Byrd Man

DC Universe: Gods Among Us (Always Open)

<Snipped quote by GreenGrenade>

Byrd, I know we don't know each other well if at all, but if you'd do me the dubious honor of at some point having Detective Chimp team up with Batman to solve mysteries, it'd make my day.

@Dblade26

Sounds like a plan to me.

DC Universe: Gods Among Us (Always Open)

Name:
Bobo T. Chimpanzee

Alias:
Detective Chimp

Origin:

TL;DR, "Homeboy is a talking chimp."

Originally a chimp from equatorial Africa, Detective Chimp was taken from his home by circus owner Fredrick Thorpe, who named him Bobo. Thrope taught Bobo sign language and a routine of rudimentary answers to pre-determined questions. Labeled "Bob the Detective Chimp," the act was a hit across the country. During a road trip through Florida, the circus convoy was involved in a freeway pileup that overturned cars and set animals free. Bobo was among those that fled into the woods in the confusion. After weeks in the wilderness, the chimp discovered a strange pool near the everglades. This pool was revealed to be the long sought after Fountain of Youth. Bobo drank from it and discovered its side effects immediately. His intelligence skyrocketed to genius human levels. With his new intellect, he found his way back to civilization and Thrope's circus. It was soon discovered that Bobo could, in fact, speak and no longer needed sign language.

Bobo's new abilities led to a boom in the act with people everywhere flocking to see the genius chimp. In San Francisco, Bobo found his calling. During a routine show, Bobo was able to deduce that an audience member had murdered his wife. The sensation of the story led to more headlines for Bobo and his eventual falling out with Thorpe. He left the circus and, after drifting through the country, became the world's first chimp private eye.

Attributes:
DC has the physical characteristics of a normal chimpanzee. Intelligence wise, he is one of the world's greatest detectives with a genius-level intellect and mastery of over a dozen languages.

Stomping Grounds:

Opal City

A mid-sized metropolis in Pennsylvania, Opal City is a very blue collar town that Detective Chimp uses as his base of operations. As part of the Rust Belt, Opal is dealing with a lack of industrial jobs as more and more manufacturing goes abroad. High unemployment and suburban flight has led to urban decay throughout the city. On top of that, an apathetic police force has given way to more corruption and disconnect from the people they have sworn to protect.

People of Note:

Effie Peters - Detective Chimp's secretary/Girl Friday

Effie assists Bobo through his cases during the day while she attends law school at night

Jake Lonnegan - A short-con grifter operating in Opal City

Jake is a long-time pro in the Opal City area and acts as an informant and occasional helper for Bobo when the job calls for it.

Sgt. Florence Marlowe - Squad Seargant, Opal City PD

Sgt. Marlowe is a squad supervisor in OCPD's Major Crimes Squad and works/competes with Bobo on cases.

Character Goals:

I just want to do hoodrat stuff with my friends. I'd also like to be a talking chimp detective.

Sample Post:

Opal City, PA
5:21 AM

A grouping of three police cars made a semi-circle around the dead-end alley. Their lights flashed, bouncing off the brick walls of the alley and creating a strobing aura of red and blue lights in the predawn morning. Two cops drank lukewarm coffee out of paper cups while a third stood nearby a tarp covered body.

A pink sedan pulled up beside the cop cars and came to a stop, the brakes squealing. A young, dark-haired woman in a pants suit got out of the driver side. The two cops behind the crime scene tape perked up... until they saw the car's passenger get out.

"They sent you, huh?" one of the cops said with an arched eyebrow.

Walking towards the two police officers was a chimp dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, wearing a plaid coat and a deerstalker cap. A cigarette dangled from his lips. The chimp smiled at the cops and exhaled smoke into the air.

"Yes," said Bobo, the world's first and only chimp detective. "I guess your bosses don't trust your homicide boys.

"Who's the girl?" one of the cops asked, nodding towards the girl.

"This is my friend and associate, Ms. Peters."

"Friend? Since when do you have friends?" the other cop asked. "Oh, my god... is this your idea of a date?"

