I Fought The Law...

[Nayt]

"Been better," replied Stewart as he shook Cyril's hand.

He was dressed to go out, at least. A button down shirt and slacks--classic wear for someone that needed to dress up quickly, especially considering all of the wrinkles. He wasn't shaven, though. Hadn't the time to take care of that. On the phone, at first, he had sounded a bit rushed, but calmed with time.

Stewart ordered a turkey club sandwich and a side of mashed potatoes. Nothing special--none too expensive, less than a buck around this part of town, even when counting in a bottle of coke, which was notably one of Stewart Thompson's absolute favorite things in the world. The man didn't drink liquor even when it was legal; no, he drank coca cola. If he was without it, he wasn't a pleasant man to be around, and one could just completely forget about water. This all came about with those six packs of coke bottles released a few years back. He'd been an addict ever since. Quite the odd thing to be hooked on in this town . . .

"I appreciate the food and all, Shariph," Stewart remarked between a bite of potatoes and set his fork down, "But what's this all about? You're not the type to buy someone dinner, lunch, or something just because you want to spend time with 'em."

[Ramlock]

"Now, I've never heard you complain about a free meal before. Things must really be down."

Cyril would purposefully take a few more bites of food before speaking, just because Stewart had said something. It was true, really: he wouldn't often invite someone out for food when he wasn't looking for information. He wasn't trying to use people, he just happened to be a very business-like person. That was why he always bought when he invited someone out to get such information...

"You seen this woman, or any japanese women at all, lately?"

Cyril would slide the photo in front of Stewart, preferring not to share information that could get himself or Stewart into trouble. There was the possibility of lying, but it was a bit too strange of a request for a lie to really be feasible. If anything, the lie would just be more memorable than the truth. If this Eri got wind of someone looking for her because he let her name slip, she could be gone from the city within hours. He really didn't want that to happen, and there was always the chance of a quick lead.

"Or, for that matter, any new and prominent women in town. A woman like that isn't going to go unnoticed..."

[Nayt]

It was true--he didn't often complain when a free meal was involved. Stewart sighed and hung his head. The times were just a bit stressful for him.

"Sorry. Just with the whole recent thing of gramps dying, and all the unpaid debt that's getting unearthed, I've been stressed to hell. Didn't mean to sound snappy," Stewart remarked apologetically.

Then, Cyril slid the photo over to Stewart. He rose his head up a bit to look at it, then picked it up to get a closer look. The woman was showy--standing and posing for a camera, rather than completely avoiding it. It didn't take a private investigator to see that. Though, Stewart did have a bit of experience with interpreting and predicting the actions of others. Cyril Shariph had done this several times, taking Stewart out for a free meal in exchange for some information. It wasn't a trade skill for him, but when he had the free time and the urge, he casually and passively kept his ears open, just in case something interesting came up.

That said, there should have been no doubt in Cyril's mind that Stewart had at least seen her once. Unless, of course, this whole development was only recent--in the past week recent, around the time Stewart's grandfather died and caused him one hell of a mess.

"Why're you looking for this one?" he asked, handing the picture back to Cyril, "I mean--yeah, I've seen her a couple of times. Real showboat. What, did she bring you a case or something?"

[Ramlock]

Cyril's brow would furrow slightly, as it often did when he was deep in thought. He certainly hadn't expected things to be this easy. This had to be the first time his first source was probably going to lead to the end of the case. This might well be the easiest case he had ever taken, for one of the best payouts. It didn't really occur to him that his client was willing to pay because of trouble involved; he'd just assumed that the man didn't know what the work went for...

"Pretty good guess, with you here. She's got a bit of an admirer, I'm just trying to figure out who exactly she is. What's her name, and how does a guy like you get to know her?"

Cyril didn't really mean anything by his comment, except that someone like Eri and someone like Stewart weren't generally going to frequent the same places. As far the story went, lying never worked. Telling the whole truth, though, was just a ridiculous idea. He wasn't going to give up why he was looking for her. After all, if he could get a bit of information from Stewart, so could Eri or anyone else concerned about the situation. Cyril had no problem; it wasn't really a betrayal of him, and he wasn't going to burden Stewart with unneeded secrets.

[Nayt]

"Ah . . ."

