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The door had been shut closed, the satisfying click telling the suave crocodile that he finally had some time to himself. Vector stood before the bathroom mirror, cracking his stiff knuckles and rolling his broad shoulders.
Finally. Finally, some time to practice
Getting the chance to practice one’s detective voice didn’t come very often. Like, ever. There was always something going on at the agency. Like, ALWAYS. Just last week, Vector had attempted to sneak in a quick practice session, only for Espio to show up at the door. He was all embarrassed and awkward, needing to quickly grab the cream that moisturized his scales during shedding season. The normally cool, calm, and collected ninja was just an inelegant mess, we all know shedding season sucks. Vector gave in and let Espio grab what he needed. So much for a practice session.
And then there was the week before that. Charmy was desperately banging on the door like his poor little frantic life depended on it. He really, REALLY had to go. He buzzed through the door at mach speed the second Vector surrendered his so-called “studio.” Vector had barely even gotten through his opening monologue. Guess that teaches the kid a lesson in hogging the OJ during breakfast. Crocodiles love their OJ… Anyways.
And when the boys weren’t interrupting the boss with their personal emergencies, there were actual cases. Of course cases are welcome, how else is a guy gonna pay the rent? But, always cases. A stolen shipment here, a missing person there, the obligatory shady character causing trouble downtown. It’s like the moment Vector got some peace and quiet to practice his fancy-schmancy detective voice, someone would burst through the front door. Whether it be an urgent new lead, a request for a stakeout, or some sort of development that required the boss’ immediate attention.
Can’t a guy practice his craft in peace?
Today, however. Today was different. Espio and Charmy were out on their first duo case together. Tracking down some stolen jewelry at the big mall downtown. Easy stuff. Kid stuff, really. Vector had decided that they needed the experience of working without him always looking over their shoulders. It was good leadership, he told himself. Character building.
It was also, he had to admit, a stroke of pure genius.
This meant Vector had the agency to himself. Completely and totally uninterrupted.
The lean, mean, crocodile machine leaned forward, gripping the edges of the sink. He stared at his own reflection with intense focus. Time to get serious! Time to perfect the voice. The smooth, gravelly, world-weary voice that made dames swoon and perps sweat. He’d been working on it for weeks, maybe even months, but only in private. A strong and powerful leader had to maintain his image, after all.
Vector cleared his throat once, then again. Then he dropped his voice an octave
“The city never sleeps,” he rumbled at his cold reflection, narrowing his eyes. “And neither do I.”
“Huh! Not bad!” The croc nodded approvingly and pat himself on the back.
“Name’s Vector, Vector The Crocodile. Y’might’ve heard of me… Does the Chaotix Detective Agency ring a bell? Best agency in the entire city.” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Nah…too cocky. Gotta be humble, mysterious…”
He tried again, this time with noticeably more gravel. “They call me Detective Vector. I solve problems. The kind of problems the cops won’t touch. The kind that leave bodies in dark alleyways and questions floating in your mind.”
His eyes widened. “Woah. That was good!” He leaned a little closer into the mirror and winked at himself. “That was reaaaal good.”
Proud of himself, Vector straightened up, adjusting his prized gold chain. He could see it now… the opening scene of his black and white noir film. Rain-slicked streets. A melancholic saxophone playing somewhere in the distance. And a certain detective crocodile. He was standing in a doorway, cigarette smoke curling around him… Well, actually, no cigarette, he doesn’t smoke. A toothpick maybe? Yeah, a toothpick could work.
“It was a bleary Tuesday,” He drawled, gesturing with utmost drama. “Or, maybe it was a Wednesday. The days blur together when you’re in my line of work. All I knew is that trouble walked through my door. Trouble that was wearing a velvety red dress with a slit that crawled all the way up her legs.”
Vector paused, blinking at himself and blushing a little. Where did THAT come from?
But he had already begun, no going back now. His brain had latched onto the image. Some mysterious dame that had danger written all over her. Vector leaned against the sink, striking a casual pose.
“She said her name was Scarlett,” he continued, his voice dropping to a sultry rumble. “But dames like that always lie about their names. She had eyes like Chaos Emeralds and a smile that could kill any man who was unfortunate enough to cross her.”
He pushed himself off of the sink, turning to face an imaginary femme fatale standing in the bathroom doorway.
“I need your help, detective,” Vector preformed with a breathy falsetto before immediately switching back to his own noir voice. “That’s what they all say, sweetheart. What you need and what you want are two different things.”
He pointed at the empty air, squinting with such intensity only stage and screen could handle. “I could tell she was dangerous. The kind of danger that makes a man forget his own name. Fortunately for me, I’m Vector The Crocodile, and I don’t forget nothin’.”
Vector shifted himself closer to his imaginary client, lowering his voice to what he imagined was a seductive purr. “Listen, dollface. In this city, trust is a luxury most folks can’t afford. But you… you got somethin’ special about ya. Somethin’ that makes a guy wanna take chances.”
He held up a hand, as if he was brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Maybe we can help each other out. You give me the truth, and I’ll give you… protection.”
Vector stood there, then immediately cringed. “Okay, that was too much.” He shook his head, a chuckle bursting out of his chest. “What am I even doin’? Focus, Vector. Focus!”
