M&M Private Investigations

RGB

Proton
Joined
Nov 12, 2016
Messages
234
Nebulae
570
A five part series, will be updated periodically

M&M Private Investigations

The door to the office swung wide, assistant stood in the space, “A Mrs. Romano here to see you Wayne. Maybe you’ll solve this one and find the money to pay me this time, huh?”

Wayne Monaghan looked sharply up from his desk, taking pause to his notes, squinting up to the assistant through the plumes of acrid smoke that hung thick in the air, cigarette pursed between his lips, dropping ash upon the keyboard at his start, “She’s early,” A glance at his watch, “Send her in, Maurice isn’t due back for another half hour at least so I’ll take this one alone.”

In stepped the client, dressed in something plain, dark, and covering, a notable choice considering the heat of the late summer sun outside. Nothing particular stood out about her aside. A prideful olive-skinned woman of about thirty. Sharp-features, raven-haired, with sharp black eyes that darted about the room nervously.

She was Mediterranean, clearly, and obvious to Monaghan that behind that fragile veil of composure there was some anxious energy she was all too eager to discharge, persistently fidgeting with thin fingers and glancing to and fro.

He tipped his bulky frame forward, elbows pressed onto the desk, fingers interlocking loosely, “Mrs. Romano, all good if I keep smoking with you here, yeah? Real shitty of me, I know.” He spoke offhand, relaxed but professional enough as he did so, wafting his cigarette about as he pressed the rough-edged laptop shut, “You’re Italian, yeah? Could figure that half a mile out, looking the way you do.”

A quick nod in return and before he could get another word in otherwise the woman burst into a flurry of speech, heavily tinted with her native accent, complete with the ever-expected exaggerated hand gestures throughout, “Yes Mr. Monaghan, I’m here about my husband, Tony. It’s urgent. He was always doing dangerous work I’m worried something’s caught up to him. If it has happened then there’s no time to lose before any evidence is covered and gone for good by whoever’s involved.

“I can’t take this to the police, he and his work weren’t always in strict adherence to the law as far as I know, Mr. Monaghan, and I don’t want the investigation, whatever it might turn up, to put him in more trouble than when we started. I hear that you and your partner don’t owe any loyalty to the law when it suits you, if it can be made worth your while.

The woman drew a bundle of notes from her handbag, running a thumb through the chunky wad of hundreds, “I can absolutely make it worth your while. Whatever your rate I can offer twice that, so long as you find him and give me news of what’s happened to him, and if you get him back safe I’ll give you twice that again.”

Monaghan tipped back in his seat, drawing a long breath of his cigarette, puffing a loose cloud with a weak smirk. The recent resurgence, even if only minor, of the historically notorious crime families might have been unwelcome news to most, but it had provided he and his partner a considerable amount of work on both sides of the fence in recent years, “An interesting case, Mrs. Romano. I figure you got some information that can be used to kick the investigation off the ground? Else we’ll be stuck without a paddle on where to begin.”

Another nod from the Italian, “Yes, he said he had work to do across the river, in Newport. It’s always the worst when he crosses the river for work, he comes back dead tired covered in grease and all sorts in the dead of night. He tells me almost nothing about his work, but I know he puts himself at risk when he’s out there.

“He left the house about nine in the evening, two days ago. Even when he has been gone a week or more he stays in contact, or at least lets me know he will be gone a long while. I don’t want to worry but something about him felt different this time Mr. Monaghan. Like he was closing off a part of himself to me more than usual, and he knew he was going in to something dangerous. I’ve gotten no response from his people, but they wouldn’t speak to me in the first place unless they had news.

“I’ve seen him worse than ever once when he came back, I could swear when he took a shower I saw the water run red washing the grime from himself, even if just for a few seconds, so I don’t want to think what might have happened to him if things caught up to him at last.”

A nod from the heavy-set, tipping back in the distressed office chair with an overbearing creak of protest at the deed, “Could be a job gone wrong, but it’s not uncommon for people like him to get into the sort of trouble that could keep him from contact. Still, we can look into the case for you Mrs. Romano. The going rate is $300 a day, twice that since you said you would be paying double rates.”

Another puff of smoke and a short gesture of his hand, “Now, let’s start with the basics Mrs. Romano and move up from there. What does your husband look like?”

***​

Maurice Morton was exactly the sort of man who stood out in a crowd, in almost every way. Every one of his features just a little bit off, ever so slightly uncanny. A touch too tall so that he brushed doorframes when he entered a room, a little too thin so that his clothes hung off him like a bare skeleton, a long straight nose too large for his face, or tiny beady eyes too close together, long spindly fingers like a spider’s legs, and a soft-spoken voice like distressed velvet, a once smooth and comforting voice beginning to feel the ravages of age, smoke, and pollution that came with city living.

