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World of Darkness: Attrition - A Job [Complete]

Sam Spaid

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May 2

The small office was hot despite the ceiling fan and the fan in the window. Outside LA was baking under a scorching sun, the mercury was rising steadily and heading into the nineties. Samantha looked at the clock on her desk, it wasn't even yet noon. She blew out a breathe through pursed lips and looked at the phone as if expecting it to ring. The first weekend of the month was George's time with Timmy and Samantha always kept her office open on that weekend if for no other reason that to have something to do.

The desk itself was populated by a phone, a notepad covered in doodles, a few pens and pencils, and an empty coffee cup. The rest of the office was similarly spartan, a half dead plant sat by the window looking markedly better since she watered it this morning. There was a lockable file cabinet and a pair of extra chairs. Sam's head lolled back and she gave a groan of pure boredom. Despite having just that morning decided that she needed to diet she found herself contemplating getting an early lunch at the nearby In-n-Out Burger. Samantha sat up, deciding that if nothing else she didn't need to sit in the heat and slowly roast.

The knock at the door made her start in surprise. She recovered and got up to open the door finding an older man and a woman. "Good afternoon," she said simply, "Come in." The one room office hid nothing, especially the fact that Sam Spaid was clearly not a man wearing a trench coat and fedora, let alone Humphrey Bogart. "Pleased have a seat. How can I help you today?"

"I ... uh, I mean we ... well ..." the gentleman stammered, clearly caught off guard.

"Pardon my husband, its just that we were expecting ..."

"A man?" Sam provided. "Don't worry I get that a lot. Please, go on."

She nodded curtly, and pulled a photo from her pocketbook, placing it on the desk she slide it across to Sam. "That's our son Jon. He ... he ..." She stopped as her eyes welled with tears. Her husband took her hand in his, lending her his strength via a simple gesture and touch.

"He's missing?" Sam asked.

"No he died, he was murdered. The police have no leads. One of the detectives, he said that if we wanted to hire a private investigator to work with the police department that was our right. He even gave us your name. Ms. Spaid we just want justice, we want to make sure that whomever killed our son doesn't get to do it to somebody else."

Sam nodded sympathetically. The next half hour was spent discussing the details, her fees and methods, and all the information about their son that they could remember. Finally she stood and she walked the short distance to the door with them. "I'll be in touch. And if you think of anything more, no matter how insignificant, please let me know." She handed then one of her business cards and shook their hands once more before they left.

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Sam returned to her desk after they left and studied the notes she had taken. The yellow legal pad sat on the desk and stared back as if daring her to find anything useful within the feminine scrawl on its surface.

Originally Posted By: Case Note's
  • Jon Brot, Age 19
  • Murdered on or around April 3, 2009, shot twice, head & chest
  • Body found in alley off of Laurel Ave between Fountain and Nortan Aves
  • Dt. Wright (could be worse)

There was precious little there, and Samantha knew that the police would resent her presence even if she was on friendly with the LAPD. She picked up the photo the Brot's had provided, not that it mattered what their son had looked like but it would provide motivation. They had sworn their son wasn't into drugs or gangs, that he was a good kid, Sam knew that more often than not parents either didn't see, or didn't believe when they did see, that their kids could be into such things. Still it was too early yet to assume anything, even the slightest assumption could throw off her investigation.

After a while she picked up the phone and called Detective Wright. She's worked with him for a short time before she left the force, he was old school, didn't like the idea of woman cops, let along women PIs, but he wasn't the type to interfere either, he would just assume she was stupid every time they spoke. Sam smiled, sometimes that provided her an advantage.

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"Wednesday? Come on Calvin, its not going to take you that long to have copies made and you know it." The voice on the end squawked back that it would take a long as it would take and that Samantha had best be happy that he was willing to throw her a bone at all. "Fine, Wednesday. You know I'm on your side here right? Yeah, uh-huh. OK, see you then, and Cal? Thanks."

Sam hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment, a curse forming on her lips. She let it die unspoken, Calvin was doing his job, if the powers that be in City Hall wanted to make it harder for PIs like her that wasn't his fault. She knew that with him it wasn't personal. Not that she wasn't frustrated as hell by the stonewalling. She had wanted to get started immediately but now the bulk of the work would have to wait until she got the file.

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May 7

Sam sat at her desk and poured over the police file. Jon Brot had been shot dead between midnight and two a.m. on April fourth. A .38 to the chest and head. He'd been found with no wallet, phone, watch. Even his damn shoes had been stripped off him. Samantha made a note of that. It likely meant a homeless person had found the body, nobody killed for shoes anymore. Had he been mugged? San suspected that there was something specific to the killing. Money seemed likely. She jotted down some notes. She'd need to visit the scene. It would be hard but she might be able to pull an impression from the area.

The police had talked to Jon's professors and the students in his class. The stories were all the same. His grades had dropped in the last semester and his activity in class was erratic. Some of the interviewees thought he was into drugs. Drugs and money, motive if there ever was one. She flipped to the last page, the police had talked to his parents. She read it expecting to learn nothing, she was surprised to find she was wrong. His mother had said he had been violent and delusional the last time she saw him. That was on the third. They hadn't told her about that. Samantha wondered if they simply forgot or if they had left that out on purpose for some reason.

She got up, closed the file and snapped a binder clip on the open end to keep it all together. Time was not on her side, Jon had died more than a month before. The sooner the better if she was going to get anything from the scene.

