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The Dame in Black (DudeMeister and Malicious Lullaby)

DudeMeister

DudeMeister

Star
Joined
Apr 29, 2013
It was another cold Chicago night, the howling of the wind outside of Deckard's window testament to the fury present in the city streets. In a small and slightly decrepit office, Roy poured himself another shot of rye. During these years of Prohibition it was difficult to come across decent booze other than moonshine, but Roy managed to swipe a bottle or two after working over a few greasers downtown. Although a bit of a boozer, Deckard was a more or less honest dick. After his tours in the war he served on the police force as a beat cop before he decided he had enough of pigs skimming off the top. Thus he went into business for himself, but after working one bum case after the other, he found himself taking in more and more of his poison of choice. A man of 28 years, he had short brown hair, green eyes, and a scar on his chin. His face was handsome in the rugged sort of way, his nose proof of him being in more than a few scraps. His service in the army left him with broad shoulders and wiry arms that were responsible for many rough blows. Removing an empty bottle from his desk he reached in his drawer for his second bottle, his less then sober fingers fumbling to scratch the seal of the cap.
Roy's office had been open for the better part of three years, but most of his cases were lousy tail jobs. Usually a jealous husband asking him to follow their trophy wives and come up with proof of their illicit affairs. It was rather dull and dirty work, but not without its benefits. There was a certain pride to handing a stiff pictures of his wife doing the deed with another stud, seeing the look on his face, and receiving a wad of cash for it. Still, the consulting detective business was competitive, thus work was often sporadic. Thus for the time being he busied himself with whiskey, waiting for his next meal ticket to walk through the door.
 
The wind blew harshly in her hair as she hurriedly walked the cold stoned steps of the sidewalk, trying to locate the building. Her eyes were wide and stark, her bright hazel orbs looking terrified as much as she was freezing. Her skin was pale and her sleek, long dark brown hair was in total disarray as he it flew behind her because of the howling wind. Each step she took felt painful because it was so cold, like there were microscopic particles of ice hitting her skin each time. She pushed through. She needed help. Her life was in danger.

Finding the right building, she hurried up the steps, her numb knees nearly giving out. Bringing her freezing cold hand up, she thudded hard on the door, banging on it. What she saw…who she saw…
Her heart was beating fast. Her insides felt like ice and her cheeks had been stained with tears that seemed to have frozen in the night’s cold air. She pulled tightly around her a tattered shawl that barely kept her warm and underneath she wore a stained and ripped black dress with a modest collared neckline. Underneath her dress she did have on panty hose but they were torn since she had barely escaped with her life.

Too often, she looked back over her shoulder, afraid that they were after her. When it felt like it had been too long since she knocked, she brought her hand up again and banged on the door. “Please! Open up! Please!” Her voice was trembling more than her entire body and she was very close to giving out. Her strength was weak and she was so cold, she felt like she was on the fast track to freezing solid.
 
Deckard successfully finished about half of his whiskey before he drunkenly dosed off with glass in hand. His booze-fueled dream returned him to a much darker time, to a place he'd rather forget. Roy felt the merciless downpour beat against his helmet, his sodden boots sinking deeper into the muck as he trudged through the trench. The stench of death burned his nostrils as the sound of mortar fire boomed in the distance. The frenzied German screaming preluded the charge of a Kraut, and moments later Roy pulled his knife out of him. There was a constant banging in the distance as shells exploded. It seemed to get louder and louder as he kept running through no-man's land...

"Shit!!!" was the first word that he uttered after the loud banging on the door roused him from slumber, nearly causing him to kick the bottle from the desk. He thankfully rescued the bottle of rye from it's imminent demise before his legs lifted him from his seat. He heard a woman's voice from the other side of the door and went to open it. The dame in question was quite the looker...certainly finer than the cheap nighthawk's that frequented this part of town. Her disheveled brunette locks spoke of her travels through this windy night, but from her breathing he guess that she frantically ran away from something.

"Wow, something's on your mind...come in" he said, leaving the door open and walking towards his desk. He procured a second glass and lifted his whiskey in a gesture to offer her a drink.

"It'll take the chill off"
 
The door finally opened, just as she was about to bang on the door once more and cry out for his help. A look of relief came onto her face and she nearly collapsed in the man’s arms. “Thank you. Oh thank you.” She was far too grateful. With one more glance over her shoulder, she quickly moved inside into the great and welcome warmth his place offered.

