Setting
Default Location for Story of a Bullet; A Detective Story
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Riverside is a part of 
Story of a Bullet; A Detective Story.
6 Characters Here
Vanilla "Vanii" Champagne [0] A detective who is always on her guard.... "I have my eye on you, sweets...."
Kelvin Pulis [0] A veteran of the war
Jade Serano [0] "If men weren't such sexist pigs then I would get along with them, though since they are I guess your out of luck"
Mark Storm [0] *lights a cigarette and peers out from under his hat* What? Are you done staring at my information now?
Phillip Chauvell [0] "I'm far too refined for this"
Samuel Royce [0] Chief Detective of the Royce Detective Agency
Start Character Here »
Setting
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Somewhere in the backstreets of a Chicago suburb, there's a bar where people of every background and order go to mingle and conspire...
The air fills with criminals, crooks, and cigar smoke. Soft jazz music is playing in the background, as a curly-haired brunette with a strapless red dress serenades men wearing pinstripe coats and derby hats. There is no law here and criminals discuss their empires and accomplishments freely under the mist of smoke. Dodgy deals are going down all around as crooks embellish tall tales of their conquests and recruit new members. There's a charming, yet sinister, man sitting between two beautiful women and treating them to glass after glass of champagne. Two hefty men in trenchcoats shake hands and someone's fate in another part of the city is sealed. This bar houses many criminals and people looking to add a bit of excitement in their lives.
But underneath all the corruption, in the very same alley, there's a small group of people whose interests differ greatly from the criminal empire of the Riverside shadows. Although these very bourgeois men and women aren't necessarily the good guys, they are certainly the lesser of two evils. They are driven by money and greed, but also a search for the truth. These men and women are known only as the "Royce Detective Agency." The Detectives operate out of an office on the top floor of this bar and are gathered around their Chief, Samuel Royce, as he shuffles papers and answers phone calls.
The commotion and excitement, on both sides of this alleyway, is billowing and coalescing. News of a guest, the Maharaja of India, has spread among the patrons. It was only in the past few years that India was freed form British rule and their fledgling nation is now becoming a part of the civilized world. The Mayor was scheduled to show the Maharaja and the Maharaja's daughter around neighboring Chicago and our small, but active suburb. However, a phone call would change the mood of the bar and the office upstairs.
"Royce?" a familiar voice spoke on the other line.
"Royce, are you there? Royce, pick up the fucking phone. Something horrible has happened, we need you at the Museum of Antiquities right away."
-Click-
Looking at his team, which was assembled within his office and going over various case files, Royce lifted his frame up from his chair and spoke to his men. "Well, looks like we got work to do tonight..."
"And who exactly was that screaming into the phone?" one of his Private Investigators asked.
"That was the Mayor. There's been some kind of incident at the Museum apparently. The Maharaja's daughter went missing. Get your shit, we're taking a cab."
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Storm stood by the chief listening to the instructions set out for the team.
He was relatively new to the team and was looking around the room to figure out who was who and what they were about.
He eyed every detail even meticulously neat this room was laid out.
In his mind he jotted down mental note after mental note.
Even though they were on his side Storm always wanted to know anything about those he was dealing with.
What hand did they write with?
How did they dress?
Were they gawdy or more conservative with their jewelry.
What as their body language like?
Any nervous ticks?
A movement of the hand, a slight bite of an upper or lower lip, anything could help him in gathering the information he felt he needed about everyone around him.
Storm was a born detective and what he didn't have at birth his father drilled him in repeatedly.
Showing him every tick or "tell" as he called them that every perp he ever interrogated had.
He was not always known as "Storm" either Mark started out getting called that name due to his often fiery temperment when he joined the police academy.
It was this temperment along with accidently arresting the mayor's daughter that got him fired from his former job and got him involved with this detective agency.
Storm piled into the car with everyone else taking the seat nearest the window.
He was shoved up against the door handle and his knees were firmly planted in the back of the driver.
