Under a Steel-Grey Sky - Chapter Two

Under a Steel-Grey Sky

Chapter Two
By Michael Bennett


Seeing the woman come around the corner, the man just behind her, he realised that the guy seemed instinctively to know the best course of action to protect her. He wondered what was going to happen, or just who they were, as his deeper police instincts over-rode his hard crust of belligerence.
This time, to his amusement, was a reversal of the situation in the diner. She was the one wearing a gruff mask, the bodyguard looking more calm, almost smiling toward him. He guessed that a decision had been reached despite, or maybe because of, his behaviour inside.
As they walked up silently, he figured he might as well play his part in this act, and opened how it seemed he was supposed to. 'So, what's the game, girly? Why've you sought me out, in a cop diner of all places? If you were trying to keep a low profile for whatever this is, you kinda sucked at it.'

Taking a step closer and looking at him evenly, she put a hand out toward Fighting Man and said quickly, “I would have dropped by your ...hovel, Mr Turner, but it looked like I'm not the only one interested in you right now. So, here we are” as she was handed two envelopes, “and here you are. I'd like to hire you to investigate the matter, and the men, inside this. Call me this evening, once you've looked it over. My personal, private, number is in there. The other envelope.. Consider that a down-payment for your services.” Turning on her heel, she glanced back and said “I'll wait for your call to hear your preliminary thoughts.”

As she began to walk away, Fighting Man something in Japanese, causing her to lose colour in her face. Turning around slowly, she added with a tinge of desperation, the gruff mask cracking for a second “ - and don't let your other watcher catch you with that, or find it. I haven't the foggiest who that is, and had no desire to reveal the fact I was attempting to meet with you. There will be a rather messy undercurrent of violence here, and I don't know ...well, everything I could reveal, is in there. Goodbye for now, Mister Turner.” She turned again, letting her guard lead the way. Pauly watched silently, opening the smaller envelope, and almost yelped at the amount of bills stuffed inside. Must've been at least 2 and a half grand in $100 bills, at least. All that just to read a few pieces of paper?

Giving her a little time to get away, Pauly smoked two of his cigarettes, pacing the alley, giving the matter some thought. About halfway through the second one, his inner detective won out again, as he knew it would. He'd find a hotel and crash there for at least the night. A swanky, upscale one. She certainly gave him enough to be able to do that. He'd have to find a pawnshop that did under the counter deals, since he hadn't Old Nancy, his well worn revolver. He didn't think it'd be the smartest idea to go back for her, in case the person watching his place was still there.

Walking through the alley, Pauly spotted a taxi, and hailed it. Getting in, he told the driver where he wanted to go. Letting the city blur past silently, he again fell to thinking, wondering just what she was on about with all the talk of violence and undercurrents. And just why had she come to him? Obviously she couldn't go to the cops, so she clearly wasn't the most upstanding of citizens... And the bodyguard was most likely Yakuza.

But aside from the guard, and the fact she sought him out ('why me' floating through his brain again), brought 2 possible angles, at least that he could nut out. Either she was telling the truth, and didn't know exactly who she could trust, which meant he was holding something that could bring a massive storm down on him. Or she was feeding him a massive line, which could have the same result.

As he pulled up to the hotel, having gotten a functioning, if inelegant looking, handgun and some fresh clothes and a few other things and stuffed them into a bag, he realised grudgingly that he'd taken the bait, and would see this through to whatever end it lead to, even before getting to his room, to read what she'd wanted him to look into.

Once the concierge had shown him into the swanky hotel room, and he'd scoffed down on a room service order that cost more than any meal he'd ever eaten, he kicked off his shoes and sat down to read the file. He wasn't sure if it was a spun story, what actually happened, what she thought was fact, or some mix of the 3. But he'd taken her money, so he would at least investigate it to a surface level. After a couple of hours, more than a few beers, and almost 2 packets of cigarettes, he'd memorised it in it's entirety.

After a mostly restful night in the most comfortable bed he'd ever known to have existed, he figured out what his next move would be over a stacked breakfast. It was just smart to know all angles of a case, to have all the sides you possibly could, before moving. He was lucky that he was able to investigate, as opposed to being dumped in a sudden crisis or event, which had happened rather often while on the force, so long ago. The instincts were still there, even if he wasn't.

Which is why he knew what his next move would be, though he didn't know how it would go.
He knew it was time to face his old partner. It was the only strong link he had, the only possible source he had to get more information about the case he'd taken on, and the woman who dragged him into it.

Reluctantly walking into his old precinct, he noticed that the general buzz was greater, seemed more intense, than he once knew. He wasn't the sharpest guy in the world, but he knew when something was up. And he knew, again because of instincts, that it was tied to what he was now investigating. He'd have to play this one close to his chest. Very close.

It was then that he heard a voice shout, across the room. At him. His partner had spotted him, and was beckoning. The first thing he noticed, aside from the familiar deep rumble of his voice, was that he'd been promoted to Captain.

Under a Steel-Grey Sky - Chapter One

Under a Steel-Grey Sky

Chapter One

by Michael Bennett

As he woke to the jarring rumble of the train passing by the tiny room he rented, he wondered just how he had arrived in such a low, desperate, position compared to the life he used to lead.

