Apologies for the highlighting across most of this post, the computer is taking issue with this post for some reason.
-T Granger
“Ten past one,” the man called Solomon announced, clasping the
pocket watch closed again and returning it to his pocket, “A new day begins,
filled with new hopes and opportunities.”
“That’s great, Solomon,” said the man in black, “but our
office is still burning.”
It was still
raining. The skies above were nothing but clouds from which poured the torrents
of water that broke on the streets of the city below in a steady, rolling
thunder. Nevertheless, the building was
still on fire.
Blazing hot and
bright even in the rain, the flames burnt along every beam and board of the
house, scorching the brickwork black with smoke. The fire crew worked steadily
but slowly as they attempted to beat back the fire. Hoses jetted arcs of
colorless water into the midst of the flame, but so far there seemed to be no
effect.
A few of the trees along the street had caught fire and
looked ready to spread the fire further through the houses before the firemen
dealt out the axes. The trees now lay discarded in the street, swept aside to
make room for the fire engines, all ablaze with Authority lights.
Amidst it all, the two men watched from out in the street
under an umbrella as their apartment burned.
“Kind of makes you wish you had a marshmallow, doesn’t it?”
asked the man in black, one hand wedged into a clinging pocket, the other
gripping the handle of the large umbrella they sheltered under.
“I would guess that this might have something to do with our
investigations last night on the South Side” the man called Solomon said, running
a gloved finger along one horn absent-mindedly, “your thoughts, Jack?”
“Perhaps a bit of chocolate too,” the man in black mused,
“and a graham cracker or four.”
“A valid point,” continued Solomon scratching his chin with a
bony finger, “it’s not necessarily from the current culprit, could be from
another source. Unrelated arson perhaps, or even another criminal pattern,
possibilities abound.”
“And maybe even a handful of hotdogs to toast on the fire,
mmMm.”
“True, such motives can never be ruled out until all is
caught and handcuffed.”
“On the other hand, perhaps a few strips of bacon would be
nice also.”
“Do you really think, I can scarcely credit such a hunch.”
“Yes, some bacon would be quite nice.”
“Well, if you say so.”
“On the other hand-“
“Yes, I might have left the oven on.”
Before long, the fire was extinguished completely. The small
office building stood dark and skeletal, gutted of all but its brick framework
by the fire.
Now dark and all but deserted at this late hour, the streets
stretched long and dark. At lengthy intervals along the roads, the dark
thickened into the heavy yellow morasses of light cast by the streetlamps.
If you had been standing out on the sidewalk, in the dank
stretch of black between one streetlamp and the next right in front of the
charred burnt building, you might just have noticed the two men standing there,
but it isn’t likely.
“Time for a search would you say?” this from the man in the
black suit; Jack.
“Definitely” answered Solomon .
In unison the two men stepped forward and around the rearing
wall of blackened brickwork that was all that was left of the front wall. In
unison the sharp white lights of two flashlights stabbed out to pierce the dark
around the two men. In unison the lights fell upon all that was left of the old
building; utter rubbish.
“Exactly what do you expect us to find in here?” came Jack’s
voice, overturning with his foot a small set of drawers, now warped and charred
by the fire, its little drawers hanging out like the teeth of an old man.
“Clues,” came Solomon’s reply, shoveling through the
splintered shards of an ancient and costly looking lamp, “Perhaps something
left behind by the arsonist, whomever they were.”
From out of the darkness there came an orchestral popping of
knees and one of the flashlight beams dipped lower to the ashes strewn heavy
and thick across the ground. A hand sheathed in a black glove dug into the ash
illuminated by the light and emerged clasping a long and battered leather bound
handle of some sort. Disappearing from the beam of light, the gloved hand drew
the handle upwards until it was at last revealed at length to be attached to a
vicious looking medieval broadsword, its blade and cross tree now blackened
with the smoke, and with several of the leather straps bound about the hilt
snapped by the heat.
“A clue do you suppose?”
“No. Remember tenant 9b’s ‘collection’.”
“Ah, yes.”
With a shearing of ash and charred wood, the sword blade was
shoved into the ground and the flashlights moved on about their respective
search.
Over the next half hour, several more disturbing objects were
unearthed among the ashes including, but not limited to, a honey badger
preserved in formaldehyde, a briefcase full of hundred dollar bills, which the
two men estimated as fake, and a blackened human skull, which they estimated as
quite real. Unfortunately, all of these artifacts could be easily traced to the
other tenants who had once had a place in the old office building.
It was therefore some time before the two men came upon an
artifact of actual interest to them. Half submerged in the flaky gray ash
beneath a stack of lovingly framed Victoria’s Secret catalog covers (estimated
property of tenant 12c) sat an heavy metal mailbox, chained shut and clasped
tight with a heavy padlock. Hanging from the chain was a heavy, simply made
metal key.
Like carrion swooping in towards a wounded animal, the twin
flashlight beams converged on the mailbox and the two men behind them studied
it closely.
“A padlocked mailbox,” observed Jack.
“Inside a building,” added Solomon, “with its key to boot no less.”
“A clue?”
“I’d say, it’s a
safe bet.”
One of the flashlight beams was
suddenly adjusted and a gloved hand made its way into the light, took hold of
the key and placed it in the padlock.
“Only one way to find out, really,”
came Jack’s voice.
The key turned in the lock.
