DJAtomika — Roleplayer Guild

Chris Hurk
Little Lupine

Another day. Another look into the past.

It'd been, what, three years?

Three years since Dagmar Hahn'd bit the bullet. 

No one knew who'd offed him. Andy found him dead, and that was that. After all, everyone knew he dealt with some dirty people. Death was gonna find him sooner or later. 

That fact bothered me. Hahn had been...a friend. Knew him. Enough. He was quiet, a little quirky but absolutely devious. Probably grudgingly tolerated by everyone in town. The fact that someone had him surrounded and gunned down was...disconcerting.

After Hahn died, the store had sat vacant for a while. Then someone else picked it up for a steal. Wasn't long before he found Hahn's mantle and wore it too. Louie Stockholm was his name. The new info broker in town. Connections everywhere. Word was that he'd found Hahn's stash of secrets and took to it like a fish to water. Hadn't stopped since. 

It was early evening when I approached the café. He was the only one inside, of course. Cleaning the bar counter. 

Everyone in Little Lupine knew Stockholm. Served the best coffee in Santa Somabra and had his fair share of secrets. Today I was here for a bit of both. 

"Louie."

"My man Christopher! Long time no see, pal! The usual?"

He greeted me with his usual grin while I sat at the counter. 

"You know me, Louie."

"Comin' right up!"

He began making a cuppa coffee as I draped my jacket on the chair. 

"So, Louie. Everyone says you're the new man in town when you need something found."

"Pff, don't know where you heard that from. All manner of sayings about me are greatly exaggerated!"

"You know what I mean. Plus you ain't got any customers now. We can talk, and you know me. I've got a lot to talk about."

Louie gave me a look as if to say "you got me there", finished the mug of coffee and walked around the counter. He flipped the sign on the café door to "Closed" and motioned for me to follow him. 

I did so. 

He took the mug and led me upstairs, past the "Employees Only" door that opened into his apartment. The loft was a lucky addition; he'd gotten it cheap because of the blood in its history. I was privy to its secrets. The whole place was decked out with information; papers, faxes, files and filing cabinets. Shelves full of ring folders and hard disks for his little antique laptop. Most of it part of Hahn's original collection, some of it new material previously unseen before Louie.

I took the mug of coffee from him as he sat in his office chair, swiveling around to look at me. 

"So, what does the implacable Chris Hurk want from me?"

"Specifics. I need you to look into an incident that happened a while ago. It's for your sake, trust me."

"Okay, shoot. I might have something."

I sat on a nearby stool.

"I need you to look into two things. The first is a hospital report from 2002. Would've been filed under Accident and Emergency or something like that. Teenager. Reportedly mauled by a rabid animal."

"Alright. Easy! Should be online, a quick tap into Santa Somabra General's database should do it."

He turned in his chair, flipped open his laptop and began typing. As he did, he glanced over his shoulder at me. 

"You said two. What's the other one?"

I gathered what I had. All or nothing.

"I need you to look into Dagmar Hahn's murder."

The frenzied typing stopped almost immediately. Louie turned back around as he cocked an eyebrow. 

"Seriously? The guy's been dead for three years, Chris. Least you could do is give it a break. No one knows who gave the order, no one will. You know that."

"This is different. I don't want to know who was at the top. I want to know who pulled the trigger."

"Well alright, but I don't see how this is gonna help you with your solo vendetta. You didn't even know the guy, why are you so interested to learn about him?"

"I knew him enough, and I've told you before: it's personal."

"Well fine then. Gimme a bit, this'll take a while."

I left him to his devices as I returned to the café downstairs. Sat in one of the big plush chairs and enjoyed my coffee.

Outside, it began to rain.

Eventually I settled on reading a magazine to pass the time. Other people passed by, staring into the café at the weird man who was having a drink inside a closed shop. I paid no mind. Was used to being treated like an animal in a cage.

I didn't know how much time had passed, or when I'd fallen asleep. But when I awoke it was dark out, still raining. The streetlights illuminated the sidewalk outside as I stood and stretched the kinks out. I heard footsteps above me and I looked up as Louie beckoned me upstairs.

"Perfect timing. Come up. I've got what you need."
-----

"This isn't much."

"But it's what you wanted, right?"

I had to agree. It was.

In his hand, he held a manilla envelope. Just from the look alone, it wasn't much. But I trusted Louie. I took it from him as he sat back down and sighed. 

"You wanna know what was harder? Finding out about that dumb kid. His records went poof after 2001, had to really dig before I found archived surgical reports in their databases. All you need is in there, along with the shit you wanted about Dagmar's killers."

"Thanks Louie. I owe you."

"You already owe me a lot. Now scram, Hurky boy. Café's closed."