An admirer . . . that meant that someone else was organizing this job, and she was a target of interest. Stewart could deduce that much. Though, it didn't really matter much to him, this woman; he had his own problems, more than enough to care about the troubles of some attention starved dame.

"Don't know her name," replied Stewart, "Like I said, I only saw her once. You talk like you're looking for her--kind of surprising, to be honest. She's got this . . . strange hair color. Pink. She dyes it or something. It's not blindingly bright or anything, sort of dark, if I remember right--but it's still pretty out there. Never seen a woman want to stand out that much."

Stewart dug into his coat pocket, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. His grandfather may as well have smoked since the day he was born, and Stewart regretted starting so late. Ten years old. Way too late to pick up a hobby like this. He slid one between his lips, and before lighting it, silently offered one to Cyril.

"But like I said, she's a real floozy, I figure. Or at least a showboating tease. I saw her at the, uh . . ." Stewart paused, glancing around awkwardly. It didn't seem as if anyone was listening in. "The, uh . . . uh . . . you know, the grocer, down the street. Just a couple of weeks ago. She comes in like she owns the place, wearing this tight little number, attracts the attention of a bunch of guys--who all go and spend like crazy for her--uh . . . um, uh--you know . . . groceries. She was loud, giggly, and left with a couple of them. I never saw her before, haven't seen her since."

[Ramlock]

Pink? Really? And Kiosna acted as if she was someone difficult to track? It seemed completely ridiculous. Even beyond her appearance and attitude, she had pink hair? How hard could it possibly be to find her? Cyril couldn't help smiling at the prospect of such an easy job, but in this case, he'd just have to get it done right. It wasn't surprising to see a girl like her get by on her looks...

"Ah, you know. Photos are nice, but they'll never be a good replacement for seeing."

Cyril noticably didn't write anything down, always keeping his notes in his head. When people were concerned, it was an easy job to keep everything straight, and this way, he never had to worry about losing a notebook, for any reason. Stewart had given way more than he even needed about Eri, and Cyril didn't like to press too far on any subject with a single source. However, he had another job that he'd given himself.

"Thanks for that. One more thing, though. I had a bit of a problem the other day with a guy named Kiosna. Not much came of it, but I'm trying to figure out what his angle is. You haven't heard that name, have you?"

He had to learn a bit about his employer, too. When offered the cigarette, Cyril would politely shake his head and refuse. He didn't care for the way the smoke always seemed to linger and dim and disperse the light, particularly in his office. It made things seem so much more dark than they really were...

[Nayt]

When Cyril turned down the cigarette, Stewart withdrew the pack and placed it back into his pocket. He couldn't be sure who smoked and who didn't anymore, and if he was sitting down to a dinner or something, it was just courtesy to offer a cigarette to the people he was with.

He took in a drag. "Kiosna? Never heard the name before."

Cyril's was a fair tactic to use; casually bring up a name, blame it on a rough time. Stewart didn't notice or anything. He was pretty observant, but there was a limit to how much he cared. In some cases, it was interest, in others, it was time. If he wasn't interested or didn't have the time, and this was a bit of both. For the pink haired woman, and probably everyone else Cyril had to talk about that may have been potentially affiliated with her in some way, he both lacked the time and interest. In the case of Kiosna, he hadn't both--the interest and the time--to notice anything special about it, or anyone with that name. Lately, he hadn't been too concerned with names.

"Kind of weird, though, don't you think?" Stewart leaned back, relaxing. A good cigarette always relieved the stress load, always. "We barely have any Asian community here or anything like that, never see them, and now there's this Japo floozy and that guy you got some sort of beef with." Kiosna, at the very least, sounded like a fairly Asian name. "Like hitting the lottery twice. Except for twenty five cents each on two fifty cent tickets."

[Ramlock]

"I agree. They normally keep to themselves. Strange to see anyone out there like this. Especially the girl. Thanks for your time, though. I appreciate it."

Cyril would finish the last of his food, drawing five dollars and handing it to Stewart. Cyril's food was only a dollar, similar to Stewart's, leaving plenty for a tip and even some left over reasonably for Stewart to take. From here, he'd go straight to the grocery store, to wait for his target. There was a bench across the road from the store, and he would alternate browsing the store with reading a paper on the bench, despite the temperature being somewhat uncomfortable...

