Chapter Text
Honestly, you're impressed that Sleuth's mouth can keep spewing all these excuses, and muttering all these obscenities under his breath, for so long without breathing. The dull pain of the bandages and the cast on your leg throbs to remind you that the game has upped itself in ways that cause you to reminisce of the days of the Mobster Kingpin, but one cannot help but wonder what sorts of adventures you are all in for now that this up and coming new gang has caught Mr Sleuth's attention. Softly, you take a sip of tea and then try to gather your constantly scattered thoughts; attempting to catch at least one inside the net of coherency for a few valuable seconds whilst you process what your 'oh so fearless leader' is so angry about.
From what you can gather, the explosion at the bank was caused by a gang that are calling themselves the Midnight Crew, and subsequently said gang is also trying to take over the city's underworld. Listening to Sleuth provides the information that their leader is a short and angry character who goes by the name of Spades Slick, and who also has a penchant for randomly jumping detectives in nearby alleyways. This to you speaks of overconfidence, a need to fight, a primal instinct to be a fighter before a thinker. The interview, however, that Mr Sleuth spoke of, tells you that something is somewhat amiss with the sudden appearence of this gang of mobsters. The things Mr Slick mentioned. The way he spoke.
“It's almost puzzling.” You fail to catch yourself from wondering that out aloud.
“Puzzlin'? You're damn right it is. That guy spoke ta me like a guy that didn't know about shit. A guy that ain't never been here before, or tackled a capable detective in his life. Truth be told, he seemed surprised ta get his ass caught. Soon stopped yakkin' once I arrested him.” Sleuth jumps straight into another half rant about the previous evening's events and continues to flick through a file that he has – very roughly you might warrant to add – pulled together on the cause of his discontent.
Lighting up a cigarette, Sleuth goes on to tell you what he knows about the rest of the members of this rag tag crew. Droog. The tall sharp dressed one. Sleuth does not like him one bit. To you, he reeks of a professional, someone who knows what he is doing to the slightest detail; a man who could easily count how many times he inhales in every single minute, as well as tell you how many times you did the same action. Sleuth informs you that this 'mook' paid for Slick's bail in full and barely even batted a single eyelid the whole time he was at the station. No. Sleuth does not like him at all.
Then there is the little guy. The short one who both you and he saw fleeing from the scene of the crime. You're not sure what his name is, but on first glance he seems to have the stature of a runner of sorts. A nobody. Someone who is a general scout for the crew. You're not that sure. It's too vague to say at this point.
Finally, there is the big guy. The huge hulking walking brick wall. Mr Ace seems quite taken with him. From what you hear, he got into something of a fist fight with this behemoth and actually had to go all out to make the 'bastard' even flinch. Ace Dick – Mr Ace to you – is the strongest man you know. Even amongst the police force's elite he's feared for his notorious temper and his permanent bad disposition. You dread to think how much they'd fear someone who stands on equal ground with him.
Of course, aside from these four shady characters, there is a matter as to how many members actually make up the Midnight Crew itself. How many are working behind the scenes whilst the Boss and his runners hit banks across town?
Softly you scribble at notes whilst Mr Sleuth goes off on another rant.
“I ain't never seen nothin' like this guy. He was too well trained, yanno? This wasn't just some fuckin' street brawl, this was a well planned and well executed attack. I'm startin' ta think that the little guy was just the bait for us, yeah? This guy had all the style an' grace of a freakin' drunken dog, an' yet he managed ta damn near scratch me up like a cat on crack! Somethin' ain't right with these guys. They're too...organised.”
“You think that this was just a game to them?” You lift up your head to inquire. During the three years you have been business partners with Mr Sleuth and Mr Ace, you've found that the best time to interject is during the pauses.
“Maybe. The Boss seemed ta be enjoyin' himself. He just told them he'd catch up to them later. Waved off help just ta tangle with me in an alley. It was like they were tryin' to be seen. Tryin' ta make a statement. I mean, from what we know, the damned bank incident left us without evidence. We ain't got nothin' to prove that these guys even did it, an' yet they're practically announcin' they did it!!!!” When Sleuth pauses this time, you do not have anything to say. He hit the nail on the head with that one, and pretty much summarised your collective feelings on the matter.
Frustrating indeed.
“So what I was thinkin' was...” Oh goodness. It is never a good time for Mr Sleuth to say that. You almost dread what crazy scheme he is about to put into motion, yet both Mr Ace and yourself continue listening anyway. Perhaps you are just as insane as Mr Sleuth's schemes?
“Why don't we do a little tailin'? See what we can dig up about these guys? After all, if they're gonna be regular contenders on the crime scene, we'd better know what we're goin' against. I got my dibs on the Boss, of course.” When Sleuth smiles, it is somewhat unnerving, especially when the words are followed with the gesture of him slamming a fist into an open palm as though itching for a fight. He then turns his attention to Ace, “You get the big guy and the short stack.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Ace rolls his eyes. It was somewhat obvious that the city's strongest man would go after the city's seemingly strongest criminal. Which obviously left you with...
“Pickles, you got Mr Suit and Tie.”
Oh how wonderful...