I Fought The Law...

[Ramlock]

Another dead end. At least it was an interesting one, though. A noble family in Japan... That ruled out contacting any local family. No one was going to have any useful information, most likely. Still, that meant something... If Cyril contacted any local Japanese groups, there was a chance to find her. Sharing a country of origin gave certain benefits, like an instant sense of camaraderie...

With that in mind, Cyril would pack up the office, leaving to find a local place of congregation. There was a local group organized for Japanese rights, which was his destination. It also acted as a sort of contact group and chamber of commerce geared towards Japanese immigrants. If Eri came through Chicago, there was a chance she had stopped in, at least briefly. They might have contact information. Plus, if nothing else, it would be an interesting trip...

[Nayt]

It was set on the north side of town, and not too far from a collective group of Japanese citizens settled into what became a somewhat ethnic neighborhood. They weren't terrible people, but most of them didn't even try to settle in and get used to American culture.

This early, there was quite the crowd there. Cyril's destination was a building actually devoted to the movement, and sort of treated as a headquarters of sorts for the movement. It was a small building, with a sign on the front that was written entirely in kanji, like all other signs in this neighborhood, but unlike the others, it had a sign in English right above it. It read "Japanese Rights HQ--Chicago District."

The main road was crowded, with families and individuals out in the afternoon for casual walks and trips to stores. It was loud, too. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Fortunately, the market was down the road from there. Getting passed a veritable horde of stalls and vendors all vying for the attention of any and every customer (particularly wanting to barter for goods) would have been impossible. It would be difficult to get to the Japanese Rights HQ, nonetheless, requiring slow walking and the brushing aside of others to get by, but Cyril would inevitably reach it.

It wasn't a busy place, and comprised one large room and a secretary at a desk right before a hallway to numerous offices, all held by individuals of importance in the movement. Oddly, the secretary wasn't Japanese at all. She was a Chicago resident, an American woman, who wasn't quite homely, but not quite petite, either, with dark hair and fair skin. She wore a professional suit for women--a jacket, button down shirt, and slacks.

Once Cyril entered, she'd look up from the desk and greet him as she had numerous others in the past, "Hello, may I help you?"

[Ramlock]

Cyril would move slowly through the crowd, conscious of the fact that he was taller, larger, and was unable to communicate in the most common language among the people there. However, he had his destination in mind, and no real interest in stopping off at the different shops and stalls, so the walk wouldn't be too difficult. Soon enough, he'd be at his destination...

"Um... Hello. I'm trying to get in touch with a young woman named Eri Tetsuken. Do you happen to know if she's been here?"

Cyril would produce the picture as well, on the off-chance that it would help to spark any memory. There were likely a lot of people that came through- a picture of an attractive young woman was more likely to be recognized than her name. He didn't yet mention how or why he wanted to contact her. If he didn't have to say, there was no reason...

[Nayt]

The woman looked up to Cyril as he approached, and then back down to the picture once he presented it to her. The woman didn't look like the type that would come through here. People that came through here were Japanese-American citizens that were down on their luck. This woman seemed pretty wealthy, actually. People like that, if they came through here at all, were usually supporting the movement economically. If she was, the woman didn't know. She hadn't been around enough to know. But if this Eri woman was, in fact, helping to fund the movement, there were other people that were much higher up on the food chain that would.

"I'm not too sure, sir," the woman said as she slid the picture back to Cyril, "I can ask my superior, though, if you wish."

A superior would know for certain, though there was a fair chance that they were busy at the moment. That was the life of an executive--or anyone who ran a business of any sort, which this was. They were making a business out of helping people, or at least trying to help people.

[Ramlock]

"Sure, I'd like to have a supervisor check."