"Thanks, Stewart. I appreciate the help. Sorry for your loss. I figured the old bastard might be around forever. Have a good one..."

Cyril would stand up, preparing to leave, his next destination in mind. Stewart hadn't known about Kiosna, which was somewhat reassuring. No immediate crime ties. Now he had to figure out this Eri character... See what she was really doing here.

[Nayt]

"Yeah . . ." Stewart sighed at the mention of his grandfather--it really did suck to not have him around anymore. Not to have his buddy leave him on a depressing note, though, he brightened up a bit to wave (shortly after accepting the money), "Thanks for the meal, Cyril--and hey, good luck with the broad."

That could be taken by any other listeners to mean any sort of thing. No one was really paying attention, though--not until Cyril left, as people generally paid attention to a stranger only when they came in and when they left. That was just how it went with people; if it had nothing to do with them, they had little interest, but if there was some excess movement or loud talking, they had to look, check, and make sure if it had anything to do with them, just in case. To those few, they just heard something about "good luck with the broad," and it was easy for someone to interpret that Cyril was having trouble wooing some woman.

The grocery store was just one of many of those "legitimate" establishments--fronted as a legit place, selling legit goods, with a backside that just so happened to be far from it. It was either a bootlegging place or had a secret little establishment in the back, or in the basement, where alcohol was sold. Those sorts of places were like a public secret. Everyone knew about them, but few talked about them, especially in public. That was why Stewart hesitated whenever he mentioned it, calling it just a grocery store, and trying to talk as if he'd been looking for groceries rather than drinking 'til his head stopped hurting.

Unfortunately, Cyril's target didn't make an appearance outside, either leaving or going into the joint, not for a couple of hours at least--and by the first hour's passing, it may have become evident that she wasn't going to make an appearance there at all. Fortunately, that didn't rule out any potential leads inside of the place . . .

[Ramlock]

"Thank you, Stewart."

Cyril wasn't particularly concerned what anybody else thought. If they thought he was pursuing Eri, all the better. She seemed to like to tease; if she somehow found out he was looking for her for that purpose, she might well come to him. All the better. If not... Everyone was lonely in Chicago. Another lonely man, or the impression of one, was not going to be remarkable, private investigator or not.

Cyril would wait outside the grocery store for an hour or two, always content to gather a bit of information. He hadn't ever frequented this store before, despite the relatively close proximity. A bit of time looking was sufficient to figure out what was really going on. All you had to know was what to look for. For example, when he could watch a man go into the store for almost an hour and a half, then leave with a loaf of bread and a slight stagger, there was a pretty good indication of what was going on. Cyril wasn't particularly concerned, though. He wasn't an enforcer of the law. He worked for private interests...

Finally, Cyril would enter the store, content that he wasn't walking in blind. Eri wasn't going to show up today, perhaps, but there had to be some indication of what was going on. Inside, it was a simple matter of knowing who to ask. To find the real story, all he had to do was find a middle aged woman. No one else would know as much about a young woman tempting young men, particularly in a place she worked. A cashier or stocker or even the owner... Didn't really matter who, and he would quickly go to strike up a conversation with her.

"Hello. I'm here looking for somebody..."

[Nayt]

The establishment wasn't much to look at from the inside, just this small grocer's market that people could sell their produce in. There was a small selection of deli products, fruits, and vegetables--and that was just about it. While Cyril had seen quite a few people enter, there weren't all that many in the store itself . . .

The woman Cyril found inside was a stocker; she was occupied dealing with the arrangement of a particular set of fruits, an arrangement that her boss wasn't fond of. She was a middle aged woman of fairly average proportions, with long hair back in a pony tail, and a work shirt larger than what she should have been wearing--it make her look altogether smaller, and there was a fair chance that she preferred it. Nonetheless, this was his best bet for information in this front, all this considered. The cashier was just a young guy, a kid, and their boss wasn't anywhere to be found, but there was a hall at the end leading to an office . . .

The work that the woman was doing was busy work, really, but it kept her busy enough. If she stopped outright, her boss might have gotten a bit peeved with her, and she didn't want to have to deal with that.

