Post by Matt Knox on Mar 13, 2024 17:21:13 GMT -5
Gumshoe
Into that Good(?) Night.
Like she usually did.
He'd paced the room, his footsteps heavy, each echo a reminder of the mistake he'd made in underestimating her. No, in trusting her. Or the idealized version of her he had in his head, rather. A pause, a sigh as he tapped the pistol to his hip. Who gave a Fudge why? She poisoned him.
His mind raced, plotting, planning, his anger fueling him through the linger fog of her misdeeds. He was no stranger to the city's underbelly, but Red's betrayal cut deeper than the knife fights at Bert’s speakeasy.
When the door creaked open, announcing Red's return, Matthew was ready. He lunged, his hand snatching her throat with a grip forged from his simmering rage.A breath or a protest, he couldn’t tell which was cut off as it tried to pass her lips. In one swift motion, he had her against the wall, the pistol jammed under her chin, a tangible threat that promised retribution.
Red's eyes met his, wide with surprise at the fury she faced, but her shock quickly melted into that damnable, confident laugh. "What, you gonna shoot me, Matt?" she taunted, her voice steady despite the barrel pressed against her skin.
“I ought to…” he growled back, thumbing the hammer of the snub nose bck and twisting it lightly “Blow that pretty brain and all its plotting right onto the wall…”
The room was thick with tension, a standoff between two forces intertwined in a dance as old as the city's cracked foundations. The Gumshoe's finger itched on the trigger, his wrath screaming for action. He should want this, he should want to cut off the tes that bind him to her and their toxic waltz. Be free of the bullshit and be clear headed for once, or at least clear of her…..
He should.
Red saw the hesitation, the battle raging behind his steely gaze. "You’ll never pull the trigger.," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. "You need me, just like I need you. Cashe is sitting on a powder keg of info, and you want it. You need it."
He pulled back the gun, the fury in his eyes unmasked but his hand guided by a cold, hard logic that overrode the desire to let the pistol speak. "Talk," he growled,clearly not asking.
And talk she did. Red spilled the secrets, the threads that tied Cashe to the labyrinth of corruption that ran through the city's veins. As she spoke, the Gumshoe's wrath cooled, replaced by a calculating determination. Red was right about one thing—they were tangled in this mess together, and it would take both of them to navigate the treacherous path ahead.
Matthew stashed the pistol away, his anger banked but not forgotten. "We'll do this," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But we’re doing it on my terms.”
“If you say so.”
“I do, and you’ll do well to listen.” his tone bit, he didn’t bother to turn back to her. If he had to endure her mocking gaze at his efforts toward assertion, he’d likely turn the pistol on himself “We get them locked up, put away and we do it right.”
“You’re not a cop anymore though, Darl…’ the venomous honey of her tone did nothing for the bitterness of the truth she spoke.
“Don’t need a badge to do the right thing..”
“Altruism is an odd look on you.”
“I’m an odd man.”
“No arguments from me…”
A scoff, a snicker and the levity filled a creekbed that had previously been dried up in a righteous sort of rage. The anger and wrath suddenly collected dust on the shelf as he let out a small sigh, nodding and turning to her.
“Alright. Once more….what are we looking at?”
‘Flock Podcast Ep. 01
Thunder my Paradise’
“Hello and welcome to the first episode of my first attempt at podcasting because I can’t just promo like a normal person. Joining me for episode one is my usual victim to professional shenanigans, Amber Ryan.”
“Bane Ryan.”
“Yeah sure. How ya doin’ Red?”
“Felony free for the next few minutes at least.”
“A personal record I'm sure….but, let's get into it. Because I’ve got some thoughts, and that should shock no one. The thing I've thought the most about?
Failure.
There’s a certain comfort in failure, isn’t there? It’s hidden far, far beneath all the stuff that really eats at you. Kind of like a nugget of gold wrapped in barbed wire at the bottom of a river filled with piranhas. You can reach it, sure, but the pain to get to it…to get to that realization…
I wonder, have you made the dive for it yet Ava? After all, you’ve had time to. I won’t drag you too hard over losing to Peter Vaughn. I’ve done it my fair share and lord knows we’ve both seen that to fight him is to fight him and everyone he knows.