"What? No," stammered Effie Peters. "You think we're....no...I mean," she quickly looked down at Bobo and turned a shade of red. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Bobo shook his head and walked past the two cops. He flicked his cigarette across the alley before crossing into the crime scene. He easily walking under the yellow crime scene tape without needing to duck and reached into his jacket for a pair of white latex gloves. They snapped on with a pop and Bobo approached the body. The third cop gave him a nod and backed up while the chimp went to work. Effie stood by, notebook in hand, while Bobo pulled back the tarp to reveal the dead body.

The victim in question was a man, late middle-age and clothed in a white shirt and gray trousers. Bobo leaned forward and took the corpse's face into his hands. He leaned forward and looked closely at the body's red cheeks and nose. He took a small mental snapshot of the bruises around the neck, deep purple verging on black and all the way around the neck, before moving down to the shirt.

Pinned to the shirt was a white piece of paper with a single number typed on to it.

4

Bobo took note of the gut and looked at the belt and pants. The pants appeared to be in good shape, a spot of fresh mud on the right kneecap. He dabbed a finger in the mud and rubbed it between his latex-covered fingers. Rolling up the pants leg, he examined the veins of victim's legs before going up to the hands and the man's scarred knuckles.

Bobo stood and looked at Effie as the two cops strolled over to see what was going on.

"Are you ready to take notes, Effie?"

"Go for it."

"The victim is approximately fifty-five years old, the cut of his clothing indicates he's wearing a uniform from work. He has varicose veins, which means he did a lot of standing. He's more than likely currently employed as a security guard, but he's only been doing it a few years. No security guard has scarred knuckles like that. His age, coupled with the bloated and red face implies he's a heavy drinker. Only one job I can think of where one can be a functioning alcoholic and still be paid."

"Detective Chimp?" Effie asked with a smirk.

"Police. Our man was a former cop. The cause of death is strangulation. Someone at least 6'4 had to get behind with him with a cord to make those exact marks. The mud on his pants isn't consistent with what you find around here. The mud looks more like the mud you find out by the Three Rivers area. He probably worked for a business in that area."

"What about the note?" one of the cops asked.

"...Seriously? I have to explain that to you? My God, Jones....I would think OCPD would make sure all their officers had a functioning brain."

"On with it," one of them said curtly.

"Well...let me say this much...the sooner you find out who and this man worked with as a cop, the sooner you can find the next victims."

"The next victims?"

"Yes, the note is a warning. The countdown has started. Three more murders will follow if we don't hurry up. This is the first sign, the sign of the four."

DC Universe: Gods Among Us (Always Open)

Name:
Bobo T. Chimpanzee

Alias:
Detective Chimp

Origin:

TL;DR, "Homeboy is a talking chimp."

Originally a chimp from equatorial Africa, Detective Chimp was taken from his home by circus owner Fredrick Thorpe, who named him Bobo. Thrope taught Bobo sign language and a routine of rudimentary answers to pre-determined questions. Labeled "Bob the Detective Chimp," the act was a hit across the country. During a road trip through Florida, the circus convoy was involved in a freeway pileup that overturned cars and set animals free. Bobo was among those that fled into the woods in the confusion. After weeks in the wilderness, the chimp discovered a strange pool near the everglades. This pool was revealed to be the long sought after Fountain of Youth. Bobo drank from it and discovered its side effects immediately. His intelligence skyrocketed to genius human levels. With his new intellect, he found his way back to civilization and Thrope's circus. It was soon discovered that Bobo could, in fact, speak and no longer needed sign language.

Bobo's new abilities led to a boom in the act with people everywhere flocking to see the genius chimp. In San Francisco, Bobo found his calling. During a routine show, Bobo was able to deduce that an audience member had murdered his wife. The sensation of the story led to more headlines for Bobo and his eventual falling out with Thorpe. He left the circus and, after drifting through the country, became the world's first chimp private eye.

Attributes:
DC has the physical characteristics of a normal chimpanzee. Intelligence wise, he is one of the world's greatest detectives with a genius-level intellect and mastery of over a dozen languages.