He wobbled on the subway car, holding the support bar above him, stooped just a little, a clear head and shoulders above most others packed in there with him. He shifted uncomfortably, his patience beginning to try. He was two hours late and gave another glance to his phone. Still no reception, so he was left with only the most recent message from his partner.

Got us a big case, double rate, maybe quadruple if we do it good! Meet me at Canal Street station, on the platform, we’ll get started.

He slipped his phone away again with a short sigh, the train was finally moving once again. Just another bomb threat, someone dumped a bag on the rails at the next station along. This time they shut the train down in the middle of the tunnel. He, and everyone else packed into this overcrowded sardine tin, was left to wait with nowhere to go. He was just thankful that things had finally started rolling again.

The train pulled into Canal Street station, not a stop he was familiar with, but it was his this time. Stepping off the platform he stretched himself out, a welcome relief to feel his old bones creaking and cracking after all that time stood rigid.

“Maurice!” A friendly voice called out, a pudgy hand stuck out above the crowd clutching a cigarette, the short and stout figure trying to wrestle his way through the crowd desperate to get off the car.

“Monaghan.” Came Morton’s reply, putting on his air of nonchalance, but it was hard to mask his gladness when any familiar face after that ordeal was a delight at that moment.

Monaghan grinned, issuing a playful bat across Morton’s arm, “We have a case, a good one.”
“So you said, but what is it about? We have time to go over the notes don’t we?”

“Not a moment to lose Maurice! Could be we’ve got ourselves a murder, didn’t you read the texts I sent you man?!”
“I just spent the last two hours underground in a subway car. I had no signal Monaghan. I just got the one.”

A short exasperated sigh from the shorter man, “It’s a missing persons case at the least, but let me tell you that the prospects don’t look so good, but I’d hardly tell the lady who came and contracted us that from the start.”

“Then let’s find ourselves somewhere to have lunch, you can explain to me all the details.”
“What details?”

***​

“Listen, I’m telling ya, we should start in Little Italy. It’s where he’s based, people know him there.”

“No no no, that’s exactly why it’s not a good idea. If they know anything they’ll just deny it, that’s how these people work Wayne. Regardless, he’s far too low a grunt to be in such a nice district with the work he seems to do.”

“Point.” Monaghan acknowledged, slipping another fresh cigarette between his lips, lighting up.

“No, we’ll head to Newport directly and talk with the locals, take a look around first. Mrs. Romano told you he usually came covered in grime and grease, so we should check with the warehouses and industrial estates first.”

Morton gestured with his fork, a chunk of pork skewered on the end, “If anything strange happened recently they might remember his face, or at least a rumour of something going on. The work the mob gets up to is usually on people’s lips to some degree. The abandoned buildings would make an excellent starting point to avoid trouble.”

“Shit man, we’re just going in fucking blind ain’t we?”

“No different from the usual.” Morton chewed.

“Yeah it’s fucking different man, it’s Jersey. Fucking hate that place.”

“Just think of the money, that normally does it for you.”

“Yeah, great, we can make hardly a dent in the debt even with this shit.”

Morton laid his cutlery down on the cleared plate, pulling out his wallet. A moment later his thick eyebrows twisted into a furrow, “Say, Wayne. You don’t have any cash on you, do you?”

“Hardly, maybe a twenty. I got a cheque from the lady who gave us the job but I ain’t cashed it yet.” Monaghan twisted about in his seat, distracted, eying some woman strutting by the cafe.

“We aren’t likely to be working here in Canal Street again soon, are we?”

“No, why?”

“Call us a cab, I should have checked my wallet before I ordered.”

“Shit, dashing again? We ain’t gonna be welcome in any fuckin’ restaurants at this rate Maurice.”

“Just think of the money when the job’s done.”

The cab pulled up on Washington Boulevard just as the summer sun’s heat was beginning to dip. Their shadows stretched across the road, the two investigators stepped out, paid their fare with what little they had, and were left to their own devices.

Morton clapped his hands together with some enthusiasm his partner distinctly lacked, looking about eagerly, “So where should we look first? Bank?”

“Think we’re a bit late to, they’re closed. I guess the warehouses wouldn’t be a bad place to start, and the stores tomorrow if we get nothing. They normally work out of those sorts of places, yeah?” Came the hesitant reply. Clearly Monaghan not all too comfortable in his surroundings.

“We could be two days too late to stumble across anything, but it’s better than nothing. We’ll go up Parkway here, and up to River Drive. Looks like they have a crane there on the water, which means warehouses should be just under it.”

“Take a snoop before we start asking questions?”

