Private Tales Noodles and Death

[Syl]

Syl didn’t say anything as the man begged and jumped to his own conclusions. A frown pulled over his lips for a brief moment. Why the fuck would the Cartel care about the man’s death? Just what the hell had they stumbled upon.

There had to be more to this. ”That the truth, Uvo?”

He didn’t correct the man’s assumptions, that wouldn’t get him anywhere. The Gendarme were feared by some, but men like Uvogin knew that charges wouldn’t stick for long or they could slip out on the back end. Real fear came from the Cartel’s, from another sort of authority that would do far worse than arrest you.

Uvogin knew that, and Syl would most certainly use it against him.

“I-i swear to god Syl. You know I’m not a killer, never had the stomach for it. You know that.”

For a moment more the Elf kept Uvogin pinned to the wall, his head shaking before he finally dropped him. There was a quiet thud as he tumbled onto the ground, shaking and breathing somewhat heavily. ”If I find out you’re lyin Uvo, I’ll be back.”

He turned to step away before adding.

”And you know what that will mean.” Uvo blanched, and then quickly nodded.

 

[Syretia]

Perhaps she was just naive but Syretia believed Uvo's pleas that he was innocent. Based on Syl's actions her partner agreed.

"I don't want no trouble with the Marte," Uvogin sputtered as the pair stood at the door. "I dunno where Arthur is but someone back at the Pony might."

The Tipsy Pony, the bar he'd just stumbled out of. A den of thieves and cartel members and all manner of other criminals.

"Aye," she said with a tip of her head as she exited the room and began heading back up the hallway's corridor. She moved slowly, eyeing every other room to ensure there was no ambush and to ensure that Teach was still with her. Only after they'd walked a few paces and she was sure there was no one listening did she look at her partner.

In a whisper she asked, "why would ze cartel want one of their smugglers dead?" It didn't make any sense. "And if ze cartel wasn't involved why does our friend back there think they were?"

This was turning out to be a far more puzzling case than she had initially thought. "Do you know who this, 'Arthur,' is?"

 

[Syl]

Syl was reasoning through the same questions that Syretia asked out loud. He glanced at her, a flicker of something crossing his features. Perhaps pleased that she would even ask such a thing.

He had trained so many people of the years, and more than half had turned out to be utter fools. They came to him because they thought it a good career move, or simply because they assume through him they could gain some sliver of competence.

Trouble was, you needed a base to grow that sliver from, and many of his previous protege's didn't even have that.

"I'm not sure." A good investigator didn't mind admitting not knowing. "We'll have to ask around the Pony."

He said quietly, though it was clear that he didn't much like the idea.

Walking into a place like that was dangerous even for him. A watchful eye was kept on such places, by both sides of the law. "As for the Cartel..."

Syl shook his head.

"Could be they were running something on the side, something not approved of." That was the easiest guess, the one that his mind went to almost immediately. The Cartel didn't like when their business was put in jeopardy, particularly when it came to the stupidity of others.

 

[Syretia]

"Who would be stupid enough to run something on ze side?"

The words escaped Syretia's lips before she could really even consider them. They'd just met Uvogin, the model of stupidity itself, and apparently he pal'd around with the victim and this mysterious 'Arthur' figure they were now hunting.

Of course, there was one other question at the top of her mind... "if ze Marte Cartel is involved this case will get messy." That last sentence was in a hushed tone. Many of the rank-and-file were on the take but the dark elf was certain that only those who actually cared about justice rose to the rank of Gendarme.

Still, idealism couldn't escape reality. If the Cartel was "dealing with this" then Arthur was being hunted by them too. Or being protected by them. Either way, things were going to get complicated.

"Anything I should know before we enter ze Pony?" They stood only a few meters from the entrance of the well-known Cartel bar. She'd only been in once during a 'raid' that the Gendarmerie had very obviously informed the Cartel of. It had been empty when they arrived and was clearly intended to just be for show.

Despite not wearing their pins or having their magic nullification charms visible it was almost certain they'd be identified as officers of the law as soon as they entered the establishment.

 

[Syl]

"Things always get messy." Syl said quietly.

He frowned for a brief moment, as if he were thinking of something. Then he quietly added something else. "Least since..."

Teeth came down on his tongue.

No, no need for that now. His head shook from side to side as he glanced towards the entrance of the Pony. A slight frown still tugging at his lips. "Just keep your head on a swivel."

Syl advised.

"Try to look relaxed, and order the strongest drink you can find. Take a few sips, toss the rest, then order another." It would cost a few coin, but it would keep you sober while letting everyone else think the opposite. "We're not Gendarme in there, we're potential corpses."

