As I stumbled past the crates littering the decrepit warehouse, hand clutched to my bleeding side, I wondered how I had gotten here. It had all been so simple… where did things go wrong? The dame. I guess it always was the dame that got you, in the end.
It had started out as a normal day. I reeked of ginger and cheap bourbon, as per usual. Business had been slow recently; the beige shag carpet had several large brown coffee stains, and dust motes floated around the dark room. The black letters on the window of the door across from my desk were peeling, but you could still make out a fragment of a name: Al n Kazan , Pri /ate Ev . Of course, I knew that I was Alan Kazam, a Private Eye, but I had taken to answering to Mr. Kazan. I swiveled around in my chair, and tugged the venetian blinds down with one finger. Outside my window was the same old view: a dirty street, the side opposite to mine crowded with Madame Blissey’s whorehouse and my favorite Chinese place, Cai Quan Rou. I was beginning to suspect that their secret ingredient was Lillipup meat, but on my meager allowance, I wasn’t about to get picky. On the sidewalk were a few young Pokemon, who normally would be playing stickball or something. Right now, though, they and several of Madame Blissey’s girls were gathered around a long black limousine. They were less likely to be as interested in the length of the car, or the importance of the person inside it, than they were in seeing their reflections for the first time in Arceus knows how long, reflected back at them from the glistening paint and dazzling hubcaps. I, however, quickly deduced that today was no longer a normal day.
The driver-side door of the limo opened and a muscle-bound Machoke came out, decked out in a black suit, shades, and one of those squiggly ear-pieces you always see the Secret Service wear. The great lummox walked over to the back of the car, shouldering past the gathered crowd, and opened the back door. Out of the car came a short figure wearing a fedora and trench coat. The two started walking towards my building, but I stopped watching before they had even reached the middle of the road. Letting the blinds snap shut with a clatter, I spun around and leapt out of my chair. I wasn’t sure they were coming to my office, but better to be safe than sorry. I grabbed my own crumpled fedora off of my head, and started sweeping dust off of my crummy wooden desk and into the waste bin beside it. I wasn’t usually one for appearances, but if their car was any indicator, my soon-to-be clients very much were.
As the dust and I settled into my chair, a sharp rap came at my office door; sure enough, these cats were here to see me.
“Come in,” I said, trying my best to sound like I hadn’t been breathing dust a moment prior. “The door’s open.”
The Machoke opened the door evenly, stepped inside, and took a quick look around. Giving an unimpressed, but approving nod, he stepped to one side to allow the shrouded figure room to enter. The miniscule thing was more ridiculous than it had looked through the window. It had waddled across the room with an awkward gait, as if its legs were too short for its girth. So I was surprised, when he took off his coat and hat, to not only recognize the figure, but to recognize him as one of the hottest rock stars of the day, Rocky Rola. With the cool gaze of that great big golden eye, and the most agile hips a rock Pokemon ever did have, he had become a teen heartthrob overnight.
“Well, Mr. Rola,” I said once the initial shock had worn off, “of all the Pokemon that could’ve walked into my office today, I certainly didn’t expect you. What can I do for you?”
“Cut the pleasantries, you big palooka,” Rocky spat, in a tone considerably sharper than the one he used during performances. “I have a problem, and word on the street is that you’re the guy to fix ‘em.” He tossed a manila envelope onto my desk. It was true that I was a good solver of problems; I didn’t feel it necessary to tell Rocky that I hadn’t solved anyone’s problems for the last six months.
I opened up the envelope; inside was a single photograph. It was a professional shot, like they do for actresses and models, and the Pokemon in the picture was the most beautiful dame I had ever seen. She had green hair down to her shoulders, skin white as snow, and deep red eyes that seemed to peer straight into your soul. A white sundress draped neatly about her slender frame; in short, she was perfect.
“That’s Carly, my girlfriend,” Rocky said. The sound of his words crashed down on me like a bucket of ice-water. “She’s the love of my life, but I think she’s two-timing me. She leaves all the time. She says she’s going shopping, or seeing old friends, but there’s always something… fake about her alibis.” Rocky stopped for a moment, and stared into space. For all his hard shell, it looked like this broad had cut him to the quick.
“So, what do you want me to do about it?” I said, more to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled about the room than anything else. Rocky came back to reality with a start, and continued.
“I want you to tail her,” he explained. “Find out where she’s going, and who she’s seeing.”
“Easy enough,” I said. “But it’s gonna cost you a cool thousand.”
Rocky snapped his fingers. I admit I jumped a little then the Machoke guard moved; I had forgotten he was there. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a fat wad of cash, and tossed it on the desk.
“Need anything else, Mr. Kazan?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Where do I find her?”
Target Pokemon: Roggenrola
Story Rank: Simple (5-10k)
This is the first part of a larger story. Since it met the character requirement for Roggenrola, I thought I'd post what I have so far. The second part is forthcoming, and has a true climax, so if you're gonna grade this and fail it just for lack of climax, hold off until I have the second part ready. Otherwise, happy grading!