Sitting down in a chair, she shakily took the glass of rye and she drank it like it was water. Only after she swallowed half of the contents, when the burning in her throat commenced, she started coughing. She did not know it was rye and she almost shoved the glass back to him because of the rancid taste but then she felt warmth. From the alcohol? She took a tentative sip this time and it didn’t sting so bad. It still tasted rancid but it warmed her chilled bones. For that, she kept the glass to her, protective it like it was the bloody Eye of Shangri-La.

“Are you who they call Deckard?” She had a small lilt to her voice, a small accent that made her only slightly different. She was American but she was either a Chicago native or from somewhere deeper south. The lilt to her accent was difficult to determine. She tentatively sipped her drink again. “I need your help. I saw…” The images flashed back to the forefront of her mind, horrifying her. “What I saw…I need your help. I need your help. They’re after me.”
 
He poured her a full glass and thrust it before her. As he put the bottle away he saw her carelessly gulp the whiskey, his nonchalant expression momentarily giving way to a curious glance as she coughed up the alcohol. Not much of a drinker was she? She wizened up by the second sip, and by then Deckard retook his seat. The woman held what was left in the glass close to her, so at least she seemed to appreciate it's affect on her nerves.

His eyebrow curled a bit as she spoke, hearing the slight accent in her voice. Chicago seemed to be a little ways off for a southern belle, but he payed little attention to it.

"That's the name on the door isn't it? Call me Roy" he answered, like the smartass that he was. He heard her mutter on about what she saw, and how 'they' were after her. The 'what' and who 'they' were she hadn't said yet.

"How about we start off slow. Now, who are you?" he calmly queried as he got up from his seat to get a pack of cigarettes from his overcoat. He wore a revolver in a holster beneath his left arm. He pulled the carton out of the left pocket and lit it with a lighter before shutting it with an audible click. Roy took a long drag and studied her from the file cabinet. She certainly seemed shaken up about something, but he had the notion that something else was afoot. To be honest he couldn't believe his luck: pretty dames don't show up around here every day.
 
He wasn’t very nice. But then again, she heard he was a bit of a curt. Rude, sarcastic and a heavy drinker. Yet how he had some alcohol during this prohibition era, she had no idea, but neither was she going to complain because it was what was warming her up instantly and also calming her frayed nerves. She sipped her whiskey again and looked up at him, not really acknowledging the smartass comment about his name. That was just rude. But then again, he really must be Deckard because he lived up to his reputation.

She mumbled something to herself and looked down. Despite the fact her body was warming up, her hands still shook and her knees bounced slightly, a nervous habit. She pulled her shawl tighter over her shoulders and worried her lower lip like a horse trying to fray some carrots or something. Coming back to the present, she looked at him again and blinked her large, doe-like hazel eyes. “My name is Camilla.” She said softly. “Camilla Langley.”
 
Smoke slowly drifted from his nostrils as he saw her nervously fidgeting in her chair. Roy had to admit that her large hazel eyes were adorable...but that wasn't the issue at hand. He detected her discontent at his manners, not that he could do anything about it. You don't become a private dick to be nice. Slightly inebriated, his staggered steps brought him back to his chair, the tip of his cigarette glowing slightly as he took another drag.

"So tell me, what brings you here, and to me of all people? Not that I mind a paycheck, it's just that my name isn't exactly first in the phonebook" he noted. It was about 12th, but the other pugs were down and out ex-cops who hardly left their desks.
 
Paycheck. Oh...she had to pay him. But how? She didn't have money. She just needed someone's help. "I-I don't have money." She looked at him and then downed the rest of her glass. This meeting was probably over if she didn't have money. "I've heard of you. You're quite the detective. Your methods may be a little bit unorthodox but you get the job done. You're also not bought out by the richest men in the city so you actually do true and honest work." She said softly. The last bit of the whiskey gave her enough courage not to flunder or blunder her speech.

"I witnessed something." Even if she couldn't pay, maybe the predicament she had fallen into would perhaps appease him enough to want to help. Work for free. Though in these times, she doubted he would. The Great Depression left a massive effect of despair and pain for everyone in the country. Coming back from that was not easy. It hadn't been easy for her. She was in her predicament as a direct result because of the Depression. "I witnessed a murder. When they saw me, they tried to kill me but I managed to escape." Her hands started shaking again and she looked down at them finally, seeing dried blood on them. She wasn't sure if it was hers or if it was his. "I-I don't know--I don't know what will happen to me. I don't have anyone else to turn to. The police won't do anything. You're my only chance."
 