Stomping Grounds:

Opal City

A mid-sized metropolis in Pennsylvania, Opal City is a very blue collar town that Detective Chimp uses as his base of operations. As part of the Rust Belt, Opal is dealing with a lack of industrial jobs as more and more manufacturing goes abroad. High unemployment and suburban flight has led to urban decay throughout the city. On top of that, an apathetic police force has given way to more corruption and disconnect from the people they have sworn to protect.

People of Note:

Effie Peters - Detective Chimp's secretary/Girl Friday

Effie assists Bobo through his cases during the day while she attends law school at night

Jake Lonnegan - A short-con grifter operating in Opal City

Jake is a long-time pro in the Opal City area and acts as an informant and occasional helper for Bobo when the job calls for it.

Sgt. Florence Marlowe - Squad Seargant, Opal City PD

Sgt. Marlowe is a squad supervisor in OCPD's Major Crimes Squad and works/competes with Bobo on cases.

Character Goals:

I just want to do hoodrat stuff with my friends. I'd also like to be a talking chimp detective.

Sample Post:

Opal City, PA
5:21 AM

A grouping of three police cars made a semi-circle around the dead-end alley. Their lights flashed, bouncing off the brick walls of the alley and creating a strobing aura of red and blue lights in the predawn morning. Two cops drank lukewarm coffee out of paper cups while a third stood nearby a tarp covered body.

A pink sedan pulled up beside the cop cars and came to a stop, the brakes squealing. A young, dark-haired woman in a pants suit got out of the driver side. The two cops behind the crime scene tape perked up... until they saw the car's passenger get out.

"They sent you, huh?" one of the cops said with an arched eyebrow.

Walking towards the two police officers was a chimp dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, wearing a plaid coat and a deerstalker cap. A cigarette dangled from his lips. The chimp smiled at the cops and exhaled smoke into the air.

"Yes," said Bobo, the world's first and only chimp detective. "I guess your bosses don't trust your homicide boys.

"Who's the girl?" one of the cops asked, nodding towards the girl.

"This is my friend and associate, Ms. Peters."

"Friend? Since when do you have friends?" the other cop asked. "Oh, my god... is this your idea of a date?"

"What? No," stammered Effie Peters. "You think we're....no...I mean," she quickly looked down at Bobo and turned a shade of red. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Bobo shook his head and walked past the two cops. He flicked his cigarette across the alley before crossing into the crime scene. He easily walking under the yellow crime scene tape without needing to duck and reached into his jacket for a pair of white latex gloves. They snapped on with a pop and Bobo approached the body. The third cop gave him a nod and backed up while the chimp went to work. Effie stood by, notebook in hand, while Bobo pulled back the tarp to reveal the dead body.

The victim in question was a man, late middle-age and clothed in a white shirt and gray trousers. Bobo leaned forward and took the corpse's face into his hands. He leaned forward and looked closely at the body's red cheeks and nose. He took a small mental snapshot of the bruises around the neck, deep purple verging on black and all the way around the neck, before moving down to the shirt.

Pinned to the shirt was a white piece of paper with a single number typed on to it.

4

Bobo took note of the gut and looked at the belt and pants. The pants appeared to be in good shape, a spot of fresh mud on the right kneecap. He dabbed a finger in the mud and rubbed it between his latex-covered fingers. Rolling up the pants leg, he examined the veins of victim's legs before going up to the hands and the man's scarred knuckles.

Bobo stood and looked at Effie as the two cops strolled over to see what was going on.

"Are you ready to take notes, Effie?"

"Go for it."

"The victim is approximately fifty-five years old, the cut of his clothing indicates he's wearing a uniform from work. He has varicose veins, which means he did a lot of standing. He's more than likely currently employed as a security guard, but he's only been doing it a few years. No security guard has scarred knuckles like that. His age, coupled with the bloated and red face implies he's a heavy drinker. Only one job I can think of where one can be a functioning alcoholic and still be paid."

"Detective Chimp?" Effie asked with a smirk.

