Chapter Text
Denzel Cross was a simple man. All he wanted to do was solve mysteries, save people, stop criminals, have fun, and get good enough sleep. Oh and get something to eat. Which is why he was currently standing in line at the convenience store. Out of that entire list of things, it would seem that he'd be getting everything…everything except good enough sleep that was.
He supposed he should've seen that one coming. To do all the other things effectively anyway it would have to take some sacrifice and it turns out his sleep would have the thing on the table. So there the 6'0, twenty year old dark-skinned black man with dreads stood wearing a long black coat, gray form fitting shirt, and similar black cargo pants and shoes, swaying ever so slightly from the lack of sleep.
He rubbed his eyes as a yawn escaped his mouth waiting patiently in line before the next person had finally moved on towards the door. Before the man could walk up to the cash register, he was blocked as a man moved in front of him and began yelling.
"OPEN THE CASH REGISTER! DON'T PLAY ME LADY!" The man screamed as he held up a gun to the frightened store owner who hesitated in fear at the gun pointed at her. She fumbled hysterically to open the cash register as the man feverishly looked at the door to make sure no one was trying to play hero.
Denzel readjusted his black beanie in annoyance before tapping the man on the shoulder. Instantly, the man turned around and aimed the gun at him, faltering slightly as he got an idea of who he was, but that falter was replaced with bravado as he steadied his gun at the man.
Getting a better look at him, he looked about to what Denzel was expecting. A skinny and skittish man with shaggy blonde hair and an uneven stubble. Profoundly sweaty and eyes wide and manic. Likely suffering withdrawal symptoms.
Honestly, the smell tipped him off before his looks. Denzel raised an eyebrow as the man started laughing at the sight of the man.
"Y-You're that "Snoop" guy right?" The man questioned as Denzel let out a sigh at the mistake of his name.
"Sleuth, man." Denzel corrected.
"Whatever! You gotta have more money than this old bag! All of it! Now!" The man said as he aimed his gun as Denzel sighed.
He placed the two items he was going to purchase on a nearby shelf and began to fondle around in the pockets of his long coat and cargo pants. Flipping them out as he genuinely searched through them, coming up short.
He then pulled out his wallet and opened it up to find exactly seven dollars and twenty cents. Denzel held up the small amount of currency as he shrugged. "I'm not gonna lie, the way this is looking, I should be robbing you." He joked as the man didn't seem to share his sense of humor, groaning angrily at what he was hearing.
The man focused his gun on Denzel as he pressed the firearm directly against his forehead. Denzel looked at him incredulously as he raised a hand slightly. "Bro, please do not do this to yourself. I promise you, you won't live this down if the internet sees this."
"Let's see how lucky you really are." The man said as he cocked the hammer back and pulled his finger with all five pounds of pressure required to fire the gun. Then something amazing happened. Something incredible. Something outlandish. Something unbelievable. Something…lucky.
"CHK!"
The gun jammed. The half second the man halted was all that was needed as Denzel swiped the gun from his hand before bringing the full force of it right against his jaw with a precise backhand. The man grunted and fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes as Denzel pressed the magazine release before popping the final bullet out of the chamber.
The parts of the gun hit the ground as Denzel pulled out his phone and dialed 911 to report the incident. It took about twenty minutes for them to arrive, but soon enough the officers were there.
After some questioning, the men put the robber in handcuffs before exiting the convenience store. Denzel let out a breath as he picked up his bacon, egg, and cheese on a croissant and bottle of milk before walking up to the lady at the desk.
"I almost forgot, but you alright Susan?" Denzel asked as she nodded feverishly, eternally thankful for his actions. If he hadn't been here…she didn't even want to think about the alternative. Denzel paid for his food and was about to leave before she called out.
"Wait! You can have another one! On the house!" Susan said as Denzel turned back to look at her with a shocked smile.
"For real?" He asked as she nodded again. "I don't know-"
"Please! It's…the least I can do to pay you back." She said as Denzel decided to oblige her wish and took another one for the road. He gave her a nod and opened the door before raising his hand up as if to signify that he remembered something he forgot.