If they were able to help, it might give him the lead he needed for the case. If not... Well, it wasn't that long a trip. He could figure out a new avenue to look into. If Eri had come by here, he might well get an idea of what her current situation was, too. Wealthy, low on money, content, desperate... Any information he had would help to find her for the Kiosnas. He wasn't sure what they were going to do at that point, but that wasn't really his business, since they didn't seem to wish her any ill will. Cyril would be concerned if his fiance ran away, too. Plus, there were less scrupulous detectives. They would take cases for people who wished ill will. It was better if Cyril kept an eye on such cases. Of course, the line between himself and an unscrupulous detective was very fine at that point...

[Nayt]

"One moment, sir," the woman replied.

She had some more things to copy down, which took a few moments. There were seats available, though, in case Cyril wanted to relax while he waited.

Eventually, the woman set her pen down, stood up, and started down the back corridor. She knocked on the very back office door a couple of times, and it was a moment before it opened, by just a crack. She exchanged whispers with the businessperson inside, before the door opened all the way and she stepped in. The door was closed behind her. For several moments, there was silence.

After time passed, the door opened again, and the secretary stepped out--followed in short by a man. He was short and thin, five feet and five inches tall, with no trace of fat on him--fairly average for Japanese men his age, in fact--around forty years old or so, give or take a few years. The hair on the top of his head was thinning a bit and he wore a pair of dark framed spectacles. He had a blue button down shirt on, wore a red tie over it, and a pair of black slacks. A businessman in any right. Once he saw Cyril, he approached him.

"Hello, mister . . .?" the man started as he extended his hand to Cyril, expecting him to fill in the blank with a first or last name, before they could continue.

[Ramlock]

"Cyril. Good to meet you."

Cyril would extend his hand to the man, aware that his name was something of a rarity in Chicago, but not afraid to give it out. After all, if someone wanted to track him down, they could anyway. This would make things somewhat easier for them, but it wasn't like he was doing something illegal or even unethical...

"I'm trying to find this woman. Eri Tetsuken. Has she happened to come through here?"

Cyril would present the picture once more, on the off-chance that the man could help. If he was lucky, there would be no more searching for him to do, and he would get an idea of where Eri was...

[Nayt]

"Mr. Cyril? I am Kinomori Saito," though he addressed Cyril in a traditionally English way--"Mr."--Saito introduced himself in a traditionally Japanese way: last name, then first name.

Kinomori took the photograph and held it up a bit so the light could hit it better. In the picture, Eri Tetsuken was such an extravagant figure; it was a candid shot, yet she posed for the photograph in such a seductively graceful way--a pose on the fly, without even a thought given. The blur in the background and focus on the foreground, and the woman in the foreground, made it obvious that it was a candid shot. The photographer must have still had momentum pushing forward, even if he had stopped to take a picture.

"Good photographer," Saito mused aloud--not addressing Cyril or anyone else, just thinking aloud, "Or good equipment. Or both." Then, he addressed Cyril, handing the picture back to him, "I believe I have seen a woman like this. Does she have very bright hair?"

Incidentally, he didn't speak like a man who just came from Japan. Rather, he pronounced everything quite well. His accent was noticeable, but his spoken grammar was spot on, and he could even enunciate r's and l's.

[Ramlock]

"She does, yes. I'm glad to hear you know her."

He didn't know in what capacity yet, but any would work. Any that would allow him to find her. This man didn't seem to know her well enough to immediately say who she was, but that was a good thing. It meant he wouldn't be in regular contact with her. It would give Cyril time to finish his job, at which point it would no longer matter if Eri found out about his questions or his investigations.

"You don't happen to be able to put me in contact with her, do you?"

Cyril didn't have an interest in actually contacting her, but an address or phone number would be more than enough...

[Nayt]

"No, I do not know her," Saito shook his head.

It was perhaps the most unfortunate news he could give Cyril. He didn't have his work cut out for him on this case. The woman seemed impossible to find already, yet seemingly everyone had seen her--everyone but him. She was hard to miss, with pink dye in her hair and all, and she practically left a trail of her activities throughout all of Chicago, except for one minor problem--

"I have only seen her on other sides of town. I have only seen her a couple of times," Saito continued, "Like to this grocery store a ways away-- I cannot remember the name of it . . . but she was stumbling very much. I do not think it is a grocery store."