It was a grim thought, but he wouldn't keep back. Not now. "Just remember that."

Probably not the best advice when wanting her to look 'relaxed'.

He flickered a smile towards her, adjusted his coat, and then walked directly towards the entrance of one of the most dangerous taverns in Elbion.

 

[Syretia]

Relaxed. But you could be murdered. Blend in, act natural. But stay alert because you could get stabbed in the back.

Easy stuff.

"I don't really drink zat much." She admitted before she had thought the response more thoroughly. "A few sips is fine though." She had grown up in the rougher areas of Elbion. Seen that in the best of cases alcohol was used to cope with one's problems and in the worst of them it was the root of a man or woman's problems down here.

Syretia and Syl stepped into the Tipsy Pony and took three steps before roughly half the patron had trained their gaze on them. A few looked on with curiosity but most of them were glaring in disdain. Gendarmes did not come here, that was obvious.

What wasn't obvious to her was that the barkeep was old man Devries.

"Syretia?" the muscular bar tender with an oversized bushy mustache said in surprise as the duo approached the bar top. "Whaddya doin' here?"

The dark elf woman cleared her throat, "just here for a drink with my friend here. Could we get two cognacs please?"

Devries had been a stable in the apartments she spent much of her youth in. Fixing this or that, watching out for the local kids, and generally just keeping the trouble away. It had never occurred to her, until this very moment, that perhaps the reason he was able to keep the Cartel's activities out of their building was because he was on the pay.

He leaned in close to the two detectives and whispered, "this ain't a great place to grab a drink, best to head on out."

 

[Syl]

Truer words had never been spoken. "No can do, friend."

He glanced over towards Syretia.

Syl had to keep reminding himself that even the most plain of his protege's would have surprises tucked into their sleeves. He would not in a million years have guessed that Syretia would have a connection here at the Pony.

It was a mistake he would not make again. Everyone had a story. Everyone had a history. There was always something to be picked up, some advantage to be gained, some little thing that could be dug up and found. He had to remember that.

Otherwise they'd say he's starting to slip.

"We're lookin' for someone." He told the man. "Not as Gendarme."

A pleasant smile flickered over his features as Syl told the lie. "Just a friend of ours sent us this way to find him."

 

[Syretia]

Devries sighed before grabbing a bottle of brown liquid and pouring some into two small shot glasses. "Which friend? And who're ya lookin' for? The quicker you two leave, the better."

It was hard for her to reconcile the fact that a childhood hero was working with the mob. But then again he was also trying to keep her safe even now. Maybe he wasn't a bad guy, just a good guy caught up in a terrible situation. That could probably describe most of the Quarterfell if she was being honest.

Hell, her mother had begged her against joining the Gendarmerie all those years ago. She understood why so few fought the Cartel's influence here. She likely understood it better than most.

Taking a quick, and shallow, sip of the liquid she replied, "We don't want to involve you if we don't have to."

"Nonsense, yer mother would have my head if," Devries shut his mouth as a giant of a man with a shaved head and arms adorned with tattoos approached the bar, "Lyle, what ya having?"

Lyle. Everyone on the force knew him. A lieutenant in the Marte. He had a huge scar that covered half his face and apparently he'd flayed the son of a bitch who'd done it to him.

Lyle cleared his throat, "nuttin' Devries, mind your own."

Devries paled and clearly wanted to interject but he knew the rules in the Pony. You didn't cross members of the Cartel. No matter what.

"Syl," Lyle stated while looking the two Gendarmes up-and-down. "Thinkin' you two can do me a favor."

 

[Syl]

Syl stared at the man.

He knew Lyle. He knew his reputation. The bastard of a hulk was no one you wanted to meet in a dark alleyway. His reputation ran almost as deeply as some of the Underbosses.

The Elf let his fingers tightened, and almost instinctively he stood just a little bit taller. His form shifting so that he was standing half in front of Syretia. His face never changed, but his body language did. Defensive, strong. Ready to strike if he had to. "Yeah?"

Syl asked.

"What's that Lyle?" The Pony was plenty dangerous, even on a good day. A man like Lyle though? He'd cut your throat at the drop of a hat for stumbling over his toes. Even if it meant he'd go to prison for ten years. "Lose that dog of yours again?"

Lyla was famous for having a dog, an Allirian Pit Hound. Nasty little bugger, unless you carried a few treats in your pocket anyway. Had a tendency to get off his leash and chase deckhands through the streets.