As this man leaned waaaaaay too far back and Storm was too long legged for this particular arrangement.
Still he peered out of the window to the rain soaked city streets.
The puddles of water highlighted the street lights and some of the other lights on the buildings of this concrete jungle.
Why would anyone come here?
Why did he come here?
In his short time working even freelance he'd seen the worst of devils be praised as heroes and the most innocent of victims forgotten and tossed aside.
Left to rot laying in a gutter.
It had made him hard and a little leary of even those that worked with him but maybe that would change.
Then again this is Riverside, not Hollywood the odds were not in his favor.
As he snapped from his thoughts the taxi rolled to a stop.
A more than relieved Storm stepped out of the cab and held the door open for those that would follow him.
As he stood outside of the museum he felt the air get heavy and he could smell death in the air.
He was relatively new to the team and was looking around the room to figure out who was who and what they were about.
He eyed every detail even meticulously neat this room was laid out.
In his mind he jotted down mental note after mental note.
Even though they were on his side Storm always wanted to know anything about those he was dealing with.
What hand did they write with?
How did they dress?
Were they gawdy or more conservative with their jewelry.
What as their body language like?
Any nervous ticks?
A movement of the hand, a slight bite of an upper or lower lip, anything could help him in gathering the information he felt he needed about everyone around him.
Storm was a born detective and what he didn't have at birth his father drilled him in repeatedly.
Showing him every tick or "tell" as he called them that every perp he ever interrogated had.
He was not always known as "Storm" either Mark started out getting called that name due to his often fiery temperment when he joined the police academy.
It was this temperment along with accidently arresting the mayor's daughter that got him fired from his former job and got him involved with this detective agency.
Storm piled into the car with everyone else taking the seat nearest the window.
He was shoved up against the door handle and his knees were firmly planted in the back of the driver.
As this man leaned waaaaaay too far back and Storm was too long legged for this particular arrangement.
Still he peered out of the window to the rain soaked city streets.
The puddles of water highlighted the street lights and some of the other lights on the buildings of this concrete jungle.
Why would anyone come here?
Why did he come here?
In his short time working even freelance he'd seen the worst of devils be praised as heroes and the most innocent of victims forgotten and tossed aside.
Left to rot laying in a gutter.
It had made him hard and a little leary of even those that worked with him but maybe that would change.
Then again this is Riverside, not Hollywood the odds were not in his favor.
As he snapped from his thoughts the taxi rolled to a stop.
A more than relieved Storm stepped out of the cab and held the door open for those that would follow him.
As he stood outside of the museum he felt the air get heavy and he could smell death in the air.
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Jade stared, besides herself there was only one other woman on the team, the rest being typically men. Though she didnt say it alloud she was quite annoyed by this fact. To her men were sexist pigs, always saying that woman cant do the stuff that they do, and honestly, it always got on her nerves.
She sat with her legs crossed slightly, slouching a bit as she listened. Jade was an uncommon kind of creature, where as most woman would be prim and proper, she was more of a man then she was a woman, she even dressed as so. She could remember a time when she had nearly gotten attacked because of this, but she didn't care, she could dress how she wished, when she wished.
Taking a sigh she studied the other faces, putting them into her memory, then observing them like a cat would before pouncing onto its prey. She was often like this, always watching, waiting for someone to make the wrong move. Putting the puzzle together was what she was good at, and over time as she began to "Learn" (Rather then become friends) with someone, she is able to easily tell what their next move will be.
Though there are the exceptions, those few unpredictable people who do things on random, much like Jade. Although, it is unfair to say that the blonde was random, it was true that she often did things in the spur of a moment but not without reason. She was like a cat who walked her own way, never paying heed to commands or rules.
People were easy to read if you truly payed attention. Like the way they twitch their hand when being questioned, or something more obvious like blinking rapidly. People never new that they were giving themselves away just by doing things like that.