Roy's eyes did a slow roll as he heard her say that she had no money. Well that would do nothing for him. He had bills to pay. He wasn't about to work for free just because some southern tart blinked her eyes at him. Smoke rose from the ashtray as he smoldered his cigarette, pretty much blocking out all her compliments that no doubt were meant to goad him into working for free. Then he saw the blood on her hands. His eyes gaped wide and unbeknownst to him his mouth hung open momentarily. From what he could tell, she really did witness a murder, and her life really was in danger.

Roy walked closer to Camilla and sat at the edge of his desk, looking at the blood on her hands and the nervous shaking that wracked her. For the first time in this encounter, he actually seemed to show empathy.

"What happened?" he asked her
 
She was a single thread away from totally losing it, a single thread away from the breaking point. When he came closer to her, he seemed genuinely wanting to help now. Whatever smartass or insensitive feeling he had toward all of this was gone and she wondered what would have changed his entire outlook to it all. She didn’t say anything since she could barely form words again.

Camilla looked up at him and she bit her lower lip. Her eyes watered. He wanted to help her. He was going to do his hardest. That’s what it seemed like at least. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she began her tale.

“U-Um…I was coming home from a nice night out at the theater with my husband.” She no longer wore a ring. There was actually a lighter part of skin on her left ring finger where a ring seemingly used to be. “We cut through the alley because it’s shorter. We always cut through the alley. It’s relatively safe. Tonight, it wasn’t. Johnson De Luiz, that notorious mob boss came out of the shadows smoking a cigar. The men with him were tall, imposing and scary.” She felt a shiver run through her spine.

“He…” Her voice faltered. “He shot my husband because my husband owed him money, has owed him money for a very long time. I didn’t know. But he shot him right in the face. I screamed and I tried to run but his two men grabbed me and they dragged me into the alley. He told them that they could have their fun with me first before finishing me off.” She started shaking and tears trickled down her cheeks. She pulled on her shawl tighter and she sniffled. “U-Um…their guard was down while they…w-while they—you know…” She closed her eyes, feeling like she was reliving it all over again. She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “There was a some kind of crow bar or something on the ground above my head. I grabbed it and I knocked out one of them. The other…he got more aggressive because he was actually…w-well he was—“ He was actually inside of her when she attacked him. “—Um…I hit him and he recoiled. I hit him again and he recoiled to move away from me. And then I started screaming and crying while I hit him again and again until his head was just…was just…mush.” She dropped the empty glass in her hands and she covered her mouth to stifle more sobs. “I didn’t mean to kill him. But they were going to kill me. I ran as fast as I could and I came here. I remembered someone talking about you at a corporate dinner.” She covered her face and just seemed to sob.

For after the initial shock of it all, it sunk in and she was left in a complete mess. Her entire wardrobe and the way she looked suddenly all made sense. She kept looking back because she left one alive and surely he would find her. They would find her. She was supposed to be a dead woman. But she wasn’t. She was alive. They would find her.

“They’re going to find me. He’s going to find me. He’s going to kill me.”
 
Roy gradually went from buzzed to sober as her story unfolded. His disposition softened as he began to feel more empathetic. He couldn't imagine how traumatizing it must've been for her to see her husband killed right before her eyes, to have goons force themselves onto her...yet a few things had to be established before he could draw further conclusions about what happened, or about her. Why would a salary man need to borrow money from a hood like Johnson De Luiz, and to have to borrow such a hefty sum to get killed over it? What also didn't make sense was why he would walk out in the open with his wife if he understood who he was dealing with. Murderer, conman, money launderer...you name it, Luiz was a really sweetheart alright. Nobody in their right mind would deal with him and not expect to be cut down with a Thompson somewhere down the line. That being said, Roy decided to play along for now. Whoever this woman was, she might be the key to crippling Luiz' operations, if not bring him down altogether.

"I am sorry for what happened. As for what you did, it was self defense. Don't mourn the death of a hood. Now there is still more you have to tell me: who was your husband, where did he work, and why would he need to do business with Luiz?" he asked her, pulling up a seat to sit closer to her. It was part to seem more empathetic to her...and to study her further.