"The manager's in the back," she replied, assuming that Cyril was talking about the manager, and not a particular patron of their legitimate establishment.

[Ramlock]

Cyril couldn't help thinking how obvious this place seemed to be. It was awfully busy to be deserted... As if the people just walked inside and disappeared. That wasn't his worry, though, so long as Eri wasn't in the store. If she was, then he had a bit of business, but for all he cared, the most despicable bootleggers in the city could be operating out of here, and it wasn't his business to interfere. That was a good way to end up dead, in any case...

"Thanks."

Cyril would take the woman's instructions, going to see the manager. If this was a speakeasy or some other illicit operation, she was going to have a close eye on the happenings in her store. Besides, it would be best to go clear things up with her. Make it clear he wasn't interested in her operations, just one of her patrons. To that end, Cyril would approach the office, knocking. He didn't want to come off as too quiet, but on the other hand, he didn't want to appear as a law officer, either...

"Hello? I'd like to ask a few questions about a woman here..."

[Nayt]

Usually, owners of a speakeasy or some sort were male, and paid out profits to someone bigger than themselves. That was just how the order of things went in this town. Brothels, although a bit harder to find, were usually owned and ran by some sort of madame.

That was just how this town worked. Speakeasies were better operated by men, who knew how to work money better, and brothels by women, who knew how to work sex better. This one was different. It really was a testament to the future, a woman owning this "legit" establishment. Sure, she definitely paid out to someone else, there was no doubt about that. Someone would have burnt this place to the ground otherwise. But low and behold, in a back room down the back hallway, a short, stocky woman with long hair drawn back into a ponytail and a lopsided oval shaped face sat alone, paperwork on her desk, her pen scrawling at near light speed. Deadlines had to be met.

She let out a sigh as soon as she heard Cyril's voice. She'd just hoped that he was going to go away. Overly normal, dull brown eyes stared up at him as she pursed her lips in frustration.

"One of our employees?" she replied, irritated.

It wouldn't take a private detective to realize that she had a few problems with some of her employees--lazy, far from hard working, miserable, and whining. It was a real detriment to any sort of equal rights movement for women when the only ones she could hire were like this . . .

Were this the case, it wouldn't be the first time she'd heard a complaint about her employees.

[Ramlock]

Cyril wasn't in the habit of underestimating women, especially since every powerful man always seemed to have a weakness for at least one woman, and often quite a few. And if nothing else... The expense this Kiosna man was going to was indication enough of how expensive a woman could be. And Cyril wasn't even promising to return her, just to find out some information about her...

"No, not one of the workers. One of the patrons. I heard about a pink-haired beauty coming around here not too long ago, and I'm curious about her... You must know her, right?"

Cyril wasn't too worried about what the woman thought of his search. If she thought he was a lovestruck professional, that was all the better. From the sounds of things, it would be the perfect cover. If she thought he was actually a detective... Well, she knew a lot more about Eri than she might say. And she would be a pretty good source, even if it required a few dollars to get some information out of her. He wanted to avoid that option, though, if only because any situation where money changed hands was always easy to remember...

[Nayt]

The mention of "pink hair" got the woman to stop everything she was doing. It was as if a heavy weight was suddenly thrust upon her shoulders, and breaking this man's balls would lighten the load. Such would not happen, though; Cyril was perfectly safe. He had the manager's full attention, though.

"Mai?" the woman asked, grumbling, "Yeah, I know her. She comes here a lot. Haven't seen her for a week, though. Why? What are you, another fan of hers or something?"

To say the least, she was annoyed; it was so prominent in her tone of voice that suspecting otherwise would have required one overly naive individual. She had this stern look on her face, like she was hoping that Cyril wasn't here as one of the pink haired lady's admirers, likely because this wasn't the first time she was asked about her.

With Cyril's job came a bit of tricky diplomacy. Sometimes, one misplaced word could reduce an entire fantastic lead to nothing, and result in a complete waste of time--and a waste of a resource, as potential leads that didn't come around the first time didn't often come around a second time, either. This was one of those situations. The manager at the "legit" establishment didn't have a soft spot for floozies, and if Stewart was right about Eri Tetsuken, there was a fair chance that one pink haired dame was a thorn in the side for one husky broad.