As the news was given out to them she stood, straightening her trousers (An uncommon attire for a lady) and heading towards the door, quickly heading towards the car and piling into it, sitting next to a man who hardly had room for his legs. Jade smile a bit, amused by this in an odd way, though she didn't voice it.
She sat with her legs crossed slightly, slouching a bit as she listened. Jade was an uncommon kind of creature, where as most woman would be prim and proper, she was more of a man then she was a woman, she even dressed as so. She could remember a time when she had nearly gotten attacked because of this, but she didn't care, she could dress how she wished, when she wished.
Taking a sigh she studied the other faces, putting them into her memory, then observing them like a cat would before pouncing onto its prey. She was often like this, always watching, waiting for someone to make the wrong move. Putting the puzzle together was what she was good at, and over time as she began to "Learn" (Rather then become friends) with someone, she is able to easily tell what their next move will be.
Though there are the exceptions, those few unpredictable people who do things on random, much like Jade. Although, it is unfair to say that the blonde was random, it was true that she often did things in the spur of a moment but not without reason. She was like a cat who walked her own way, never paying heed to commands or rules.
People were easy to read if you truly payed attention. Like the way they twitch their hand when being questioned, or something more obvious like blinking rapidly. People never new that they were giving themselves away just by doing things like that.
As the news was given out to them she stood, straightening her trousers (An uncommon attire for a lady) and heading towards the door, quickly heading towards the car and piling into it, sitting next to a man who hardly had room for his legs. Jade smile a bit, amused by this in an odd way, though she didn't voice it.
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The night was young; rain steadily falling down on the dark, dank streets of Riverside, Illinois. Slow jazz music filled the air of the smoked hazed club joint. A beautiful brunette lady dressed in fine silk red sang her heart out, telling how much she missed her man. Low-life's to big crime thugs littered the joint, either coming there to wallow in their pitiful sorrows or to plan illegal schemes with other mob members. The door to the entrance of the smokey bar opened and in came easily striding in a platinum blond woman, by the name of Vanilla Champagne, who was dressed in her regular skirt suit (not including the lady with that hideous necklace), with white high heel pumps, a white clutch bag, and dark silver rimmed sunglasses that plastered her face; her tresses flowing about her middle back in a carefree manner.
She had an air of coolness each step she walked. You would think this lady was as stealth as a lioness, ready to grab her prey with no mercy. Her confidence oozed out every essence of her, conjuring up stares from men who lustfully gazed at her behind cigars that they puffed in succession. The women, on the other hand, glared at her with much contempt, secretly hissing their disdain for the stunning lady, who mostly had her shit together. They wondered, angrily, how she could be so "conceited" and never pay to pay attention to what was going on around her, "Who does she thinks she is, coming in here like that? She thinks she got it all figured out, huh?", one lady blurted, quietly, underneath her breath to her girlfriend as she fanned herself with a menu that was just placed on the table by a bustling waiter.
The platinum blond woman just ignored her and continued her way to her destination- headquarters. Her mind wasn't on to flaunt, which she would do with little hassle, the pants off the dirty man-whoreish bums, who ogled her madly in the joint, her mind was on a case file that was pending for her. This opportunity was a dime a dozen for her and she wanted a "piece of the pie". The cases she was ever assigned to were minor court hearings that had little to no action going on. She would sit and sit all day being a recorder, writing down the whole incident on her notepad. Secretly, though, she would do the worst of the job, going behind the boss's back in the process. Her partner, who was a man of course, did nothing on the job, taking most of the credit and not giving her any type of recognition.
When the court hearing was over and the criminal was sentenced to life for his crime, her partner, Ramsey, thanked her, suggestively, for helping him on the case, "Vanii baby....thank you sweetheart....", he whispered, seductively, in her ear, trying to show his empowerment over her. All she could do was nod and scowl with much contempt for the older man. How dare he insult her like that and all the while never giving her any type of recognition when she did all of the grueling work, he sitting in the background doing nothing with his lazy ass! She could really murder the swine if she wanted to but she was too much of a high class lady who still had her scruples and morals about her. Oh...but in her mind, she was killing him, repeatedly, over and over again, with various types of viscous weapons.