"If you want your husband's killers to be brought to justice, I suggest you'd keep it on the level with me" came his ultimatum
 
He seemed to understand her predicament and even show empathy but the closer he got, the more weary she became. He was a man. Men did awful things to women because they could. Camilla was very aware of his closer proximity, how he came closer. She didn’t let it deter her. He would not hurt her. He would help her. Swallowing uncomfortably, she tugged her shawl closer to her, like it could get any closer but it made her feel better since she felt very exposed nonetheless.

Camilla still felt remorse for the kill she made. She felt horrible for it because even if the man was bad and had been defiling her before she killed him, it was still a life. A life was a life. The universe didn’t know bad life versus good life. “My husband’s name was Roland Elbert, of Elbert Industries.” She said softly. “He owned his own company, he said he didn’t answer to a board but I know he always trusted the advice of his many investors, colleagues, who were like his friends.” She said softly. “As for why he needed business with Luiz, I don’t know. Luiz said that my husband owed him money. He warned him nicely several times and said this is what happens when someone does take his nice warnings. He made by example of shooting my husband. I don’t know anything else.” But then she also remembered. “My husband said something to Luiz before he shot him. Something about not having the money, why he didn’t have the money. Something…something about…” The look on her face was strained as she was trying to remember.

“Bankruptcy!”
 
Roy picked up on her body language. She was really frightened, even of him. Not that he blamed her. She did just escape with her life after all.

"Can you tell me how long you knew your husband, what business did he do, and for how long did he do it? I also need information on anyone he did business with" he asked. Roy kept firing questions at Camilla despite her current state. He still had a lot of questions to be answered before he could begin investigating. And there was also that matter of what to do with her. There was no way she'd be able to stay at her own home

"Do you know anyone you can stay with, someone you can trust? With Luiz's men after you, there is no way you can go to your own house." he added
 
It was like a question after a question and the rapidness of it all made her head almost swim. A shaky hand touched a lock of her hair to put it out of the way and she looked at him. She did her best to answer all of his questions but she didn’t know much. “I knew him for about nine months before we married. It would have been a year this summer.” She said softly and a lump formed in her throat once more. She lost the love of her life and in cold blank murder right in front of her. Maybe she shouldn’t have been alive right now.

“U-Um…” Her eyes watered again and she wiped them away, sniffling. “He told me that he did independent contracting. I don’t really know what that means. We never discussed much of what he did. He said I didn’t need to worry. He’d take care of me and it didn’t matter how.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I was so in love with him, I didn’t think to question that.” Like a typical woman in love.

“I don’t know anything else. He had a lot of friends. All of his clients and investors became good friends with him. I know I’ve met most of them but for the life of me, their names are escaping me. There’s so many of them and I could never remember their names properly.” Especially right now. “I don’t know where I can stay. I have no family. My only family was my husband. I’m not close with anyone here. No one really…well no really approved of our marriage. He’s a man born here and raised in Chicago and I come from a lowly family in Nashville.” Which explained her accent. She shrugged her shoulders again and sighed heavily. “They tolerated me for my husband’s sake. Now he’s gone and well…they’ve no reason to be so nice to me anymore. They think I’m trash.”
 
His questioning helped little, as she gave him little to work on. She didn't seem to know that much about the man she married, having known him for under a year. He wasn't quite sure if she was stupid, or loose. Either way he'd have to find out later. For now he had to think about what he was going to do with her. She couldn't go back to her home, and staying in his office seemed like a bad idea as well.

"Alright, that's enough for now. You can stay at my place. It isn't fancy, but it's the safest place to be right now." he said, getting up and going to the coat rack. He picked up his overcoat and placed his fedora on his head before opening the door to his office.

"You coming?" he asked her
 
He probably thought she was stupid or very easy for any man with money to get to her. He probably thought she had been a gold digger since she didn’t ask any questions about her husband’s income and what he did to earn it. She hadn’t cared. She wasn’t a gold digger but this man didn’t question her and she wasn’t about to give answers to things he didn’t ask about. It wasn’t his business. She needed his help and he seemed like he would give it.

Camilla was quite floored that he was going to take her to his place. She hadn’t expected that from him but she wasn’t going to fight him on it. She was grateful enough. Still too much in shock, she watched as he gathered his things to leave and only stood suddenly when he addressed her. “Y-Yes…” She walked to him and pulled her shawl tighter over her shoulders and chest to keep her warm in the stifling cold they were about to go back into. “I don’t know how to thank you. I am truly in your debt.” She just hoped his method of collecting said debt didn’t involve a gun shot to her face.
 