But his mind was already wandering down another path. He gazed at his large reflection, his expression soon becoming serious.
“What is a detective, really?” He pondered, his voice taking on the heavy weight of philosophy. “Every day, I see the worst of what people can do to each other. Theft, betrayal, violence… And every day, I gotta ask myself…what’s the point? What’s it all for?”
Vector straightened up, pacing the small bathroom. “Crime and punishment. Good and evil. Light and darkness. These are the very forces that shape the world we live in, that define our very existence. But where do I fit in? Am I just the light thats pushin’ back the darkness? Or am I just… another shadow?”
He stopped, turning to face the mirror using every dramatic bone in his body. “Maybe justice ain’t about what’s right and what’s wrong. Maybe it’s about balance. The universe is always seekin’ equilibrium. For every crime that’s committed, there’s gotta be someone to set things right. And that someone… is me.”
Vector pointed at his reflection. “I am the balance. I am the scales of justice, I am-“
He paused, a frown adorning his snout. “Geez, that’s startin’ to get heavy. When did I become a philosopher?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Espio would eat this stuff up, kid loves all that deep thinkin’.”
Shaking off the weight of existentialism, Vector cracked his knuckles once more. Time to get practical. Time to work on interrogation techniques. A little Good Cop/Bad Cop, if you will.
He leaned forward aggressively, slamming his giant palms on the sink. “WHERE WERE YA THE NIGHT OF THE FIFTEENTH?” He barked at the mirror, his loud voice shaking the agency. “Don’t lie to me, punk! I can smell a lie from a mile away!”
Vector jabbed a finger at his reflection. “Heh. Y’think you’re smart, buddy? Y’think you can outsmart Detective Vector? I’ve been doin’ my job since before you were BORN!!”
He held his aggressive demeanor for just a moment, then he relaxed, nodding. “Yeah that’s good. A little Tough Cop. Gotta have that in the arsenal.” He cleared his throat, then shifted gears immediately.
“Hey, hey, hey!” His voice was suddenly gentle and understanding. He held up his hands with a kind gesture. “Look, buddy. I know you’re scared. I know y’think you’re in over your head. But, I’m here to help ya, okay? Just tell me the truth, and we can work this out together.”
His smile was warm. “I ain’t your enemy, I’m your friend. Friends look out for each other.”
Vector was quick to flip the aggression switch. “UNLESS YOU’RE LYIN’ TO ME! Then we got a PROBLEM!”
He cycled through different voices. From sympathetic to threatening. Confused to weary. The whole shebang. “I just wanna understand ya, pal.” Then sharper: “Start talkin’ or I’ll make ya talk!” Then bewildered: “I don’t get it, why would ya do somethin’ like that?” Then exhausted: “look, I’ve been at this for sixteen hours. Just give me somethin’ to work here, will ya?”
He was really getting into it, playing both interrogator and suspect, his voice bouncing between characters.
“I didn’t do nothin’!” He squealed with a high pitched voice.
“That’s what they ALL say!” He growled back at himself.
“You got no proof!”
“I gots plenty of proof, pal!”
“I want my lawyer!”
“Your lawyer can’t help ya now!”
Vector was so enthralled in his performance. He was fully committed to the bit. He was gesturing wildly, pointing accusingly at his own reflection, and even holding up his hands defensively. He was so absorbed in his acting that he almost didn’t hear the front door opening.
“And then I actually FOUND IT! The necklace was in the trash can! Can you believe it? Hehe!”
“It was a logical place to look, the thief clearly panicked.”
“Well I didn’t panic, I used my awesome detective instincts!”
Vector froze mid-gesture. His finger still pointed at the mirror. The boys were back. Vector glanced at the bathroom door, then back at his reflection. His cool, suave, noir detective expression had been replaced with something closer to Charmy being caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar when it wasn’t supposed to be.
Vector furrowed his brow and pointed at his reflection with a knowing smirk. “We’ll continue this later, partner.”
He then opened the bathroom door and stepped into the main office, his expression casual and composed, as if he’d just been washing his hands the entire time.
“So, boys,” his voice was back to normal. “How’d the case go?”
Charmy swirled around Vector’s head. “It was sooooo awesome! We totally solved it!”
“Great job!” Vector nodded proudly, crossing his arms. “I knew you boys could handle yourselves.”
Espio stood there with a flat expression, studying Vector. “Vector… were you… talking to yourself in there?”
“Whaaaat? Naaaaaah…. I was just, uh… practicing my vocal exercises! Yeah that’s it. Gotta keep the ol’ pipes in shape, y’know?” He cleared his throat to demonstrate. “Detective work requires clear communication… Uh, anyways. Tell me about the case, would ya? Every last detail!”
As the boys launched into the story of today’s adventure, Vector settled into his chair, nodding along. The cool and suave detective voice could wait for now. Right now, Vector had a different role to play, a role he could never get tired of- the proud leader always willing to listen to stories of his team’s success.
But later, when the boys were asleep, perhaps he’d sneak back into the bathroom. After all, a good detective never stops honing in on his craft.
Even if that craft involved talking to himself in a mirror for forty-five minutes.
We all know that the city never sleeps.
And neither does Vector The Crocodile.