I don’t suspect I'll get the same courtesy, though. From any of you, really. So let me just put a cork in it.
I failed. I lost the International title right back to Peter and whoever's pocket he’s holding.
Still ... .At least I had it to lose, eh?”
“Funny, they never quite highlight that part of the story. Just like I'm sure most of you won’t even highlight my presence. So let me educate you for the next time, although I'm sure none of you will have the desire for there to be one.
I’ve climbed the mountains six of you only look up toward, dreaming of the climb but being too aware and terrified of the fall. I’ve looked down at where you’re standing from the summit, and when I came back down be it by my volition or my own rotten luck? I still saw your faces.
Still staring.
Still dreaming.
Still terrified.
So I look forward to hearing from the Peanut Gallery, the Light Crew and the Flower Garden about how nobody knows, or cares who I am.’
“And I look forward to them finding out that that ignorance is born from some Voldemort type [bleep]”
“You are such an insufferable nerd.”
“And you’re gonna be tag champs with me.”
The heist was set to be a spectacle within yet another, a grand masquerade ball where the city's elite would hide their sins behind masks of opulence and gaiety.
The SEX Cup, a glittering prize that promised power and prestige, was the magnet drawing the city's most dangerous players into the light.
Cashe's intel painted a vivid picture. One that he found himself going over now as he stood at the bar, sipping on his third Manhattan.
The Rogues, a duo notorious for leaving chaos in their wake, were sure to make a play for the trophy. Their unpredictability was as famed as their ruthlessness, a wild card in the night's proceedings. Well, at least that was the optimistic description of them. For all he’d read, the math told him that it all shook out to dumb luck. Right place, wrong time.
The odds never stay on one street forever, though.
Then there were the Chaos Orchids, a pair of precision killers who might not get a second glance even covered in blood. Junko, the leader of the duo, was the most morally dubious member of the underground. He’d found himself chasing the same monsters as her, but always kept himself aware that she too could very well be one.
After all, only Red was afforded that sort of blindness.
Lights Out, a pair of masterful thieves with a flair for the dramatic and a record of heists that read like legend, would also be in the mix. Their reputation for slipping in and out undetected was unmatched, and the gala would be their stage for the greatest performance of their careers. A.A, the ringleader, had been a thorn in Vaughn’s side during his second stint as chief of police.
She never was able to remove him from hers though, quashig any notions of being anymore than she or her partner already were.
Red and the Gumshoe, now reluctant partners, had to weave their own deception into the tapestry of the evening. They arrived at the gala in their finest attire, masks concealing their identities, their eyes scanning the room for the players Cashe had warned them about. He’d worked his way to the bar, naturally, and now watched her as she moved like a spectre through the crowd.
He lied to himself that he was just getting old and seeing thing with each new pocketwatch she lifted on her path.
The detective's senses were heightened, his mind alert for any sign of the killers and thieves that lurked among the revelers. Red moved with a confidence that drew eyes, her own gaze sharp beneath her mask. They were a pair of predators, hunting in a forest of prey, the stakes higher than any game they'd played before.
He straightened up as she approached, no words were exchanged. They couldn’t. Hanako and Junko were the type to know every octave of a targets voice, or a threat. Whatever they had deemed the two of them. They couldn’t spook them. Not when things were this close.
His eyes moved to the SEX Cup in the middle of the room, surrounded by security and admirers. The sight of the Thunderhead PD officers brought a pang to his heart for a moment, bitterness and bile creeping up as he thought of what Vaughn had done. As if sensing his turmoil, Red placed a hand on his forearm, fingers sliding to grip it…before lifting it and his drink up to his lips.
He chuckled a bit, at least.