 

[Syretia]

Lose that dog? What was Syl talking about? Syretia didn't have the best poker face so seeing someone as infamous as Lyle speaking with them caused a rush of heat to come over her.

Before she could speak or make any motions the gangster belted out a low chuckle.

"Nah Syl. Though I need help with a dog of a sort," Lyle grabbed hold of one of the glasses of cognac before the Gendarmes and downed it in one gulp. A wide smile came over him, revealing that several of his front teeth had been filed to point.

"Got a mangy mutt named Arthur. I needa speak to him but can't get to him. You two are gonna bring him to me."

Syretia's face scrunched slightly at that. "We don't work for ze Cartel," her voice was defiant and serious. For his part, Lyle barely moved.

"I know where he is. You don't. I need you two's help, you need my help. No one's workin' for anyone, we're doin' each other a favor," that same toothy smile presented itself and Lyle helped himself to the other glass of cognac.

 

[Syl]

Those were words that many Gendarme had heard at the beginning of their descent. They rang familiar to Syl, depressingly so. The Elf frowned for a moment as Syretia offered her objection, stopping himself from cringing by sheer force of will.

She had absolutely no idea who they were dealing with.

He favored his chances going toe to toe with Lyle, but in the middle of the Pony? Both of them would end up strung under the nearest ship. Keel-hauled without so much as an objection from the locals. Missing posters would go up before they were dead.

"Lyle." Syl said with a shake of his head.

"This Arthur character." The Elf stepped onto the tight rope. "He's a problem, yes? I don't think it's one you should concern yourself with."

Arthur and the others had crossed the cartel. They would want vengeance in blood, death. If Lyle had his way Arthur would be a corpse hanging from the nearest street sign. Syl couldn't allow that to happen. Not when it was wrong.

Not this time. "We can take care of it, make sure it doesn't land on anyone's radar."

After all, news like this got out? Suddenly everyone decided to do a little business on the side.

 

[Syretia]

Syretia wasn't a fool. Or at least, she wasn't a complete fool. It wouldn't have been a total mischaracterization to claim that she was, at a minimum, an idealistic fool though. The drow had wanted to interject and admonish this Cartel lieutenant for thinking he could use the Gendarmerie as his personal team of errand runners.

Syl interjected too fast though.

"Already talk on the street," Lyle grumbled back, "if you don't bring him to me it's goin' to have to be because he's dead."

Grayish eyes narrowed in his direction. Summary execution was not a practice permitted by the charters set forth by the Merchant Council. The very same charters the Gendarmes were bond to uphold. Justice couldn't exist if one or two people served the role of judge, jury, and executioner. It was what separated them from the barbarism of "Cartel justice."

Lyle let loose a low whistle as he tapped at the bar and gestured toward Devries once more. "Another round for all three of us." He then turned his head towards a table practically overflowing with goons.

Either he was getting bored with this exchange or... something more sinister was running through his head.

"Assuming we were to help you with zis task we'd still need to know where he is," she didn't wish to wait and find out where the gears of his mind were beginning to run off to.

"Docks," he muttered, "a warehouse owned by a member of the council. Cartel can't set foot in there. Need you lawful types or else we'll be violating the Commerce Pact." He shook his head in disgust.

The Commerce Pact was a non-existent agreement between the Merchant Council and the Marte Cartel. Both stayed out of each other's business because a war between the two didn't benefit anyone. So long as the gang wasn't interrupting 'lawful' trade and business there was no reason for the Council, and by extension the Gendarmerie, to get involved in Cartel business.

"I'll give you the exact address when I know what you plan on doin' with our mangy little dog," he said just as three new glasses of cognac were placed before the trio.

 

[Syl]

A member of the council?

Kress fucking Ainous in the-. Syl cut the curse off in his head as Lyle so casually revealed where Arthur was holed up. As if there wasn't already enough goddamn complications with this whole case.

Now the little bugger was hiding in the one place the Cartel couldn't get him? How in the fuck did he even manage to pull that off? One of the Council members had to know, had to be involved. 'Least one of his assistance.

Why did every case have to turn out ten times harder than it needed to be?

"Lyle." Syl said, his face stern."How long have you known me?"

Only really about five years, but in their world that might as well have been a lifetime. He could remember when Lyle was nothing more than a street thug. The man was brutal, but effective. Something that the Cartel recognized.

"When I say it won't be a problem. It won't be a problem." His face remained stern.

Syl only hoped that Syretia kept quiet, least till they got out of here. He picked up the glass of Cognac, throwing it back down his throat as he finished. "For anyone."