"Curtains"

[OdileCondacin 0]

"Seal off this holodeck. Don't let so much as a stray tabby in here without my presence and approval -- even if it looks like the chief of security," I drawled lazily, and gathered up the Marine combat scanner in one arm.

 

The name's Sin, Oddly Sin, and I'm an investigator. A scientific investigator, if you catch my drift. It means I'm slave to a lot of things -- long hours, hard-hitting risks, and the Marine colonel who's a more demanding broad than most of my pals' dames back home. And we're talking Xenexian females. They're mean and know how to drive hard bargains. But Charlie could top the best of 'em.

 

It would have been a nice night, if it weren't for the pounding of my head and the problems I had. Yeah, I had more problems than the colonel and the bartender back in Kathmandu who said I hadn't paid my tab in a few years. I thought we were square, but... apparently stabbing a loudmouth to end a brawl didn't cover it, in his book of debts. Don't see why it wouldn't.

 

In any case, the year hasn't treated me like I was one of its drinking buddies and bought me a Miller during happy hour. In fact, if we were sharing a bar, 2397's sloshed a few beers in my face. Staining, heavy import beers that leave a bad taste in your mouth -- even if you weren't drinking it by choice. You'd think I'd had a one-night stand with the year by how quickly it dumped me, out in the Alpha quadrant. It added insult to injurt by adding pips to my collar until I thought my neck was ready to snap, and holed me up behind the desk where it's just me, the paperwork and Knife.

 

Knife's my mate, my pal, my friend, and the one person I trust completely. We have each other's sixes, Knife and I, if you know what I mean. But there's no funny business. Knife and I keep it on the level.

 

But on top of it all, 2397 decided to add in one more problem. Its name was Trouble, and it had a fouler stench than heavy floral perfume.

 

Trouble came in the form of a little incident down in Holodeck Three. I can't say it's a low-end dive -- Holodeck Three's never led me to Trouble before. Worst I ever get out of there is a bad replication of a Miller, but the barkeep fixed that easily enough.

 

I headed down to the NNC. Now that wasn't low-end either, but definitely seedier than some other corners of the 'Court. You got a chill when you went in there, like heading into a meat locker, and you felt like the meat. Raw, vulnerable, and likely to be hooked through to hang on the wall.

 

No, definitely not my night, I realized, not for the first time. The heads of the black-clad characters whirred to look at the bluegill as soon as I entered like something out of The Exorcist.

 

"Just here for the evidence," I calmed them, sauntering towards the stasis units. Stasis had taken a toll on many on this ship and was one of my worst enemies -- it had put me in command of the entire good-for-nothing department -- and I treated it with respect as long as it didn't take any more liberties with me. One strike I can forgive, if it doesn't involve someone insulting Knife. But stasis had blown its one chance, and we were on uneasy terrain now.

 

Stasis, in this case, was a neutral party, however. It was just holding the bat'leth that'd been used in the case that'd been thrown on my desk, and after I retrieved the unit holding the nasty, we headed back to my office.

 

It was a brief visit, just popping in to drop off the Marine scanner in my safe and deliver the bat'leth to my desk under lock and key. I trusted my men, but not the other departments farther than I could swing Knife. Except for the cat. The cat I trusted, for now. She kept her whiskers out of my operation and I kept Knife out of hers. Such arrangements worked well for dangerous broads like us. It was my favor to the janitors -- blood was so hard to get out of the carpeting.

 

And then I was down. Now, where I was headed this time was low end, in all the literal senses. Engineering was the bottom of the garden shovel, and the long turbolift ride put a pit in my stomach that wasn't helped by the chicken wings that had been lunch.

 

It was a dark, deserted Jeffries tube where the crime had been planned, sources told. Not that o'Ur l'Ittle Rihan was always to be trusted, but this didn't smell like green-blood coup to me. Kassem was on the up-and-up for now, at least. Still, my senses told me to keep watch on that Chief... or I should say... Daise.

 

I took out my scanner. My scanner was another one of those good flunkies who'd never done me any wrong. I couldn't have asked for clearer readings, tonight beind no exception, and I made like a tree and left the backwater conduit, headed back for my more familiar haunts.

 

Aiella was on shift when I came back. Good. That meant that no one had tried to break and enter into the office. Aiella was a trustworthy type with fingers in dozens of different pies and just a touch of a scheming streak. It meant we got understood each other well enough that we could almost be friends, but she didn't step on my toes, and I didn't have constant desires to let Knife loose at her.

 

But this raven-haired dame wasn't the typical chain-smoking secretary that a good S.I. like me usually has. Aiella's a savvy girl. She can sing like an angel (more like a devil with that alto, but who's being judgmental?), but even if she's the type to go hit the lounges and sing for tips once she was done with the science gig, Aiella has brains to match the pipes. Me? I couldn't hit more than two notes, and even then the other people in the karaoke bar said I was croaking. They clearly didn't know what they were talking about, but it was their loss. Clearly.

 

I unlocked and settled into the comfortable black chair behind my well-carved desk, reading through an old issue of some trashy, easy-on-the-eyes magazine while the scanner uploaded to Science's main computer system. I went straight to the heart of the matter -- the DNA sweeps -- as quickly as if I'd literally done it with Knife. We'd see what turned up.

 

DNA was my ally, along with its partner RNA. We worked together on many cases, and if DNA'd do me the favor and do some talking without ridiculous fragmenting, I had a shot at solving this. Otherwise, it was back to square one for me -- and a visit to the flask for me and Knife.

 

A few possible results streamed in, inconclusive. No, that wasn't what I wanted. Damnit, DNA was better than this, most of the time. It was helpful to have a friend at the microscopic level, sometimes. It got you the ins that you couldn't get from my size.

 

Took a few more minutes, then it whispered something to my ear. Suddenly it hit me like the luxury liner hitting the iceberg: cold and hard. I knew who'd done the crime, and I knew who'd do the time. It gave me a lead that I couldn't believe I didn't guess from pure speculation. Instantly, I kicked myself for missing the clues.

 

Motive. Motive was there. I wouldn't have chalked up the grey matter to being enough to be this nefarious, but apparently there was more to my crook than had met the eye.

 

And it made sense. It had clicked into place like a round into the chamber of a good pistol.

 

It was curtains for someone, and that someone wasn't going to like it.

 

At all.

[Kansas_Jones 0]

Sam Spade, Mike Hammer and Dixon Hill have nothing on you Sin.

 

- The Stray Tabby

[OdileCondacin 0]

And don't forget Angel or Walter Neff... even if the latter wasn't a PI. :lol: