Yeah, first time. Just getting a look at the place and meeting the locals.
Well enjoy yourself. This looks like your type of place. I’m just sweeping up a bit.
Say, that’s an interesting earpiece you have right there…
[He whistles as he sweeps the floor, pretending he didn’t hear you. Your turn your attention back to the rest of the room. It doesn’t take you long to find the woman you were looking for. Or rather, you think it’s her. She looks the part, at least.]
Are you enjoying the Seamstresses Union? There should be plenty for a woman like you to enjoy. Or is this business?
Sadly, business. For now.
I suspected as much when you walked in, omae! What business do you have with me?
Same as everyone else: I need information.
[She eyes you suspiciously.] Of course you are. Knowledge is power, neh?
So I’ve been told.
So ka. And why should I help you?
Because I asked nicely?
… [She quirks an eyebrow at you.]
Worth trying. Sam Watts, I’m looking for his killer. Jake told me you might help.
[Her face brightens - amused.] Ah! So, you are the “little insurance policy” he would go on about when he was drunk. His avenging angel who would strike back for him from beyond the grave.
Avenging angel… For fuck’s sake, Sam.
[Her smile widens slightly.] What do you want to know?
Before we talk turkey, why is this place called the Seamstresses Union? I don’t see much sewing happening here.
During the gold rush years, there was a census, and the politicians wanted as high a number as possible to gain power and revenue. To bolster their numbers, they decided to include all the “working girls” - of which there were many - to the rolls. However, given the times, they could not list the girl’s true occupation so they entered them all as “seamstresses”.
Thanks for enlightening me. Now, back to business: how well did you know Sam?
He clung to this place like it was his lifeline and we treated him as a part of the family, even if none of us truly liked him - except Coyote.
Harsh.
I am simply being honest. They say to never speak ill of the dead, but sugarcoating the truth never helped anyone in my experience.
Did you see him, the night he died?
He was here, quite inebriated, as he often was. Coyote was working bar that night and she informed me that Sam was getting rowdy and belligerent with other customers. When I requested he leave, he refused.
My bouncer, Mr. Kluwe, was off dealing with another issue so I requested that Jake escort Sam out the back door to the alley. That was the last I saw of either of them.
Alright… I need to talk to Coyote. Mind telling me where she went?
[Her face darkens.] Would that I could. I have not seen her in two days.
¡Chin!
She is a smart woman, and quite dangerous, but I fear for her.
I appreciate the help.
[Even your playpen lock was harder to crack than this panel. The door opens with a low whine and you step in the bedroom. You don’t think that’s Coyote’s. Nothing of interest catch your eye, except…]
Oooh, you sure look suspicious, Señor Sleep Bear! What are you hiding?
Remember kids, drugs are bad.
[The other room is as uninteresting as the other. Maybe even less so, since it’s bearfree. The last one though…]
[The whole place reeks of cold tobacco and it looks like Coyote keeps her clothes in boxes on the floor. Every flat surface around the couch is littered with action movies and cigarettes butts. Your own flat will never look “nice” by any standards, but in comparison, it seems… tidy. You find a diary on Coyote’s bed, several papers sticking out of it. The first one is a receipt for a gun. You read the diary entry written on the back.]
He sure sounds like a catch.
Now that’s kinda pathetic, girl.
[The second paper has a hand-written poem on it. The writing is different so you assume it’s Paco’s. Let’s just say that he should stick to guns and motorcycles and leave the poetry to others.]
Sometimes it seems like Paco reads my mind, or my diary. Maybe he does the latter. I wouldn’t be surprised. HI PACO!
It’s probably ironic coming from me, but that’s not okay.
Ever since last week, he hasn’t mentioned the Cutters once. He leaves the apartment with a “See you in a few hours, babe,” and returns without further comment. I don’t know if it’s really going to help for us to avoid the subject in conversation completely. But I have felt better without our constant arguing about it.
The last two nights, I’ve come home from work to Paco waiting up for me, slouching on the old dumpster couch with a novel four inches from his face. I imagine that as I turn the key in the door he perks up and makes himself look especially studious for when I get the door open. He seems superficially surprised to see me, but I love this little act.
[You finally find a receipt and an old photograph stuck between the pages. The picture show a young girl with caramel skin and dark brown hair. She has a snake wrapped around her arm and she’s smiling. The back of the photograph has “Shadow” scrawled on it.]
[The receipt it the Collect On Delivery kind, for a special order: 5 pounds of zebra meat from Maury’s Meat Emporium, located near Pike Place Market.]
Paleo diet, uh?
[The last paper of any interest you find is for a wall safe, installed near the bathroom door. Set to a combination of 342436.]
What is the point of having a secret safe if you leave the code laying around?
Fichetti Frag Grenade? Nada mal. Let’s see this as compensation for making me read Paco’s god awful poetry.
Now, onto the main course.
[The crack easily unhashes the password, “trustno1” and you are transferred to the desktop.]
Again, this is probably ironic coming from me but Coyote, you and I are going to have a serious discussion about passwords and security as soon as I find you.
Let’s see where you could have run off to. Agenda…
Three days ago: Meet with Delilah about gig.
And she went missing the next day?
Today: Meet Paco for date at Pike Place Market. Due in 30 minutes.
Maybe I can call him rather than run there?
[Coyote’s contact list has exactly one entry: Paco. There is no commlink number or other contact information for him available.]
Drek. Of course. That’s the least useful list of contacts I’ve even seen. History…
[A quick scan of her recent researches shows that Coyote has been reading a great deal about hellhounds. It also suggests more than a casual interests in vintage action figures.]
I probably won’t get anything more out of that steaming piece of crap of a computer…
Mrs. Kubota?
How can I help you?
You know Paco? Coyote has a date with him at Pike Place Market in the next half hour.
If you would go down there, it might bring me peace of mind. I’ll call a cab for you - it should be able to get you there in time. Gambatte Kudasai. Good luck.
Gracias.