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Time passed by but the sky never lightened, like the city itself was always stuck in some shitty noir film. I wondered what role I would play.
No doubt about it, I was the ex-detective who returns to work because the police are useless, if that even was a role.
Finding cadavers, gathering evidence and locking the murderous sons of bitches up. The moral ambiguity of committing crimes to solve them was never lost on me. I broke into apartments and businesses, stole private information, and hell, I even caused harm to others to get what I needed. It was all for the safety of the citizens though, I could only pray that God judged me based on my intent rather than my actions.
Maybe the city was corrupting me, or maybe this was just who I was all along. A ruthless detective, ready to do what it takes to solve these murders. They kept happening, I just needed to keep up, even if it means doing what I do. God knows the city wouldn't be safe without me.
A presence interrupted my thoughts as the bartender asked if I was ready for a drink. I probably looked like I needed one but I shook my head, a clear mind was a requirement if another murder was reported.
(﹙˓ ring ˒﹚)
My attention was now on the telephone booth, usually crowded with bums that prefered to sulk on the floor than grab an empty seat, was now empty, in fact the whole bar was empty, excluding myself and the staff of course. It wasn't for me, surely. I hadn't taken a job, one that caused me to run across the city to answer a goddamn phone, a call isn't something I'm expecting.
Despite that thought, I found myself at the booth, already picking up the phone and placing it at my ear. Silence. Not one of us spoke, the only sound filling the air being that of the phone's faint hum.
"I've made a real big mess over here," a man's voice carried through the speaker, breathing heavily yet his pride was evident, "come clean it up, okay?"
Disgusting. Who would say such a thing through a public telephone. With a scrunched up nose, I mustered out a polite reply in hopes he's just confused. "Sorry, sir, it seems you have the wrong number, this call is being received in a bar."
Silence stretched for what felt like a few minutes but was only a few seconds. Assuming the caller wasn't going to reply, I moved the phone away from my ear to put it back down but a loud amused laugh stopped me, I do hope his neighbours' ears are fine after that. Telephone in my hovering hand I decided whether to end the call or listen to what this seemingly crazed man had to say. Being a detective it was hard to not be curious as I held the phone against my ear once more.
"Oh, I know all about you, and I was hoping you'd pick up, you are the only person in the bar if my sources are correct," the voice purred, it was just loud enough that I could hear.
Could he be a stalker? I was often traveling throughout the city, it would have been tiring to keep up with me. The mention of sources though, depending on how many he had contact with, tracking me could be considered possible. I was rarely at my own apartment also, spending more time in those owned by victims and suspects. I should end this call now, no reason to bother with someone who's hopefully only trying to scare the call's reciever. Yet..
"Who are you," the inquiry left my mouth before I could think. Logically, no one will answer that, not when they're obviously a criminal. The detective part of me felt a strong need to know who this man is and if he's truly a danger or just more trash to clean up.
He only avoided the question. "Such a curious kitty, you know, curiosity killed the cat," it almost sounded like a tease if it wasn't for the mocking lilt of his tone and the implication of his words that I was yet to understand. "I'll pay you more than City Hall, 1500 crows."
That definitely wasn't more than I earned for solving a murder, not when including all the easy bonuses. "I'm not a prostitute," but that only got another amused laugh out of him. This assumed stalker was laughing at the fact I refused to "clean this up", it really shouldn't come as a surprise.
"Prostitute?" he repeated, as if the idea was ridiculous, "I'm talking about a dead body, baby."
Baby. Said it like I'm stupid. He gave me no reason to assume that's what he meant. My breathing wavered, if only slightly. If I had known, I would've ditched this dingey bar and would already be on my way. Where to? I'd have to figure out now. "A dead body?" I clarified, not addressing his request.
He groaned, sounding like a bored child. "Yes, a dead body, 203 Novák House," he laid out the information, obviously disinterested, "just clean it up, the cops will be here soon."
"Fuck that, I'll find—"
Click
The call had ended before I could finish. I almost stared at the phone too long, suspicious and confused, but I quickly put it back and exited the bar in a rush while trying my best to avoid citizens passing me. The city layout is familiar to me from how long I've had to run around the place.
Due to that, I easily found my way to Novák house. 203 did he say? I bolted up the stairs, eliciting groans from those I bumped into, but I paid no mind as I found myself on the second floor. Scanning the doors to locate 203, I was successful. The entrance was already slightly ajar, probably thanks to the caller for easy access.
The door creaking as I pushed it open, immediately getting hit with a pungent metallic odor and the nauseating stench of feces. No matter how much bodies I had encountered, the smell will never be something I could ignore easily. The door left abandoned as I entered the place properly, looking around for the corpse I was told about.
First, I headed to the kitchen as it was the closest room, only a few smashed glasses were seen and there was no body in the connected living room.
Next, the bathroom, nothing and barely a sign that someone uses it.
So last, the bedroom. From experience, the bedroom was the second most common place people ended up dying; first being the living room. Walking into the room the smell only got stronger. The cadaver was unmissable, a contorted pile of human flesh waiting to rot. Before I could inspect it the loud voices of cops speaking into their radios interrupted me. I wasted no time and hurriedly crawled under the bed to hide, a hiding spot proven effective in the past.
New murder reported: 203 Novák House.