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Chapter 19: 19:22-21:08: Apartment Complex
You leave the Whirling. As ghoulish as it sounds thinking it to yourself, the victim will have to wait. You’ve yet more leads to uncover, and you don’t know how much time talking to her will take before you have to send Kim away to deal with the body.
Near Joyce’s sloop, between Cindy’s hangout and the bookstore, there lies an inconspicuous alley, almost shrouded in the shadows between buildings, something that exists only in the liminal areas of your senses. You passed it earlier and barely noticed it at the time, but it calls out to you all the same.
Also, that wall looks dope. Stare at it.
You’re on the same side of the fence as Cunoesse now. She tenses as you approach, almost as wary of you as you are of her. She lacks the protection of the fence now, but instead of vulnerability you sense danger. Don’t back this one into a corner. There’s nothing but building pressure here.
SAVOIR FAIRE: [Easy: Success] Apparently, she doesn’t like people standing behind her back.
Hell, same.
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] Logic error! She’s not sleeping right now.
Further into the yard, we come across another entrance to the apartments.
There’s something off about this dude. You hadn’t even started talking yet and he’s already getting defensive.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “I don’t want to be seen talking to the *gendarmerie*, if that’s okay. I just want to finish my cigarette.”
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “Is it really that important?” he asks you, adjusting his shirt.
HALF LIGHT: [Easy: Success] Like a nervous cat, he keeps stealing looks at the neighboring windows.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “My name? My name is Martin Martinaise.”
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “No, of course not. Could you please lower your voice?” He scans the courtyard. It’s silent like the bottom of a well, every sound captured and reflected back.
This guy is paranoid about something, all right. It’s hard enough to hear him from up there with how quiet he’s talking and he wants it to be even quieter?
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “And I *really* need to finish this cigarette,” he replies with a subtle smile.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “I can *tell* that you finally got him down. Thank you—It was quite a disturbing sight, even by Martinaise standards.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “What were you doing last Sunday?”
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “Oh…” He waves lazily with his cigarette. “You already asked me that, didn’t you?”
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “No, not you.” He gestures idly. “Some more *muscular* type.”
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant takes out his little blue notebook and writes something down. ‘And when did you speak to this more *muscular* gentleman?”
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “Last week? I don’t know, look…” He looks around the courtyard again. Old patio chairs and dead house plants litter the scene.
KIM KITSURAGI: “You didn’t answer the question. What were you doing last Sunday?”
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “It was my Sunday friend.”
This isn’t going well. Think! How can you get something, anything from this guy?
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: For a moment the man on the balcony seems almost vulnerable. Something moves in the depths of his feline eyes: compassion, and a hint of understanding. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and deliberate: “I am sorry, but I really don’t have the information you’re looking for.” With a flick of his wrist, he sends the cigarette butt sailing over the rail… But hold on, what’s that? For a split second his hand lingers… as though gesturing towards a stone placed right next to the front door…
SUGGESTION: It’s a sign!
KIM KITSURAGI: “He could be a witness, him or his *Sunday friend*. Either way we need to look into that *muscular type* who’s asking about our case… He did leave us a sign, did you see that? He wanted to draw our attention to that stone right over there.” The lieutenant nods towards a small rock on a soggy patch of grass.
Bingo bango. ...I’m sorry, that was lame.
This must be the “weasel’s” residence.
DOOR, BASEMENT APARTMENT: You knock silently. The upholstery muffles the sound. No response comes from the apartment.
DOOR, BASEMENT APARTMENT: The leather upholstery is worn and rough against your jaw. You don’t hear any movement.
You feel like you’re about to be murdered. Probably nothing.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Let’s be honest, this isn’t what I joined the RCM for. But—every day tells you something new about yourself…” the lieutenant replies, still inspecting the padded door.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I mind that a local thug is using the RCM for his busywork, but if this gets us to the bottom of this hanging then I’m willing to look over it.”
INTERFACING: [Easy: Success] The door is right here. You can just open it and be done with this.
Somehow the idea of *not* opening the door feels too easy. You don’t particularly want to be Evrart’s stooge, but at the same time you don’t really feel like lying to him about this would go well. Just because you can’t see a tail doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, after all.
DOOR, BASEMENT APARTMENT: You try to be as silent as you can. It takes a bit of rattling of the handle to loosen the bolt.
PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] The sound of the key turning still echoes in the yard. Hopefully no one heard.
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Only *curiosity* could account for stepping over that threshold. Maybe there’s treasure in there? A white alligator? A fountain of quicksilver?
Eh, fuck it. You’ve come this far. Might as well step inside.
COLONIAL MUG COLLECTION: A little ring. Though cheerful, the images on the ceramic make you vaguely uncomfortable.
EMPATHY: This person is unhappy.
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant picks up one of the mugs, then puts it back down with a look of disdain.
COLONIAL MUG COLLECTION: Yes, your broken mug friend would feel very much at home here. The same humour, the same mocking lines…
KIM KITSURAGI: “There’s the missing tin soldier,” The lieutenant looks at the mugs next to each other. “Whoever lives here might have used the Whirling’s container to dump his trash… And now they’ve drawn the ire of the Union. The plot thickens, as they say.”
LOGIC: [Easy: Success] An interesting little clue. Let’s see where this goes. Clues have a way of magically connecting to other clues—down the road.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Who knows.” The lieutenant opens his notebook. “I’m not expecting too much from this *clothes in the trash* lead either way. It might turn out to be some random local matter. But still—a nice coincidence.”
You immediately put on the nice shirt to replace the awful one you’re wearing.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: It’s an optical atmospheric anomaly the first settlers saw. Happens in cold weather: six small suns around the big one. This complex halo-phenomena is how old Revachol got its flag.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Mhm.” He looks around in the apartment. “The tenant is an *old fashioned* guy.”
This thought stirs some vague recollection in you, but you cannot quite grasp why, and the feeling disappears as quickly as it came.
You don’t have any real business in the apartment, besides asking around about the smoker and of course getting the speed from Cuno’s dad, but the proximity to the scene of the crime has you curious. Perhaps more will reveal itself if you enter…
DOOR, APARTMENT #12: No response.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] The apartment numbers have fallen off the door, leaving the panel with a sticky “1”-shaped shadow and a marker-drawn “2.”
Interfacing is right, no way you’re getting through this without getting those chaincutters.
Heh, I like this dude alread—ah shit I forgot about the domestic abuse
Apparently this is something from the neighboring apartment we somehow managed to examine by accident.
As you step inside the apartment, a foul odour drifts across the hallway into your waiting nostrils, along with a low-pitched rumbling you cannot identify. They come from deeper within.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Good, confiscate it.”
A PILE OF CLOTHES: Something underneath there is breathing.
Somehow you already know what awaits you under there is not quite horror, but sadness.
A PILE OF CLOTHES: Your hand touches a greasy duvet, covered in cigarette burns and ketchup stains. You hear a growl. There is something *alive* underneath it.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I’m afraid it is. Look, it *moves*.” He points to a fleshy lump sticking out from the other end of the blanket. The limb seems to be twitching from time to time.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] And look, the other foot is camouflaged by a striped sock bearing the name MAXTOR on the sole. Three toes are poking out of a hole.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] Maxtor is a gas company. He’s wearing free socks from a gas company. They probably came with the bills.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Judging by the colour of his hair I would say yes, it is.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “I think he’s still *quite* bad… I mean, what he has come to.” The lieutenant tilts his head. “This man won’t be feeding his family any time soon. Not that he was, but…” The lieutenant thinks to himself. “At least he won’t be beating his son.”
CUNO’S DAD: Suddenly the man starts growling. Three words manage to escape his mouth, along with a strong stench of alcohol: “Fuckn… l… f…p…”
KIM KITSURAGI: “We could take him to Remedie or Saint Batiste, but he doesn’t have money for medical services. The Almshouse would turn him down… They don’t do charity for people who’re trying to kill themselves. Besides, he’ll be dead in a few…” the lieutenant stops, listening to him.
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] …years? Months? Weeks?
PERCEPTION (HEARING): And then it dawns upon you, clear and surreal… ‘Pigs,’ he says.
Rude.
CUNO’S DAD: His hand falls back on the bed, limp and defeated. A loud snore escapes his mouth… He’s asleep again.
There’s nothing for you here but a reminder of the power you do not possess.
