn, the soft spoken gun slinging
femme fatale with a fiery personality. Quite literally. Because she was made of
fire.
Gunpowder Jai. A man so mysterious, I
couldn't tell you any of his character traits.
Me. Handsome. Buff. Knows fifty ways to
torture a man with a potato peeler.
Also there was Liam Neeson for some reason.
He half-heartedly insisted we call him Bob Sickle. I think he was just lonely.
Hunter was his name. A generic looking man
with a forgettable first name. He told us how his brother had been missing for
a whole day and the police wouldn't help. He pointed us in the direction of one
Arcus Barker, an Orc who runs a bar out of the ghetto. I naturally assumed
Knuckles knew him but apparently that was racist. Barker and Hunter were last
seen going to a party together. Apparently they were partners in antiques
trading. Actually make that “antiques” trading. I could feel the quote marks when he said it. This Hunter character was no
saint that was for sure.
“So will you take the case”, he asked, his
face resembling that of a retarded lost puppy.
Knuckles leaned in and placed a hand on the
concerned brothers shoulder. He fashioned the warmest smile his tusks would
allow, “Listen here, pal. I hate to break it to ye, but yer brothers' deed.”
“Ok just find his body then”, Hunter
pleaded, “At least I'll know what happened! I'll pay obviously. One thousand
gold?”
“No deal”, I bellowed. You had to play tough
with these bams. Take the first offer and they'll walk all over you.
Dick gave Hunter the reassuring, thousand yard stare, that only a man who was disillusioned with life's injustice could.
"Now listen here son. We'll find your brother, don't you worry about it. We'll find him, dead or alive!" Dick spoke in a voice that I'm a good 85% sure was put on for effect. But it helped sell the image and people would believe he was a P.I when he spoke of his line of work. Regardless, Hunter seemed tentatively reassured which meant we would get paid. Or at least the rest of them would. I only wanted information. But we'll come back to that ominous implication when its plot relevant.
It was decided that our first stop would be Barkers Bar over in the Orc quarter of town. A prospect I was not looking forward to since I just bought those shoes and had no wish to be mugged for them. Knuckles decided we should phone the bar before hand which seemed to make Neeson perk up a bit. He was always fond of phones. The greenskin stabbed at the dial with the sticks of meat that passed for fingers.
"Hullo! Is that Barkers Bar? We're thinking of coming round. Do yous do food? No? Can we reserve a table then? Uh huh. Ohhhh just anytime really. O'right. Thanks bye." Malloy put the phone down and looked to us, "They're open."
Thanks to the city's loose traffic laws, the six of us bundled into the car and took off for the bar. The rain still poured. Freezing this cesspool of a city in its attempts to wash away the scum. But if all went plan, things were about to heat up real quick...