"Well don't thank me yet. I can't guarantee that I'll bring those responsible to justice, but I'll do my best to protect you. This investigation will take time, but I think I can make some headway" Roy said as reassuringly as he could, shutting the light behind Camilla as she brushed past him. As the two braved the merciless Chicago wind on the way to his apartment, Roy began to formulate a plan to carry out his investigation. Camilla fell in love with a businessman who ended up getting knocked off by Johnson de Luiz, apparently over an old debt. Until more could be established, whatever formulations Deckard came up with would be pure conjecture, but a hunch counted for something in this job. It could very well be that Roland Elbert was a legitimate businessman who fell on hard times after the crash of the stock market, and in desperate need to replenish his diminished finances borrowed money from a known crook, the only one who would give him money. Perhaps it was stinginess that prevented him from repaying his debt, or perhaps it was a lack of trust in the known gangster, but either way he was shot in the brainpan not two hours ago. It also occurred to Roy that Roland Elbert was merely an alias, and had more insidious dealings with Luiz before he met Camilla.

It was about a half an hour walk to his apartment, and he opened the door for Camilla to his one bedroom abode. At his stage of his career he didn't get payed much, so his accommodations were rather modest at best.

"Well here we are. Bathroom's over to the left and the bedroom's down that way if you need to lie down. I'm going out to turn over some leads. Don't open the door for anyone." he said before he left her alone to collect her thoughts, locking the door behind him
 
They walked into the blistering cold of that Chicago night and her battered shawl was pulled tighter over her frame, her arms crossing over her chest to keep it in place better. The walk felt like it went on for hours and she found herself constantly looking over her shoulder almost every five minutes just to make sure they weren’t being followed.

Growing up, her mother used to tell her she’d make a phenomenal actress. She took that to heart and while being in show business wasn’t her cup of tea, she found other means. She was indeed, a phenomenal actress. She thought it would have taken a lot more to convince this man but it was hardly much of anything.

While the story she gave him wasn’t entirely untrue, he would have problems finding many leads, or rather, many true leads. Everything was planted. Everything was fixed. That night, she hadn’t killed anyone. That night, she did witness someone’s murder but it was all an act to capture Roy Deckard. She hadn’t realized how easy it would be though. She almost wanted to squeal with delight. Luiz would reward her so well.

Once they got to his apartment, Camilla was thankfully welcomed into the warmth of the place and seemed to instantly thaw. Glancing to Roy, she nodded her thanks, once more showing her gratitude. “Thank you so much. Be safe out there.” She nodded her head and once he left, she waited a beat longer. She glanced to the door, walking toward it and made sure he was really gone, peeking out of the peephole to watch his retreating steps.

Sure of his departure, she walked back toward the small living area and sat down on the couch. She pulled the phone onto her lap and dialed the number given to her. She had been given strict instructions to phone the moment she was in this man’s apartment. Dialing the number, she put the phone to her ear and waited.

”Camilla Langley.” She said her name and immediately the phone was passed off.
“Talk to me.” The male voice came on the other line.
“I am in his apartment. He’s out checking on leads. Take him out now and give me my money.”
“Patience my dear Miss Langley. You’ll get your money.” His voice was gruff and he seemed to brush off her concerns easily. “You’ll have three weeks. In that time, gather all the information necessary and if you like, make him privy to you. Then we’ll strike. Understand?”
“I do.”
“Good. In a week, I want you in the alley where your mythical husband was murdered. There, you’ll find someone waiting for you at noon. No later, no earlier. He will give you a new number for you to contact me. Until then Miss Langley.” He hung up after that and she put the phone back onto the receiver.

With a heavy sigh, she placed the phone exactly where it was when she first touched it and she kicked her shoes off. After the night, she felt tired. No sane woman would go for a shower. No, playing back into the roll of a scared little widow, she laid down and her eyes closed. She was surprised how quickly she fell asleep. She must have been really tired after all.
 
Roy rejoined the bitter cold as he traveled to the one place he could begin his search. About a quarter of an hour later he stood before an opulent funeral home, it's black curtains drawn behind it's large windows. Entering the large establishment, he removed his fedora and followed the slow organ music that echoed through the halls. An elderly gentlemen was found at the aforementioned instrument, interrupting the acoustic ambience to view the visitor through thick spectacles.

"I came for the old lady's funeral" Roy said, picking up a black armband and pulling it over his sleeve.