A grocer. An illegal establishment fronting itself as a grocery. Cyril had already been down that route . . .

--the trail went in circles.

[Ramlock]

It was indeed a disappointment. Circles of clues, with apparently no woman at the end of them. Maybe she didn't actually exist. That would certainly match his experiences so far. No wonder he had been hired; it was proving difficult enough to track her down as a full time job. With that dead end, though, it was time to regroup once more.

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that. I wanted to meet her. Thank you, though."

If the man had nothing else, Cyril would return to his office. He was often quick and business-like, but that was the Chicago way. There were people he genuinely liked, who he considered friends, but so many more people he only had contact with when a favor was needed on one side or the other...

[Ramlock]

The rest of the day would prove uneventful: Cyril's guesses as to Eri's whereabouts had temporarily run out. He had other obligations as well, though: things such as managing rent, paperwork, and the other less glamorous aspects of the business. Today, he was just out of leads, and tomorrow would hopefully bring new information or inspiration. It had only been two days, after all. Eri wasn't going to be moving again that fast...

Adjusting his coat, Cyril would lock the door behind him, returning to his apartment for the night. The day so far was unfruitful, but that was only to be expected sometimes. He was trying to find a single person, so matter how remarkable, in a very large city...

[Nayt]

And the next day came--

And then, another series of stale leads. This time, it started with another speakeasy--which lead to another, and then another, another-- and then back to the first. Everyone had seen her face, but no one knew where she lived; no number, no address, not even the faintest hint that she even had another temporary residence in Chicago anymore. Some people claimed to have seen her as recent as three days ago, while others claimed that she had been in town for the past six months. Some men, while clearly drunk, bragged about going to be with her and having the time of their lives-- but then, they couldn't recall an address, not even an abstract area where they'd gone, north side or south side. Chances were they were lying through their teeth to save their pride, after failing to court the pink haired chameleon of a woman.

Chameleons. Creatures that habitually walked circles. Creatures that looked so out there that they could be seen for miles, but when they didn't want to be seen, they were invisible to the naked eye.

When Cyril returned to his office later that day, there was a newspaper in front of his door. It was folded up neatly, but it was ruffled a little, obviously read once before. The front page faced up, with a picture of Cyril Shariph at the city archives; the caption below didn't mention his name, only saying that he was a private detective searching the archives. It was a good picture, very well taken, very clear--except the background; not the archives, but the walls. They were a little blurry, while the foreground was absolutely pristine.

The picture would be of no consequence after a moment of glancing--at least, not the original contents. In the corner of the frame, something was written in pen. It was horribly small writing, though and completely illegible without a magnifying glass.

[Ramlock]

Cyril was frustrated by the time he picked up the newspaper: another day with constant sightings of Eri, but no evidence of her passing. He may as well have been looking for Bigfoot. He likely would have been easier to find, it seemed. Cyril was almost ready to give up for the day, when he glanced at the newspaper. It was his own photo. A pretty good one, though he generally didn't like to be photographed. Almost as good as...

Leaning forward with a start, Cyril would pull out the picture of Eri to compare. They were different places, and yet... So similar. It was impossible, wasn't it? No way... Spying the script in the corner of the newspaper photo, Cyril would pull a magnifying glass from his desk and look at it closely. Even if they weren't done by the same man, chances were he could help...

[Nayt]

The writing wasn't on the newspaper itself; it didn't print with it. There were distinct indentations where a pen met the page, but far too small to be read without a magnifying glass. Even then, it was bunched up together--intentionally, it seemed. There was no space between the words, but there weren't enough words to merit it, anyways.

Have you seen me?

It was at the top left, words rarely ever spoken, but always used on the backs of milk cartons and sometimes at the top of missing persons posters . . .