Enough about that! She was a woman on a mission who had better things to think about besides petty situations that really had little to no affect in her life. She reached the steps of the secret headquarters and walked up the flight of stairs. A man passed by the bottom of the steps and immediately tried to take a look underneath her rather short skirt, "Oh the air up there.....", he crooned her softly with pun intended. She turned her head nonchalantly and quipped back with a menacing tone, "Oh! The jackass who has no life down there....", she hissed; her voice rich, smooth, and immensely languid.
He walked away quickly, embarrassed that he was talked back from a lady as herself. Everyone about the room laughed at him snidely as he walked out of the club with his black fedora shielding his face. All she did was smirk at him, for his lack of respect for women, and then continued her walk up the steep steps. Finally at her destination, inside the well lit spacious room of the chief's detective agency office, she took a seat in one of the chairs, tightly crossing her well toned smooth legs. She listened to the whole story and what went down, all the while being cool and calm. That was her best, being cool and serene. She would use this, with manipulation, to ease the enemy before pouncing on them like an untamed wild beast.
She glanced about the room and saw the men with only one other woman. How, secretly, she wished there were more ladies on the squad instead of all male. Women, for years, fought to get those types of jobs that men occupied and tried their best to be more stronger, mentally especially, then a man. Let's just face it, men always had an ego that needed to be stroked and would always put women down for being too weak, for not having physical strength like a man, or too strong, probably for having higher intelligence then them. Women knew that they could do the job correctly as men and probably could do it even better.
Sighing with boredom, she continued to listen to the boss, Samuel Royce, who explained the case that they were all assigned to. She noticed two of the detectives honing and, secretly, studying her and the others, trying to keep a guard stance. It appeared to her that they didn't trust the others, making sure to keep them at bay. She smirked a little at that and continued pretending to be oblivious, which she was brilliant at. Her fatally beautiful looks was what deceived people, putting them quickly off guard. In their minds, they all thought she wasn't a threat and she was just there, in various types of situations, to look "pretty", as some people commented, annoyingly.
But for some reason, she had a sense that these group of people, including her, were the best "top dogs", picked especially by the boss to figure out the Maharaja missing daughter case. She then, thoughtfully, noted to herself to make sure to be doubly on her guard. After the boss got off the phone from an urgent call, one of the detectives asked him who was screaming on the other end of the line, "That was the Mayor. There's been some kind of incident at the Museum apparently. The Maharaja's daughter went missing. Get your shit, we're taking a cab", he said to him and the others, with much sternness in his voice. Everybody got up from their seats and trudged out the room.
Now outside, everyone huddled inside the car. She winced, a little, at the thought of being squeezed on the end in the back seat of the taxi so she situated herself, comfortably, on the end while taking off her shades and putting them in her clutch bag, immediately glancing out the window. The ride was short, well at least to her, as the car speedily went down the road, reaching to it's destination swiftly. Rain was lightly coming down; the lights from various buildings shining the inside of the car, every now and then. They finally came to their stop with everybody getting outside the car. Vanilla put her dark shades back on and immediately scanned and studied the museum area, toying with her platinum chain necklace with french manicured fingers. This was going to be an interesting case and Vanilla was going to be delighted, amusingly, at the prospect of it.
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Standing in the middle of the road on a rainy night was not, Phillip Chaevel admitted to himself, the most intelligent of moves. Passers by were giving him curious looks, and twice, passing cars had hooted at him in a vulgar manner before circling around him, the second one pausing to give him a mouthful of rudeness through the open window of the car. Chavel had replied with a string of Latin, which had caused the driver to shake his head, mutter something out "'dis city gets weirder every damn day" and drive on. Chauvel wondered what the man would had done had he been able to translate the phrase - "Shove it up your fat ass until it comes out of your tiny dick, pigfucker," was not, after all, a direct translation from the classics, though Aristophanes had come close on occasion.