The old man pulled a switch, opening the door beside the organ. The sound of jazz and swing music loudly poured into the room before Roy stepped through. This fine establishment was one of the many Speakeasies Chicago had to offer. It was not the best place for a former cop to find himself, but his investigation and to start somewhere. The man who he was going to meet owned a piece of the place. Hector was about as crooked a cop could get, extorting money from those who ran the place in exchange for his silence, but if Roy Elbert had a sorted past, anything that could turn up in police records could help him.

"How you doing Hector?" Roy asked, ordering a scotch from the corseted woman at the bar

"Eh, I'm getting by. You know how things are on a cop's salary in this town. What do you need?" Hector asked, finishing a shot before picking up a Cuban cigar from the ashtray.

"There is information on a man named Roland Elbert that I need. Usual fee?" he asked reaching into his coat for his wallet.

"Yeah, I'll see what I can turn up" Hector replied, accepting Roy's ten dollar bill before heading out of the place
 
The woman at the bar was not just any woman. She was an escapee who took refuge at this place because she was once so caught up in the illicit affairs and exploitations of Luiz and she got out scathed. The entire right side of her face had scars. Not burns or warts or ripples in her skin from something terrible, just scars, going up in a diagonal direction.

But aside from that, she was still a beautiful woman; sleek jet black hair that came down in a sort of tapered way down her back. Her eyes were so stern yet so alluring as she poured drinks. Part of her salvation here and not being thrown back into the waiting clutches of Luiz was that she had to dance. She danced from time to time but mostly she tended the bar.

Glancing up when she heard the name, Roland Elbert, she looked to the man she had given a scotch to as he spoke with Hector. She waited until Hector left before she walked over to the side that he was one and leaned against the bar. “Roland Elbert is an ominous name.” She said simply, saying the name all too familiarly. “If you’re wise, you’ll stop now before you end up dead.”
 
Roy barely felt the burn of the booze before the bartender stepped before him. His detective's eyes caught site of the unfortunate scars that marked the right side of her face, but she nevertheless was quite the looker. The way her raven hair framed her face would turn any man's head. He continued to drink in peace as he heard her advice. She seemed to mean well enough, however in a place like this, every woman was danger on legs. He drained his glass before placing it before her to request another.


"Now tell me darling, what would you happen to know about this Roland Elbert, and why should I stop now?" he asked her

"Would he have anything to do with that beauty mark?" he asked her, pointing to the right side of her face
 
She looked at him with a look in her that said 'If looks could kill,' as she washed a glass. She took a new glass and did this right in front of him. She hocked a loogie and let the wad of mucus laced spit drip into the glass. She poured him another scotch and slid the glass in front of him. "Gee, normally a man buys me a drink before he gets right into my private business." She put her hands on her slender hips that were accentuated from the corset. "Consider this one on me. I even added my special zing. You saw it, yes, it is the spit. Makes the scotch taste better." And she intended to stand right in front of him to make sure he drank it. That's what he got for pointing out her scar. But then again, what could she expect from a drunk?

"Roland Elbert wasn't the one who did this to me. In fact, Roland Elbert could not have done this to me because he does not exist." She said simply.
 
Roy couldn't help but be amused at her apparent fury, observing how she took the glass only to hock a loogie into it. He had to admit that she had spark. He took the drink anyway.

"This is liable to break a health code of some sort. But here's to you sweetheart" he said, downing the shot and placing the glass upon the bar. He heard her comment concerning Roland Elbert not existing.

"Interesting notion. What makes you so sure that he doesn't exist. How would you know so much?" he asked her
 
The grin on her face was so apparent. She definitely had some new respect for this alcoholic in particular. Once he finished his drink, she started to work on another for him, this time without the loogie since he definitely deserved it. Looking at him, she tilted her head. “What are you, some kind of P.I.?” She asked softly. “Why should I tell you anything more?”
 
Roy considered the possibility that Roland Elbert in fact did not exist, and that Camila's story was concocted in order to get to him. Luiz was known to have bribed a lot of law and bureaucrats. It was that corruption that prompted Roy to become a consulting detective in the first place. It was not a far stretch of the imagination that someone would try to get to him. He decided to bite. It was possible that this woman did in fact no nothing, but he elected to goad her more.

"Not necessarily hun." Roy said, taking the shot she offered and holding it up.

"But if you have nothing else to do, I'd like to hear what else you have to say...if there is anything left to tell" he added as he drank.
 
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