"Police. Our man was a former cop. The cause of death is strangulation. Someone at least 6'4 had to get behind with him with a cord to make those exact marks. The mud on his pants isn't consistent with what you find around here. The mud looks more like the mud you find out by the Three Rivers area. He probably worked for a business in that area."

"What about the note?" one of the cops asked.

"...Seriously? I have to explain that to you? My God, Jones....I would think OCPD would make sure all their officers had a functioning brain."

"On with it," one of them said curtly.

"Well...let me say this much...the sooner you find out who and this man worked with as a cop, the sooner you can find the next victims."

"The next victims?"

"Yes, the note is a warning. The countdown has started. Three more murders will follow if we don't hurry up. This is the first sign, the sign of the four."

Fatal Souls

Got my first post written up and ready whenever we turn this mother out.

Fatal Souls

Here's my CS. Not too much, but it's me. Some mention of cities in certain areas, but nothing else should step on anybody's toes.

CS

Character Name

Jock Sturgeon

Age
32

Appearance

Jock is thin and of average height. His dark hair is cut close-cropped. He has a fair complexion and his face is thin with a set of brown eyes deeply set into his face. He has a crooked nose that became crooked due to a break and poor resetting of the bone. He goes clean shaven almost always. The short hair and hairless face leaves it possible to add false facial hair and wigs for disguise purposes.

Personality

Simply put Jock is a hustler. He'll do anything he can to make money. He has the likable and easygoing personality a conman needs in order to survive. Depending on the situation Jock can be very cocky and overbearing. As much as conning is a means of earning money for Jock, it's also a psychological aspect. The years of neglect from his mother left a chip on his shoulder. He just doesn't want to take money from you, he wants to prove that he is the smarter than you. The need to prove his intelligence has led to many cons blowing up prematurely, the mark becoming suspicious due to Jock's attitude. He avoids violence as much as possible, preferring to solve problems with his mind and not his fists.

Talents

Jock is a practiced thief with a variety of physical skills that include sleight of hand, pick pocketing, lock picking, and some acrobatic ability. More impressive are his confidence man abilities. Charismatic and likable, Jock is also practiced in acting, rhetoric, and disguise.

Friends & Rivals

Vesta Sturgeon - Jock's mother. Vesta works for many underworld figures across the world. She only occasionally shows up into Jock's life at the most inconvenient of times.

Tiberius Munroe - Local crime lord Jock pays tribute to in order to operate in his part of Bayyard. Munroe also acts as Jock's fence, paying for any stolen goods he may have to sell.

Commander Normand - A high-ranking member of the Bayyard watch who also demands tribute from any thieves, bandits, or cutthroats operating in his sector. His authoritarian nature rubs many members of Bayyard underworld, Jock among them, the wrong way.

Wallis - An old conman and thief that mentored Jock when he was younger. Wallis still travels across the world, pulling jobs when and where he can get them.

Gingy - Owner and operator of Gingy's, a pub that Jock lives above. Gingy is Jock's landlord and friend.

Monjoni - A fellow thief, Monjoni is leader of a four-man crew that performs burglaries and robberies all over the city. Jock has a tendency to run afoul with Monjoni and his boys anytime their paths cross.

Background

Jock Sturgeon's early life was one of hardship. His mother, Vesta, gave birth to him when she was just thirteen years old. A farmer, Jock's father died a year later when he was kicked in the head by his plowhorse. Vesta soon abandoned Jock and gave him to her parents, running off to Léonez. In Léonez, she fell in with seedy types, men who did bad things for lots of money. She grudgingly came back when Jock was three and her father threatened to abandon the boy as well. She took him to the city and half-raised him, seeing the boy as nothing more than a burden. Men came and went and Jock, as he got older, began to notice the things his mother and her friends did. He watched and quietly learned.

By the age of thirteen Jock and a group of boys from the neighborhood formed their own pickpocket gang. At fifteen he and another man ran a rigged street betting game. A year later Jock was steadily committing burglaries through Léonez. He made the mistake of operating too frequently in too small of an area. Soon the city watch was on to him and he had to flee town, sent halfway across Orlandis to hideout with friends of his Vesta. In exile, Jock's education began properly. He learned from seasoned thieves and grifters about the skill of the con, both short and long. Jock soon began to put the lessons to use.