As the music swelled and the crowd swayed in a dance of shadows and light, the tension grew. Each guest a potential threat, each laugh a possible cover for the cocking of a gun or the unsheathing of a blade. The Gumshoe felt the weight of his concealed weapon, a comforting presence against his side.
Red leaned in close, her breath tickling his ear through the mask. "Remember, we're not the only ones with masks tonight. Keep your eyes open, and watch my back," she whispered, her voice a mix of command and unearned trust.
He nodded once in response. They were in this together, after all. Not like she’d poisoned and shot him over the past month. As the music swelled he leaned over, speaking just above a whisper.
“We should get on the floor. If they’ve got goons, they’ll be there. And it’ll be easy to tell.”
“You’re not that slick, Matt.”
“Neither are they. That's the point.”
A moment of hesitation, consideration, and a roll of the eyes as she offered her hand “If you step on my foot, i’ll stab you.”
The dance floor was a sea of swirling gowns and sharp tuxedos, the rhythm of the music a pulse that drove the night forward. As Glenn Miller’s ‘String of Pearls’ was played by the band, Matthew found himself caught in the current, Red's hand in his, her movements guiding them through the crowd with a grace he didn't know he possessed. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the dance, the warmth of her body against his, the way she seemed to fit perfectly in his arms.
But the moment was shattered as Red's eyes met his, a spark of mischief flickering within. Her grin was the last thing he saw before the room was swallowed by darkness, the lights snuffed out as if by an unseen hand. The music screeched to a halt, replaced by the sounds of confusion and panic, a cacophony of gasps and the rustle of expensive fabric.
The Gumshoe's instincts kicked in, the brief respite of the dance forgotten. He felt Red slip away from him, a shadow melting into the chaos.
She wouldn't…
He moved with purpose, his senses heightened as he navigated through the darkness. The thick velvet of masks brushed against him, the hushed whispers of the alarmed guests filling his ears. He searched for the telltale signs of the Rogues, Lights Out, and the Chaos Orchids amidst the bedlam.
A crash here, a muffled curse there—he homed in on the sounds that didn't belong, the disturbances that spoke of more than just startled party-goers. His hand brushed the grip of his firearm, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.
Suddenly, a sliver of light cut through the pitch black, a door ajar at the far end of the room. It was enough for the Gumshoe to make out silhouettes, to see the faint glint of a blade, the subtle shift of a figure too calm amidst the turmoil.
He surged forward, his body a weapon honed by years on the streets. Adrenaline coursed through him, his focus narrowing to the task at hand. The darkness was an ally to the thieves, but it was also a cloak for him, masking his movements as he closed in on his prey.
“Freeze!” He bellowed once toward the glimmer. Then the mouth of a rifle spat fire. A cop, scared of the dark. He hit the deck then as someone returned that fire. The chaos heightened. He knew now, he’d played into their hand…
“Guess we should talk about the champs, too. I wonder, did you guys have to beg someone to not have your titles on the line for this match? I mean, as a business decision I absolutely understand and even respect it but as a competitor you were both certified bitchmade the second you didn't put them up in this match.
I get it, you’re not the booker but neither am I and the second I had the International Title in my hand, I demanded I defend it the same night I had my first match in this tournament. Because that is what a Champion does, a real champion. Not place holders in a dead division that are willing to settle for being that.”
“Truth is, we had hoped it’d be the Malvados in the finals, or at least Vaughn and JMont but disappointments abound, I suppose.”
“Honestly, we kind of deserve it. Big hubris energy with our run. Dispatched the Montuoris, pair of former tag champions and I believe World Champs- - although i’m sure some nerd will correct me otherwise.”
“Cashe and Warstein though, we all know the legacy they combine for. And their combined record against Nevermore.”
“Hey that rhymed, but you gotta say the slashes.”
“I do not.”
“Fair enough…and this is running long so let's zero in on the big, big name and the big, big target in this big, big match. The heir apparent to Thunder Pro Wrestling. The woman who unseated one of the greatest American Champions in TPW History only to stumble and lose it to JMont.