"Don't worry 'bout it, Susan. It's what I do." The man said as he walked out of the store into the bustling city of New York. Even at this time of night, it seemed like it never slowed down even for a second.
The man dined as he made his way across the city, being sure to say hi to multiple others, and dropping his remaining two dollars into the cup of a homeless man before stopping in front of his destination.
A two story building with exactly two functions. As shown by the board on the first floor: S.P.I. (Superhero Private Investigator). Some have questioned the morality of charging for his services, but he had two rebuttals.
One, he went out on patrols regularly and two, he's got bills. A drug addict with a gun is nothing in comparison to the IRS. The second function was his home which was what the second floor was for. It took a lot of favors and solo jobs in order to obtain this place, but it was worth it.
Denzel walked up to the front door, fumbling around in his cargo pants for the key before he remembered. Always in the coat. He stabbed the key into the keyhole before unlocking the building and stepping inside.
Lights were off which were expected. The cases he worked paid, but it wasn't like he was swimming in cash. Had to save money when and where he could. He walked to the fridge to dump his extra bacon, egg, cheese and milk. The door screamed open as the light in the fridge illuminated the room.
Inside the fridge, there seemed to be more parts of food rather than full meals inside. Denzel sighed as he shook his head at the sight.
"Tragic. Entire plays could be written about this." He joked to himself as he closed the fridge, surrounding himself in the dark once more before he checked the time. 5:00 in the morning. Three more hours before he had to officially open up. Three hours of sleep wasn't particularly ideal, but it'd do.
But as the thoughts of dreamland filled his mind, he soon realized that he was not alone. He turned on the lights to find himself in the room with a Vietnamese woman with dark hair sitting in a wheelchair. "Clearly I must not be like that because that was pretty good. But we're close-"
"My daughter is dead or at least that's what they tell me." She said bluntly as Denzel nodded. "I don't need to tell you who I am?" A question that seemed more like a confirmation than anything as Denzel took a seat at the front desk in front of her.
"If you did, they'd have to take away my plaque." The man said as he gestured to his wall where a golden colored plastic plaque laid by a child he rescued from a kidnapper.
But no, he didn't need her to tell him who she was. He liked to learn, he liked to read, and he liked to know things. And though he may not interact with the superhero community very much, he did like to stay informed.
Paula Crock formerly known as the villain Huntress. Wife of Lawrence Crock AKA Sportsmaster. Mother of Artemis and Jade Crock (Nguyen) AKA Artemis and Cheshire respectively. Supposedly, Artemis had been killed by Aqualad according to his sources. Supposedly.
Now he had to admit he was making good progress as a detective. 99 successful cases officially as the Sleuth with more potential cases he was cataloguing for the future, but he was albeit a bit confused as to why she decided to come to him. He had no doubt that she had connections even retired. So he made his confusion known. "Why me?"
"My daughter is not dead…and I went to her friends…they are not being truthful…at least some of them anyway. Artemis wa-is a hero…so I would like for a hero to solve this case. You are local and you are more likely to try even when others might see nothing. I'll pay any amount you need, but…I just need to know. I need proof. That my baby girl isn't gone. I'm desperate. You're convenient." She finished as Denzel nodded and walked around the desk before kneeing and placing his hands on her shoulders.
"You're also right. I'll find your daughter alive then we'll talk money." She looked into his eyes with a tired sadness swimming in them before she nodded and mouthed a whispery 'thank you'. The man nodded before getting up and walking into another room before eventually walking out in his business attire.
Draped upon his body was a gray and black costume with chest armor, a hooded built-in scarf combination, and a hefty utility belt strung around his waist connecting to a gun holster. The suit, unlike most costumes of the hero variety, was quite loose in order for mobility and flexibility.
His right shoulder pad had a symbol of a question mark underneath a magnifying glass. Adjourned on his face was a black blindfold with some of his dreads covering it. A bright, white perfect smile stretching onto his face as he stretched.
His long gray scarf flowed slightly as he looked down at her with a confident, comforting smile. "I'll find your daughter alive. Believe that."
And thus began the man's 100th official case: Casefile Entry: Lost Archer.