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Sam found the alley and parked the car. The place stunk of urine and rot and worse. She pulled out the crime scene photos and located the spot at the back of the alley where Jon had been shot dead. From this deep in the alley only a narrow window of the street could be seen. The buildings on either side were businesses and would have been closed late at night. It was the perfect place for a crime. A homeless man looked at her askance but given that her car was in no swell shape and they she was dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt she didn't stand out as badly as she could have.

Samantha located the spot that the photos showed. She grimaced at the idea that a man, barely more than a boy, had been gunned down here, had had his life's blood shed. She wanted to know why, and who. She knelt down and put her hand on the ground. She closed her eyes and concentrated, recalling the facts of the case once more she tried to send her mind backwards to the night of the murder.

Click to reveal..
Spending 1 WP on Postcognition

WP 3/6

Wits + Occults - 2 (murder was one month prior)

(20:44:15) ChatBot: (Samantha) rolls 3d10 and gets 4,10,2.

(20:44:24) ChatBot: (Samantha) rolls 1d10 and gets 4.

Originally Posted By: Flashback
Jon didn’t look well, he was pale and sweaty, his body moved in jerk and fits. His scrawny arms showed red dots on the inside of the elbows and his eyes were sunken in his head. He was scrawny, malnourished and underfed, his body and clothes dirty, his hair wild. He turned and saw another man walk down the alley; he was silhouetted against the light from the street. His gait was more like a swagger, the kind of exaggerated strut of a pimp or a pusher. He came closer and his features resolved. The newcomer was a Latino, a dark thin moustache clashed with bleached blonde hair. An earring shaped like a penis hung from one ear.

“Hey man, hey Filthy, you ... you got more of that new stuff?” Jon’s voice was shaky, just as his body was twitchy, and he sounded tired and desperate.

“Stupid junkie, ‘course I got the shit. Fifty bucks boy-o, unless you wanna swallow what I give you, mebbe I even let you get tweaked out first.” Jon’s face twisted in revulsion. “Din’ tink so.” Filthy pulled a pistol from the waistband of his pants, a snub-nosed .38 special.

“Hey woah, what … you … why man?” Jon’s eyes were wide, fear plain as day, he stumbled backwards, away from the other man. The gun coughed and Jon twitched. Blood, dark and wet, began to blossom from a wound in the young man’s chest. The gun coughed again and Jon’s body hit the asphalt blood pooling out from his head and chest.

Samantha coughed once and then retched. Her breakfast came up thin, watery, and burning, adding yet another puddle to the alley and one more layer of stink. She wiped at her mouth with her clean hand and pushed herself back to standing. Her postcogitive visions were always jarring, she still hadn't gotten fully used to them. She pulled out the file and a pen and, forcing herself past the nausea, started to take notes one what she had seen before it faded from memory.

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Sam returned to her car and scrounged a piece of gum to take the taste of bile and acid out of her mouth. She looked around the area and saw the homeless man once more. Checking her purse she found thirty four dollars and some change, hopefully enough to buy some information. She got out of the car after shoving the money into the pocket of her jeans and made her way over to the man. His stench was practically physical, like walking into a film of desecration. She fought to hide her disgust as she closed the last couple of feet. "Excuse me I was wondering if you stayed in this area a lot? I'm looking for information on a Latino man called Filthy."

The man looked up at her, his eyes were yellowed and as he spoke Samantha could see the blackened stumps of his teeth. "What's in it fer me?" Samantha produced a ten dollar bill and dropped it into his lap. "That an' a blowjob will get you a mouth full ah my cock." She grimaced and produced a twenty, dropping it on top of the ten. He looked at the money and pocketed it. "Try the Casa de la Comida."

"Thanks," Sam said as she turned and headed toward her car.

"Anytime sweet cheeks, and if you change your mind about the blowjob just let me know!" Samantha shuddered at the very thought, her gorge rising once more. She fought it down and climbed into the car. It was time to see about getting a man put behind bars.

Click to reveal..
(13:02:42) (Samantha): Streetwise (4 dice) +1 bribe

(13:02:46) ChatBot: (Samantha) rolls 5d10 and gets 2,1,3,4,1.

(13:05:38) (Samantha): trying again +2 (larger bribe)

(13:05:48) (Samantha): -1 for a second attempt

(13:05:55) ChatBot: (Samantha) rolls 5d10 and gets 10,10,6,6,3.

(13:06:06) ChatBot: (Samantha) rolls 2d10 and gets 1,2.

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Casa de la Comida. The place masqueraded as a Mexican restaurant but anybody with an ear to the street knew that it was a gang hangout and a laundering front for the Mexican drug cartels. Sam took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer and ordered some nachos. Supposedly the food was safe here but by the look of the place even the alcohol might have had diseases. She was halfway through the nachos and a beer when she saw Filthy enter.

She watched as he sat at a table with a half dozen other hoodlums. It was then that she realized she had no proof and no plan and, most importantly, no backup. She frowned, this was something she either needed to seek help on or she needed to bring to the police. The latter was less than preferable. Samantha waved the bartender over and pointed out Filthy, "Who's that guy, he looks familiar."

She slipped a twenty, crisp from the ATM, across to the bartender. The man pocketed the bill and looked at Filthy for a second, "Carlos Sanchez. You should stay away, I hear he's a brutal guy."

"Thanks. Name's not familiar, not the guy I thought he was. Thanks." She dropped another twenty to cover the food and beer and then got up and walked out. She now had a name which could be used to get all the information she needed on him.

Continues in Seeking Justice

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