And then, where people like Ava Arthur and Chris Page ran to friendly insulation in the wake of their failure under the light and piercing gaze of so many people who believed so much in them? I saw Junko Souma rise and drag JMont down into the pit he cast her in. She’s got him there still, and you’re looking to finish him aren’t you Junko?”
“Wars on two fronts rarely ever result in victories on both.”
“Well, she is quite rare to be fair.
You’re right though, because as much as in our opinion you’re the single most dangerous aspect of this match? You’re wrestling with your own special kind of conflict aren’t you Junko?
Do you want to End JMont more, or do you want to beat me and prove that you can ascend to those heights we all believe you can soar amongst? Can you really do both? Can you live with just one?”
“If I were you, and I have been, I’d be more worried bout slipping and walking out of Thunder in Paradise bloodied, bruised, disappointed in yourself and living with having dragged Hanako into all of this for nothing more than the privilege of getting bloody.”
“You’ve got a lot on your plate, but right now? This is all that's on ours. There is no double duty for me. And despite Larry’s barking, he hasn’t gotten a match from Red yet. We’re coming into this united, pissed off, and focused on proving that we are still the standard setters and the standard bearers of this tournament.”
“We are the last two bits of real, proven big game in these woods and you’re just the six sad hunters they sent that will end up little more than a memory and a cautionary tale for having ever made the efforts.”
“We’re at the Summit.”
“You’ll live in the valley, terrified of the failure that the effort could bring you.”
“Always just the six of you.”
“And Never More.”
The morning sun cast a golden hue over the city, a stark contrast to the shadowy events of the night before. The Gumshoe and Red stood outside the grand estate where the masquerade gala had taken place, the aftermath still being sorted by the police. Mayor Marshall stood beside them, flustered but beaming in pride.
"Thanks to you two, we got the Rogues, Lights Out, and even that slippery Chaos Orchids behind bars," he grumbled, tipping his hat in acknowledgment. "But the damned cup, the SEX Cup—it's still missing. It's like it vanished into thin air."
Red smirked, her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. "Well, Chief, can't win 'em all, can you? But you've got the bad guys, and that's a win in my book."
The Gumshoe nodded, his thoughts already turning to where the cup could have gone. It was a loose end that nagged at him, but for now, they had done their part. The city was a little safer, and that was enough.
“You know, Knox…I could see about getting that job of yours back for you. This was some incredible work.”
The Gumshoe regarded him for a moment, turning to Red who shrugged at it herself. Matthew peered toward the sky for a moment, face scrunching up as he contemplated the offer.
“My job….” he repeated, before lowerig his gaze to meet the Mayors “Reckon you can take that job….shine it up real nice, turn it sidew–”
“Don’t finish that.” Red interjected, rising from where she sat and nodding once “Mayor.”
As they walked away from the estate, Red led him to a sleek motorbike, its engine purring like a beast eager to be unleashed. The Gumshoe raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he climbed into the sidecar, the two of them an unconventional duo in an unforgiving world.
Red revved the engine, and with a roar, they were off, speeding down the road with the wind whipping through their hair. The city blurred past them, a canvas of endless stories and hidden truths.
As they disappeared into the distance, the camera panned back to the estate, lingering on a gleaming object nestled in the overgrown ivy that climbed the stone wall. There, partly obscured by leaves and morning dew, was the SEX Cup, its surface reflecting the newborn day.
It was a silent witness to the night's events, a prize untouched by the chaos. For now, it remains a secret.
“Kind of a hammy ending, don’t you think?” Amber inquired, her gaze not lifting from the script in front of her. Matthew looked up from his own, sat across the table from her in the spartan studio he’d rented while moving everything from the old one out west.
“Well, it is made for wrestling fans. And those people buy things with our faces on them.”
“Fair point…” she looked up now, eyebrow arching “Still. Red and the Gumshoe finessing the whole system and making off with the SEX cup…kind of a bold shot to take, eh? What if we miss?”
He met her gaze, considering her words before a wry smirk crossed his weathered features.
“We won’t.”