"Ah, here it cometh, at last," he murmured to himself. "Swooping down, like a wolf on the fold." He held up his hand - immaculately manicured, despite his poverty - in a gesture both imperious and unmistakable. Even in Chicago, a cabbie would not simply run him down without inquiry. If nothing else, it might be a chance for another fare. And this was the right one, he was sure of it. He recognized the pattern of wear on the front right tire, the slight chink in the left headlight, the fact that the passenger-side running board was a little askew. He'd watched it cruise down towards HQ, and who else but Royce would call for a taxi, this time of evening?
He could, of course, had simply walked up to HQ, sat with the rest, and entered the vehicle in a conventional manner. Had Royce had the sense and politeness to invite him to the conference, that's exactly what Chauvel would have done. As it happened, he'd simply been paying a casual visit to ask for an advance on wages, and chanced to look up at the lighted windows - where he'd seen some familiar silhouettes. It rankled that he hadn't been invited to whatever case the others were bent upon - an important one, too, given that the entire team (except him) seemed to have been co-opted!
With no apology or explanation, he walked to the rear of the vehicle, opened the door and slid in, seating himself next to Jade Serano. "You forgot to tell me the game was afoot, Royce," he said, casually, but with a waspish undertone. "Alarums and excursions, eh? Well, here I am anyway, as ready as Orpheus for a foray into the underworld, so you needn't think you can act like the Arabs of legend and fold your tents and steal away." he reached across and tucked down the tab at the rear of the collar of Jade's suit, which was sticking up - the kind of detail which no-one but he would have noticed - but small details like that, he knew, were the sort that often save one's life. "Pardon me, sweet virago - the sweet disorder in your dress, while not kindling a wantonness exactly..." While he spoke he rapped on the window, loud enough so that the driver could hear. "Oh well, we can discuss that later. Set your chariot in motion, Phaeton. Now, Royce - what's going on here, and just why have I been left in Stygian darkness like the imprisoned Titans?"
"Ah, here it cometh, at last," he murmured to himself. "Swooping down, like a wolf on the fold." He held up his hand - immaculately manicured, despite his poverty - in a gesture both imperious and unmistakable. Even in Chicago, a cabbie would not simply run him down without inquiry. If nothing else, it might be a chance for another fare. And this was the right one, he was sure of it. He recognized the pattern of wear on the front right tire, the slight chink in the left headlight, the fact that the passenger-side running board was a little askew. He'd watched it cruise down towards HQ, and who else but Royce would call for a taxi, this time of evening?
He could, of course, had simply walked up to HQ, sat with the rest, and entered the vehicle in a conventional manner. Had Royce had the sense and politeness to invite him to the conference, that's exactly what Chauvel would have done. As it happened, he'd simply been paying a casual visit to ask for an advance on wages, and chanced to look up at the lighted windows - where he'd seen some familiar silhouettes. It rankled that he hadn't been invited to whatever case the others were bent upon - an important one, too, given that the entire team (except him) seemed to have been co-opted!
With no apology or explanation, he walked to the rear of the vehicle, opened the door and slid in, seating himself next to Jade Serano. "You forgot to tell me the game was afoot, Royce," he said, casually, but with a waspish undertone. "Alarums and excursions, eh? Well, here I am anyway, as ready as Orpheus for a foray into the underworld, so you needn't think you can act like the Arabs of legend and fold your tents and steal away." he reached across and tucked down the tab at the rear of the collar of Jade's suit, which was sticking up - the kind of detail which no-one but he would have noticed - but small details like that, he knew, were the sort that often save one's life. "Pardon me, sweet virago - the sweet disorder in your dress, while not kindling a wantonness exactly..." While he spoke he rapped on the window, loud enough so that the driver could hear. "Oh well, we can discuss that later. Set your chariot in motion, Phaeton. Now, Royce - what's going on here, and just why have I been left in Stygian darkness like the imprisoned Titans?"
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