I took the hint, gathered my stuff and left. It was only a few minutes after that I reached my apartment. The walk was cooling. Refreshing. 

But I had work to do. 

My living room wall was lined with pictures. Threaded with string and pins and marker. Like an old detective film. They were separated into two sections. One was for Hahn's case.

The other? Me.

The thing I'd struggled with most in my life. The reason why I lived in Little Lupine. My curse. 

I was only seventeen when life decided to throw me into the ugly pit. Threw a curveball so wide it took me out the field and into the gutter. Since then, I'd dedicated my time to finding out who did it. Werewolves were human ninety-nine percent of the month anyway. If it were anyone, I guess the best start would've been here.

But so far, I'd come up with jack squat. Maybe I'd been looking in the wrong places. Talking to the wrong people. Searching the wrong cesspits in this god damn city. Whatever. No one wanted to help me. Who liked werewolves in this city anyway?

I hoped what was in this envelope would change things around. Help me solve a friend's murder. Maybe settle my aching heart and body. Find out who cursed me. Make 'em pay.

I sat on my couch and opened it. I found several bits of paper. Lots of printed photographs. I spilled everything out on the coffee table and sorted through the mess. Separated everything into two piles. One for Hahn. One for me.

The incident that had cursed me was recorded on file, initially. My dad had rushed me to Santa Somabra General, from what he'd told me after I'd regained consciousness. A&E. The docs there fixed me right up. Records were made and kept, of course, but once I'd enlisted into the military, the records had been purged. No one wanted a soldier with a history of having a werewolf curse, it seemed. I didn't know who did the purging either. Saved me a lot of headache though. Now I had the surgery notes. Maybe some others. They wouldn't lead to the one who cursed me, but it was nice to have some closure.

I set the surgery records and ICU notes aside. Dad never told me how he'd broached the subject to the nurses and doctors. From what I'd heard, he'd told them something about a wild animal attack. I guess the smarter ones would've guessed by then. I had nothing else to go on, on my end.

So I moved on to Dag's stuff. The printouts here were from the SSPD database, initial records of the incident. After Andy'd found Dag dead in his apartment, he'd called the cops. Anonymous, of course. They'd processed the scene as normal. Witnesses, DNA, material evidence, the whole nine yards. What they'd come up with was nothing to laugh at. He'd been executed, almost. Gone on a roaring rampage first before someone'd filled him full of silver. Bloodied his whole room. From what was found, it was sudden. He'd gone bezerk immediately before he was shot. Eviscerated several men in the span of a blink. Then he was filled with enough silver to make a whole dinner cutlery set. Traces had  been done on the spent rounds, casings, whatever the SSPD techs could find. 

It all led to a man: George Chin. Hitman. Hailed out of Chinatown. Did the dirty work for many mob bosses for a pretty penny. His employer list was endless. Nyctari. Martovanni. Bloodbloom. Rats. An infinite list of independents, Somabra rich folks and the other bottom-dragging filth in this city. He was professional. Smart. Cunning. Everything he used could be traced somewhere, anywhere except him. Except...this time he'd slipped up. Used traceable bullets. Firearms too.

Maybe it was because he was paid to end a werewolf? Special precautions that had foregone his usual safeties?

Whatever it was, now he was on the run. Been missing ever since the case. Impossible to find.

Maybe.

If I wanted to find the Chin, I had to dig deep. Dive into the shitholes that little other people dared to venture into.

I found my phone and dialed a number. A few minutes later the man on the other end picked up.

"Yeah it's Andy."

"Andy? It's Hurk. I need your help."

I'm gonna make achange, for once in my life.
It's gonna feel realgood, gonna make adifference.
Gonna make itright.

As I turn up the collar on my favourite winter coat,
this wind is blowin' my mind.

I see the kids in the street, with not enough to eat.

Who am I?
To beblind?
Pretending not to see theirneeds?
A summer's disregard, a broken bottle top.
And one man's soul.

They follow each other on the wind, ya' know.
'Cause they got no place to go...

That's why I want you to know:
I'm starting with the Man in the Mirror.
I'm asking him to change his ways.

And no message could have been any clearer;
If you wanna make the world a better place,
take a look at yourself, and make that change.

I've been a victim of a selfishkind of love.

It's time that I realize:
That there are some with no home, not a nickel to loan.
Could it be really me?
Pretending that they're not alone?

A widow deeply scarred,
somebody's broken heart,
and a washed-out dream.

They follow the pattern of the wind, ya' see.
'Cause they got no place to be.

That's why I'm starting withme.

I'm starting withThe Man In The Mirror

I'm asking him to
change his ways.

And no message could have
been any clearer:

If you wanna make the world a better place,
Take a look at yourself and then
make that change.

-+-Amongst the Lonesome
The Tale of the Lone Wolf
-+-
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