Just looking at this bottle in this disgusting bathroom *activates* something deep within you. You’re afraid of whatever it is, but it still takes all the willpower you possess not to pick the bottle up and take it with you. You don’t need that kind of temptation. At least, not on the job. Maybe later, but absolutely not right now.
You examine the door.
PADLOCKED DOOR: It’s a solid lump of metal, but the shackle is deeply corroded—a solid pair of chaincutters would make short work of it.
Wait, what?! No. This is someone’s home! Presumably! You have absolutely no reason to do that! I mean, you had pretty much no reason to break into the last two places, but you have even less reason to break into this one!
LOCKED DOOR: The walking stops abruptly, but no one comes to the door.
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] You can feel tension on the other side.
LOCKED DOOR: “Do I *have to* open the door?” You hear the clacking of heels again, as the other side walks right up to the door. Her tone is now getting a defensive edge… “Do you have a warrant? I’m not obligated to open the door if you don’t have a warrant.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Let’s go,” the lieutenant says, “we don’t have a reason to get inside that apartment.”
It’s already uncomfortable to be in this woman’s presence, not out of any particular behavior of hers, but simply in the way she forces you to consider mortality and human decay.
CLEANING LADY: I’m fine, fine, don’t you worry about me!” She starts coughing, red spots appearing on her cheeks.
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] You’re still worried. It’s very worrying.
CLEANING LADY: “Now, what do you want from me, policeman?”
CLEANING LADY: “If you can call it living…” She spits on the floor, before wiping it off with a broom. “I have a little room upstairs, right next to the coal room. It’s barely bigger than a closet, but I don’t complain, no…” – She juts out her chin, eyes shining – “I have my bed and my aching bones to keep me company and that’s all I need from this world.”
SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] And all she gets, too. The coastal wind beats hard on the coal room door, outside. Splashes of waves make the balcony slippery…
CLEANING LADY: “Yes-yes. I know who you mean. The scrawny boy who’s always smoking like the devil, right?” She looks at the other end of the hallway.
PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Easy: Success] Somewhere in the building a child starts crying. You hear a radio tuned to a talk show and someone taking a shower.
CLEANING LADY: “Talk!” The cleaning lady starts laughing, but it turns into a violent coughing spasm. She squeezes her broom, trying to catch her breath.
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] What was so funny about that?
CLEANING LADY: “People come and go, I don’t keep an eye on everyone.”
CLEANING LADY: “Impossible,” the cleaning lady says, shaking her head, “I would know if someone had moved in there.” She pauses, eyeing the hallway.
CLEANING LADY: “Oh, that one is a scientist, a future scholar!” Suddenly the old lady’s face is beaming.
CLEANING LADY: “That’s what I said, astrology.”
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant shakes his head, as though to say “let it go.”
CLEANING LADY: “Addicts, all of them… And sometimes I hear them screaming.” She winces. “They don’t like me cleaning behind their door, think I’m listening in on their fights.”
VISUAL CALCULUS: [Medium: Success] It was dirtier there. After the janitor’s closet. She avoids the end of the hallway.
KIM KITSURAGI: “We saw unpaid utility bills—aren’t they going to be evicted?”
CLEANING LADY: “No one likes them in this building.” She shakes her head. “It’s only because of the kid they haven’t been thrown out.”
CLEANING LADY: “The *artist*?” She scoffs. “Nothing I can do about her, I’m afraid. She ruins the walls faster than I can clean them. Still…”
The fridge contains some Nosaphed and, inexplicably, twenty cents.
You change your mind. Time to break in!
You briefly stop to wonder why Kim is allowing this.
Ooh, a bullet! Wait, why is there a bullet here?
I’m sure there’ll be no cause to use this bullet at any point. But also, we don’t even have our gun back yet. At this point, we might just have to throw it at our enemies.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Very well.” The lieutenant leans closer to the sculpture. “Let’s look for identifying features then…”
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant closes his eyes. “Okay, you win. Be Kras Mazov then, I don’t care…”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Whoever lives here definitely shares your enthusiasm.” He leans closer to inspect the photos of revolutionaries on the wall.
Here’s that thought we just picked up.
And here’s the two we picked up a few updates ago.
LOCKED DOOR: “Excuse me? Of course not!”
SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] There’s no sweet-talking your way in there. Be official.