For ten yearsm Jock operated around Orlandis as a confidence man and burglar. He ran long cons, short cons, heists, scams, and grifts. He pulled every sort of job from the One-Armed Priest to the Steward of Skavia to the Brothers Corletonsia. More often than not the jobs were successful, but Jock had to occasionally pull out of the cons, just one step ahead of the authorities. A decade of running and scamming made him weary of traveling and grifting. Jock soon settled in Bayyard, a large city situated on the coast in Veronia. A month of working on the docks soon took their toll and Jock was back in the game, running a variety of short-term cons through the city and kingdom, learning from the mistakes of his youth to grift smart and to grift quietly.

Other Information

Nothing much to add, really. I love crime stories and I just want to experiment with genres, telling those stories in a setting where they don't always show up. This is just someone who operates on a very small scale compared to the houses, but there ae plenty of chances for him to cross paths with someone if the opportunity rises. I always love the idea of the common man on the street, trying to do his job while bigger things happen behind the scenes. Let the nobles have their intrigue and scandal, Jock just wants to make some coin.

Fatal Souls

Do we post sheets here in the OOC beforehand?

Fatal Souls II | Game of Thrones-inspired RP

Something like that.

Fatal Souls II | Game of Thrones-inspired RP

Alright so far we have the following interests:

Caelia (House Caine)
Erayis (House Gahnt) @Leidenschaft, @DeadBeatWalking
Euritia (House Thralon)
Gradiar (House Tahren) @RyanTadashi
Perhyr @Gowi
Reinoa (House Crowe) @Lone Wanderer
Skavia (House Hafrek) @Vandy
Stormtir (House Marlowe) @ResidentialNarcissist
Terijas (House Thralon)
Voltaani (House Antar)@babbysama, @Rare

TBD @Vahir, @Byrd Man, @cider

@Gowi

If I pick someone, it'll most likely be a houseless character.

Fatal Souls II | Game of Thrones-inspired RP

Interested. I have an idea I'd like to run with.

Maximum Comics – Insurrection \ CLOSED

Part III
Bruce Vain

"Everyone uses everyone. Way of the world, isn’t it?"
-- Greg Rucka

Gotham East End

Slam swung by his pad on the way to Doheny's. He sat in a chair, slugged gin straight from the bottle, and worked angles.

FEATURE: Bianca Doheny, scion of the oil-rich Doheny Family, was missing. Old Man Doheny paid Slam to find her. Slam scoped out her flop house and got some of the skinny. Bianca does blow, Bianca shoots horse, Bianca turns tricks on the streets of Gotham. Bianca has a trust-fund. Slam inferred: The hooking is pure thrill seeking. A middle finger in the face of the old man. The plot thickened an hour ago when a ransom note showed up at the Doheny house. Slam was en route.

He got his .38 snub out of a locked drawer. If the kidnapping was legit, things might get rough and he'd need the piece. Slam slipped it into a shoulder rig and slipped the rig on under his coat. He pocketed the gin after a few more slugs from the bottle. The hooch hit his throat and sent buzzes through his brain. Booze clicks clicked his brain into working order. Something gnawed at him. The gin amplified the gnawing. Bianca Doheny's mom, the old man's daughter, was out of the picture. Slam asked the old man for the dope.

Doheny: "She ran away some years ago and never came back."

The answer didn't jake with Slam. His response was too quick and dismissive. Slam pressed for more details and got the short shrift. Doheny said, "Do your job and find this one." Slam left it at that but didn't have to like it. A few more plugs of hooch to work up the nerve before he flopped on the couch and called up the number he wanted.

"City Desk, Agee."

Arthur Agee, city news editor for the Gotham Gazette. A lifetime ago, Agee was on the cop beat hungry for copy and Slam was a young Homicide detective looking for press. A match made in heaven that came to an abrupt end when Slam got the boot from the GCPD.