Morton nodded his affirmation, “Might be the best way to avoid getting ourselves in hot water.”
The pair made their way up, attracting a number of looks from the locals, they must have stood out with their dress, wrinkled shirts, and scuffed dress shoes don’t seem to mean too much compared to the groups of baggy sweatshirts and pulled low ballcaps that kept a distant eye on them.

They came up the the first warehouse on the waterfront, a big old building with panelling falling off and a crane at least five years out of maintenance. The rusty fence gate hardly posed a difficulty beyond a little stiffness. It hardly seemed to be in use, but coming to the large shutter door they found it locked.
“It’s locked.” Monaghan observed.

“Really now, I suppose that’s what the big padlock is for.”

“Fuck off.”

“We’ll see if we can’t get in through another door. Here, this one’s done by a bolt and the glass is broken.” Morton waved his companion across to a door some way along the length of the building, jerking it open to slip inside.

Inside the building was about as dilapidated as it looked on the outside. Dust accumulated on old shelving units, empty boxes and crates strewn about, and fogged-over skylights offering dim shafts of light that reflected every speck of dust that hung thick in the air like a fog.

“Don’t think anyone’s used this in a while Maurice.”

A hand raised, the slender man stooping down to an open patch of the floorspace, “Not so, come take a look here. See this? These footprints kicked up the dust pretty recently.”

“Got signs of a scrap here.”

“You do?!” Morton sprang up to his full height, whirling about, “We might actually have something!” He made strides to see what the other had found but then came a commanding yell across the room.

“Hoy! What’re you doing here?!”

Attention pointed to the source of the exclamation revealed a small gang of the same people who’d been carefully watching them since they’d arrived. The group now armed with a small assortment of sports equipment, it was clear they hardly meant to use it for any actual sports.

The pair stiffened up straight and got right to their usual act, putting on an air of confidence as they approached the gang, going through the motions.

“Here, you do the talking Morton. These Jersey boys’ll kick my ass they hear my Brooklyn singing voice.” Monaghan murmured up to his partner’s ear as they came within arm’s reach of the gang.

Morton put on his best shit-eating toothy smile, one of those very obviously false ones with the perfect tone to match, “Good evening gentlemen.” His hand slipped into his pants to fish out the battered wallet, flashing a gleaming badge across the faces in a swift motion, “New Jersey police investigation, I’ll have to ask you to leave so as not to disrupt our findings.”

The group shuffled about, quiet for a moment, before the apparent leader, a hispanic man, early twenties, white vest, covered in tattoos, with a bat slung over his shoulder stepped up closer, “I don’t think you are man. Don’t have a car, saw you break your way in through a locked door, and you’re dressed like shit man. This is private property, you should clear out before you get hurt.”

Morton stood firm, that act usually worked out for him, he needed a second to think, “Gentlemen, please. We’re almost done and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“No, you’re done now.” He gripped his bat all the tighter, fixing Morton with a hard unblinking glare.
Monaghan clasped and unclasped his hands, deeply agitated, while Morton only returned the gaze. Eventually he spoke again, “We wouldn’t be the first people this week who’ve been hurt here, are we? Maybe you talked to Tony Romano a few days ago?”

The leader made a little start, jerking back, “How the fuck-” He started before cutting himself off, but it was enough to tell Morton his venture was a correct one.

A wry smirk and his hands raised in a nonthreatening gesture, sweeping his arm about as he spoke, “My friend here looks to have found impressions of a fight in the dust here, and I see some of your equipment is slightly stained with blood. The building was just recently locked to hide something here with that new padlock on the door. I’m sure if somebody dug about they’d find more.

“We can drop all this and not mention a word, all we’re looking for is our man, or at least to know what happened to him. We just want information, we don’t care what happened here otherwise, and can keep your names out of it.” Morton glanced expectantly from one face to the other. Internally his mind was screaming, desperate for his play here to work out for the best.

“Shit!” The leader blurted, “He’s with the fucking feds too! He’ll have us fucking strung up!”

There was no time to react. Before Morton could process what he heard his head was spinning from the impact of a bat across his temple, sending him to the ground, seeing triple. Monaghan was sent down too in short order, both disoriented souls set upon by the gang, kept restrained, bound, blindfolded, and gagged.

They’d done this before, they could tell because before long the large front door was opened and they heard a van roll in, into which they were hauled. This job had gone very sour very quickly.
 
Last edited:
Reactions: List

Nicrobe

Lord of Ineptitude
Joined
Apr 26, 2016
Messages
3,460
Nebulae
9,461
man those M&M's really get around


First chocolate now they're private detectives?

Which private detective would you prefer, one that smells like whiskey, or the one that serves you some peanut M&M's and iced tea?

Seems like quite a lucrative opportunity for them