Man Tries to Destroy Cracked, Receives Swift Justice (7 Years Later)
"I never had a chance."
It just got extremely fucking noir-y up in here.
My detective agency was hired by the United States government after the anthrax attacks on Brokaw and Daschle to get to the bottom of this mystery. Why the government decided to put this case in the hands of a gritty, small-time, totally cliché detective agency instead of, say, the FBI or the army or scientists, is anyone's guess. The point was, the case was
I approached Dolly, the Chief's secretary. "What's the good word, Dolly?" She flashed me a smile sweet enough to make even the blackest coffee drinkable. Dolly had these big, blue eyes that she hid behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses. You might miss them if you weren't looking for 'em, but I always was. She kept her red hair tied in a tight bun on top of her head, like she was trying to hide her beauty from the world. A sweet kid, but scared; scared of the big city, scared of men, scared of
How is it raining inside the office?The Chief sat behind his desk looking exactly like one of those hastily-conceived TV Chiefs you've probably seen before; balding, moustache, suspenders. He was maybe even smoking a cigar sometimes. The usual. "It's good to see you, Guinness." They know my family has a history of alcohol abuse. "This looks like a pretty open-and-shut case to me." He then opened and shut the briefcase on his desk repeatedly to demonstrate his point. This went on for a lot longer than you'd expect, and I was growing pretty uncomfortable. "Chief, I'm not so sure it's all that open-and-shut." "How do you mean? Terrorists hate America. Someone is trying to poison America. Logic points us towards terrorists. That's open-and-shut." He squinted at me and reached for his briefcase to again visually explain what he meant by 'open-and-shut.' I stopped him. "That's what I mean, Chief. It
"I want you doing everything you can to track this lead down. Shake up all of your informants, get your hands dirty, and get Tacos on the case, too." 'Tacos' was the nickname given to James Rodriguez, because he's vaguely Mexican. This was a shockingly racist office. "Do whatever you need to do to solve this case."
And we did. James and I, (I refuse to call him 'Tacos'), were a tenacious pair of detectives. We weren't afraid to bang down doors, even if it meant getting our hands dirty. "This door is filthy," I recall James saying one morning. And it was, but we banged on it anyway, getting the dirt all over our hands. Even after he washed them, James couldn't stop smelling his hands all day, that's how dirty the door was. I remember meeting Bruce Ivins. There was nothing remarkable about his door. It wasn't as dirty as the dirtiest door we ever banged on, but
Bruce Ivins as I remember him."Let's just ask him straight out if he's mailing anthrax to people. I am so sick of beating around the bush," I said as we were walking up to his studio apartment. James was quick to correct me. "Let's not give out too much info too soon. I've got a hunch about this one. If we ask him, he's gonna think we're on to him. We need make him think that we think that anthrax is cool. That way, he'll admit to mailing out anthrax to people, just to impress us." James was a much better detective than me. Ivins came to the door after we fearlessly banged on it looking either like a mad scientist or like a totally normal scientist, depending on which detective you ask. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" I noticed an unmarked jar of flour on his kitchen table next to a list of addresses of important figures in the media. I immediately dismissed this as a list of people he wanted to send cakes to. I shook my head.
Like eggs. Most cake recipes call for eggs."We'd just like to ask you a few quick questions, Professor Ivins, if that's alright with you," James said. "Question the first," I barked. "Have you been mailing anthrax to people?" I had to listen closely to his response. All subsequent questions would be based on his answer to this one. If, for example, he said 'Yes, I do that all the time,' then I think we'd have our man. James looked at me, dumbfounded. I couldn't tell how, but I knew that I'd severely disappointed him.
. Chuck Noirish.