"Artie, it's Slam Bradley."

"Slam?! Boychick, long time no speak. How the hell are ya?"

Artie was all mick but still liked talking like a jew. He could spit Yiddish like the old world jew in Bennett Beach.

"I'm fine, Artie. Making ends meet."

"I heard you were a private dick now. Meet any sexy femme fatales yet?"

Slam thought about the crack whore from last week. She had only three teeth and could trip on her tits if she walked too fast.

"Oh, yeah. The sexiest."

"You'll have to tell me about it."

Slam tipped the bottle back again. Somehow it had gone from full to half empty faster than he thought it was supposed to.

"I will," he said. "But for now I need some help on a job."

"Gimme the spiel, Slammy. What do you need."

"James Doheny, you know him?"

"Yeah, rich oil guy back when Gotham still had oil. Owns all those creaky oil derricks south of town."

"I want you to comb through your paper's archives and see what you can dig up on him and his family, especially his daughter."

"Interesting. Anything you can tell me about this job?"

"Just that if it ends up being story-worthy you'll be the first one I call."

"Promises, promises, Slammy. I'll hold you to that. What number can I reach you at?"

"I'm on my cell, let me give you the number."

Slam gave Artie his phone number and hung up. He sucked the gin until a quarter of it was left in the bottle. Properly buzzed, he headed out to James Doheny's house.

****

Dutch Hill

Slam walked into Doheny's house. The two heavies from before stood in the hallway, all big muscles and hard stares. They eyeballed him with attitude. He winked and passed on by into the study. Doheny sat in a chair facing the door, his pasty face coronary red. The old man shook a piece of paper at Slam and flew spittle as he talked.

"Where the hell have you been?!"

"I had to pick up some things from my apartment."

"You goddamn drunk goldbrick, you better not be conning me."

"You keep talking like that I'm apt to leave and let you deal with this on your own."

Doheny scowled and passed Slam the paper. A ransom note straight out of a movie. Cut out letters pasted to form sentences:

We HavE the giRL. 4 MILLion doLLars 2 see hER ALIVE again
oUr pHone CAll wITh instRucTIons will BE sOOn
NO COPS!

Slam passed it back before lighting up a smoke. Doheny scowled again and waved smoke from his face. Slam took the hint, stubbed the cigarette out and asked Doheny questions.

"How did it arrive?"

"One of my men found it at the front door. The doorbell rang and he did not see anyone nearby when he answered it. He brought it in and I called you after I read it."

"That was an hour ago?"

"Yes."

Slam reread the message and brooded. A real cop would dust the message for prints. A hunch gnawed at him worse than the mom angle. The hunch: Bianca Doheny's fingerprints would be all over that ransom note.

"Mr. Doheny, sir."

One of the gorillas sauntered in with a cordless telephone.

"It sounds like them."

Doheny snapped for the phone. Slam skittered out the room and down the hall. A second phone sat on the wall. He slowly picked it up and listened in.

Dohney: "Hello? This is James Doheny, who am I speaking to."

THEM: "Peter. Peter Cottontail. Hopping down the bunny trail--"

The voice sounded hard. Too hard, thought Slam. Like the note, it was a Hollywood production of what a kidnapper would sound like. Peter Cottontail put on his best Jimmy Cagney and fronted for the old man.

"Do you have my granddaughter?"

"Sure do, old man. It's up to you if you ever see her alive again. You got our note, can you swing the ransom money?"

"It will be a chore, but I can do that."

"Good. We'll do the handoff tomorrow night at nine. The place is gonna be the north shore, near the ferris wheel. Got it?"

"I'll be there if you can give me proof of life."

"Hold on a sec..."

"Poppa?!"

Bianca Doheny's voice sounded more like out of breath than genuinely scared to Slam. The old man ate it up.

"Bibi, baby! Don't worry. Everything is going--"

"Tomorrow night at nine, geezer. Remember no coppers. We get a hint of flatfoots and we'll kill her."

The line went dead. Doheny hung up. Slam read the caller ID. BLOCKED. He shrugged and went back into the study.

"Can you get the money by tomorrow night?" Slam asked.

"I can have it by tonight if necessary."

"Good. Get the money ready. I'm going to spend tonight chasing leads and I'll be back first thing in the morning."

Doheny protested, but Slam was out the door before the old man or his goons could get a paw on him.

He drove six blocks straight before stopping in a parking lot and pulling his phone out. He lit up a cig and inhaled it deeply. Slam blew smoke and plotted steps. He pulled a battered notepad from his jacket and flipped through the pages of personal information and access codes. Jim Gordon? No. he was too high profile to use. Harvey Bullock? No. Bullock would have changed his passcode by now, the paranoid bastard. Nevermind that Slam was about to justify his paranoia. Cris Allen? No. He was probably a captain by now with different badges. Charlie Fields? Yes. A hump who kept his passcode his kids' birthday, no way he'd change jobs or codes. Slam flicked his cigarette butt out the window and dialed Gotham Tel.

"Gotham Telecommunications Police Line, how may I help you?"

"I need to get the number and location of a phone line that just placed an incoming call in Dutch Hill. I also need a location on an unlisted phoneline."

"Yessir. I need your name, rank, badge number, and police access code."

"Sure," Slam said, flipping to Charlie Fields' page.

"Charles Fields, detective second class, badge number 01257, and my access code is 840221505."

"... Okay, Detective Fields. What was the first number."

Slam rattled off Doheny's phone number. A few quick keystrokes later and the operator had the phone traced to a downtown payphone. She gave Slam the address and he scribbled it down.

"And that second number, Detective?"

Slam filled through pages until he found it. The information he glommed from Bianca's flop. Vikki - Palisades Delight. Beneath it the phone number. He gave her the phone number and waited a few seconds. Another downtown address. The address just two blocks away from the pay phone. Slam thanked her and hung up. He killed the bottle of gin and looked at the note. Palisades Delight. The name sounded like an escort service. Vikki had to be a madam. The skin trade. When it came to whores and porn, there was only one man Slam knew who would be in the know.

Bruce Vain.

****

Gotham East End

He had black hair and clear blue eyes. Heavyset, somewhere between normal and fat. The extra weight threw off the resemblance, but otherwise he was a dead ringer for Bruce Wayne. To hear him tell it the extra weight all came from having to carry around that thing between his legs. He called it Wayne Tower, and according to him it was always open for business. He ran a gigolo service out of the East End. Old ladies, fat ladies, lonely ladies, the occasional man, and all kinds of freaks flocked to him. Who wouldn't pay a grand an hour to be reamed, steamed, and dry cleaned by the one and only Bruce Vain?

"I know Palisades Delight."

Slam watched him from across the diner table. Bruce was a good informant, the few ones he had left from his cop days. The only problem was Bruce charged Slam for information like he was a john. Slam supposed he was, just in a very different way than the usual clientele.

"Call-girls, high-end stuff. I'm talking a few grand per hour. I've worked with them before on... things."

"What things?"

Bruce got cagey and looked at his tuna melt. Slam scowled and forked over a C-note.

"Extortion," he said without making eye contact. "The rooms they used are set up with cameras. They blackmail businessmen and anyone else they can afford to squeeze. I was in on a few of the squeezes, lot of right-wing congressmen and councilmen who are in the closet. Let's see how much those bible thumping fucks will support them when they see the good congressman with his lips wrapped around Wayne Tower."

Hookers and extortion. Slam flashed back to his last days on the force. A dead call-girl consumed him and the burnout that was slowly building became a raging inferno. He got fired, he punched the Homicide CO, and curled up into a bottle he still called home.

"Thanks for the time, Bruce."

Slam stood up and passed him another C-note before heading out into the night. A little under twenty-four hours before the ransom. Slam cut odds on the whole kidnapping being bullshit. No bookie in the world would take the odds he made.

The truth, whatever it was, rested with the call girls and whoever Vivian was. And he was going to find out what that truth was.