Lighting his wake-up cigarette, he dragged his way to the bathroom, trying to ignore the haggard reflection staring back at him from the grimy mirror, as he ran his hand over his 3-day stubble.
Sighing as he completed his usual morning's ritual, he headed slowly for the door, pulling his boots on, and grabbing his overcoat. He never bothered locking the door, because who would want to try breaking into such a hovel, and what would they want to take, even if they did?

As he was heading out of the dank building, he saw someone who looked vaguely familiar, sitting on a bench directly across from the door, though he couldn't say exactly why. The person was wearing a dark grey coat, sunglasses and a hat, the effect of which caused their features to be hard to distinguish, especially in the pre-dawn gloom.

He lingered momentarily on the doorstep, pausing to light another cigarette. The mechanical clicks of his lighter sounded thunderous in the empty morning silence, its sparking flame a fleeting beacon of warmth. Slowly he exhaled the dense smoke and gazed towards the shrouded figure. The figure stared fixedly back.
He stood there for a moment, vaguely aware of a creeping feeling of deja vu stealing over him. In a previous lifetime, he mightn’t have made an attempt to identify the individual, perhaps even speak to them. But his curiosity had long ago settled into a determined indifference. He wasn't interested in remembering events, or people, of his past.

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, an addition to the mosaic of grime covering the street, and walked on into the bleary morning.

As per his usual late morning habit, he walked the 3 blocks to his usual diner, which he'd been going to daily since he was introduced to it while a rookie beat cop. He may have been off the force for a fair while, but he still carried the habits and felt like a cop, though he'd never admit it to himself.

And if whoever was watching him felt pressed to follow him here, while he was surrounded by people that, while maybe not respecting him, at least knew him and recognised him as a once good, hard-working, cop. He knew that though they may glare, and grumble, because of what happened, or seemed to happen... They'd stand with him against an outsider. He was a brother after all.

Walking up and parking himself on a barstool at the far end of the diner, where he could see the door and take in the vibe and chatter, he ordered a coffee, and waited to see what the day (or what was left of it) would bring.

A thin layer of grime coated the coffee mug. He stared into it's murky depths, the black liquid sending wisps of steam into his face. He inhaled the bitter scent deeply, willing the caffeine to take effect. After a moment of quiet consideration, he took a sip. The coffee seared his tongue as he washed it down, splashing a stale taste down his throat.

He set the mug down and began stacking a handful of miniature creamers given to him by the waitress. For years he had been frequenting this spot, always ordering the same black coffee. And for years his request had always been met with an offering of sugar packets and creamers. The idea of black coffee was apparently unfathomable to the wait staff, who regularly served rich cappuccinos and syrup-laden breakfasts to their sugar coma customers. Couldn't anything be left unharmed, he thought, taking another sip of the pungent liquid.

Lighting his 5th smoke of the day, he paid for a second coffee, and it was as he received it that the door opened, causing him to look up. Whoever it was, they seemed to scan the diner rather more thoroughly than Joe Public would. 'A pretty strange thing to do in a room full of cops..', he thought, as he sensed everyone else react, and focus on the man, and change from standard cop chatter to a quieter, lower, watchful murmur. Pauly noticed that he was a little shorter, held himself differently, to whomever was hanging out near his place earlier.

He noticed that the guy was trained, or at least had experience of a violent nature, or defending themselves, in the way they walked and carried themselves. He was Japanese, and moved with a deadly grace that didn't seem to match the obviously very expensive suit. It was like he was trying to pass himself off, badly, as a corporate power player or high ranking official. He got that far in his reading of the man, when his gaze was drawn to a woman that must have entered behind him, hidden, her gaze falling on him a moment later.

The 'fighting man', as he thought of him, obviously sensed the woman pause, and their look, as he also locked on to Pauly, and turned, whispering, though the woman ignored it, and brushed past him, walking close, as the man frowned, walking to an empty booth.

'Good dog', Pauly lipped to the man, hoping to get a little jab in, wondering what sort of mess she was going to end up dragging him into.

'It's always the lookers...' He whispered into his cup, before draining it in one gulp, motioning to the waitress for attention, as she sat on the empty stool to his right.

Before she could say anything, he waved for a refill and a second cup for her, and once the waitress had done so, said with a gruff voice 'Out the back, 10 minutes. We'll talk there.' before sipping his coffee and pointedly ignoring her look at his rudeness. He wasn't the one that had a bodyguard that screamed 'danger here' to anyone who knew the signs.

He wrote the words 'room full of cops' on the back of the receipt, before burning it with his lighter, looking at her as he dropped the burning paper in her cup, with a slightly evil grin, before it could burn his fingers. She got the point, and left in a showy huff. He didn't much care if the bodyguard took it badly, because it was clear she had him on a tight leash.. Not that he cared over much about getting hurt anyway. He was past caring either way.

Settling in to drink his coffee in peace again, he felt the other people slowly return to their normal behaviour, though with an undercurrent of confusion, though he felt sure that it was mostly focused on the lady and her bodyguard, and only slightly on him.

After 15 minutes and 2 more cups of coffee while he enjoyed the 2 strangers' growing anxiety, he walked to the bathroom to release the large amount of coffee that was trying to escape, and pushed out the back door to wait, lighting one of the few cigarettes left in his pack, noting to buy another few packs if he had time after whatever this was.