LOCKED DOOR: “Oh, come on!” There’s a pause, before you hear the door being unlocked.
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Well, that was easy.
The woman’s smile displeases you immensely.
INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] Boy, there are a lot of different keys there. More than *twenty* at least…
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] Her voice is really cheerful despite her obviously *hating* you.
REAL ESTATE AGENT: “It was some kind of a moribund old man, who used to be a business owner. You’d think they’d make rent…” She stops, hesitating.
COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] A sudden serious look crosses her face. This story didn’t have a happy ending.
REAL ESTATE AGENT: “Oh, that’s another huge mess. The former tenant owes us three months of rent, *three*! We closed the apartment and planned on auctioning off the valuables, but… And again, I have no idea how *stupid* mistakes like this can even happen, but Ron, when he came to close the door, didn’t close the neighbouring door! And there’s a hole in the wall! A hole in the wall, can you believe it?” She spreads her hands. “And then the tenant ran off with his stuff. He’s gone, the *money’s* gone, just like that!” She snaps her fingers.
REAL ESTATE AGENT: “These apartments are perfectly fine! They have gorgeous architecture, a million reál view of the bay, good ventilation, neighbours, life, spark… And they are affordable. I’ll tell you, Martinaise has a future—in a few years it’s going to blossom with artists and creatives and those radiocomputer wizards.”
REAL ESTATE AGENT: “Don’t ask me what happened with the wall, I have no idea how we’re going to find the time or resources to fix it.”
Let’s go back to the cleaning lady and report our findings.
CLEANING LADY: “Oh, I do like wizards,” she agrees wholeheartedly. “And people like that in general. They have a lot to tell us about our fates…”
Upon passing the five-pointed star again, Encyclopedia perks up.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: The star-and-antlers was developed in the sixth decade of the last century and quickly adopted by Mazov and the communards during the revolution…
ENCYCLOPEDIA: To symbolize the toppling of the old order.
Oh, bullshit!
Reeling from the loss of morale just *thinking* about communism caused, you decide to head out to the balcony where the smoker was and get some fresh air.
REACTION SPEED: [Trivial: Success] Number twenty-eight… This is where the cleaning lady said the smoker on the balcony lives.
DOOR, APARTMENT #28: No one answers.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Looks like the young man we’re looking for isn’t home. I think our best chance to catch him is in the evening.” He looks around, taking in the cold spring air.
REACTION SPEED: [Easy: Success] Damn. Turns out it’s quite tricky finding someone in a big apartment building… Don’t worry. You’ll get him!
Now that the real estate agent is gone, you decide to see what else you can loot from the apartment, as she somehow failed to re-lock the door after you left.
Your reward is shoes that make you more of a libertarian. Joy.
The building actually has two balconies, with the other, near the cleaning lady, presumably leading out to where Cindy was loitering.
VISUAL CALCULUS: A great force from the north-east fired into the city. Heavy artillery shelled the coastline, fired from the water—a straight shot into Revachol.
VISUAL CALCULUS: The waves of the Martinaise inlet roll over the fallen remains of the building. The dark waters obscure the better part of the remains.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Those arches acted as support for something greater than what you see now. Only three stories stand where nine to twelve once did. Restoration has failed. What the shelling took out was never re-built.
VISUAL CALCULUS: A fleet—the combined armies of Occident and Graad, with Mesque volunteers. A five nation army. Hundreds of vessels. They masses airships further down, in the bay of Revachol. The artillery was so powerful, the ships not only required gyroscopic stabilization—they were anchored into the ocean floor as well.
KIM KITSURAGI: “The Coalition,” says the lieutenant. “But that was a long time ago. I think we should move on. It’s chilly up here.”
CINDY THE SKULL: “Yeah, I can see that. Cool mutations.” She crosses her arms.
KIM KITSURAGI: He studies the contents of Cindy’s bucket. “Red-dyed heavy fuel oil intended for exclusive use in government vehicles, to be precise.”
CINDY THE SKULL: “What did you think I was using, aquarelles? Sucked it out of a cop’s fuel tank myself—back in Jamrock.”
God, she’s so cool.
Slightly less cool: her apparent living conditions.
Back inside, we take the other exit.
You’re back outside. You must have explored the entirety of the building. There’s nothing left for you there at the moment. Where should you go next?