Crucial Next Points

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 09, 2019

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Submitted: May 09, 2019



September 23th, 2017 


Here is now and shall soon be gone. Rebirth of reflection varies with a roughness of the surface. This evening, here at this town called Hedgingville, located in the Midwest. The ambient glow of yellow street lights, the ground is soaked with water, a mass of caused ripples is gone for a good cause, it stopped raining, immediate response has brought to calmness, a serenity on the street, people on each pavement of this urban area, either bestir or remain.
A young man with blonde ragged hair and cheap blue jacket, similar to a scattering, he's like a rover. He asks if someone's got a cigarette, anyone who passes through him, he finally got one, he feels calm for now, moving to the narrow alley for some space, in order to let pedestrians walk by with no aggravation. As he stands and smoking while he leans into the wall, he spots something, someone with the sunglasses on. Rover drops his cigarette, extinguishing it, covering his head with a cap. He's stepping in, walks leisurely among crowds, he's following one of them, a woman with luxurious brown leather trench and boots on, carrying a handbag, straps are attached to her left arm.
Presumably, a pathway connecting the downtown, he walks faster, he intends to snatch her purse, suddenly, he gets distracted by a couple of crazy guys who shouts at him, complaining about a stumble, they might be street thugs, luckily, no brawl eventuated. His sight is back on track and she's gone, staggered by her disappearance behind the mist. He just standing there, almost like it ain't matter anymore. It turns out to be ghastly, he doesn't feel well, he has trouble breathing, it's getting worse when he realized that he's about to collapse, all he can do now is do whatever he can. His blurred vision, though, he sorely tries to stay conscious...... a glimpse of open 24 hours neon lights caught his eye dynamically.
He rushes across the one way road unbalanced, hurrying towards the entrance, he's sitting down on booth seating, during fatigue of gape, he gazes down at the glossy flat top, a slow proper process regains his drive. The waitress shows up and being polite, she hands him a menu, he pretends to look at it so that he can slumber, he tries to remind himself that he's in the roadside diner, the name is unknown, perhaps it's called The Nighthawk Diner too. They have good meals to offer, it gives him a second thought. Rover sees a couple of people sitting at the bar counter, watching the news on TV hanging upper right the corner. One of them is a man with posture, slouching, wearing a dark suit, wide-brimmed with his back against the window, drinking a glass of water, on the other hand, his briefcase is standing on the floor right next to the stool. Rover aligns on it, he speedily grabs the briefcase and flees, a man turns around rapidly, when he sees him running out through the exit, his rage and pursuit trigger the alert, at this moment, the patrol vehicle shows up momentary, last few seconds before they pay attention. The cops caught him due to his blundering, the rover is handcuffed, he got busted, the briefcase is retrieved.


He's taken to the nearest police station where they put him into custody. The interrogation room is calling him, two chairs and a table in the middle of this room with a lamp hanging above. One of the officers behind the observation mirror reads out, about the rover; Patrick E. Farley, aged 28, from North Carolina, dropped out of UNC Charlotte, no criminal records, lots of odd jobs before he applied for a new job in this city as a postal service clerk, almost a year he resided here. Someone comes in the interrogation room, mid-40's, wearing a blue shirt and tie, badge and sidearm holster, introducing himself as Detective Robert Clarke who is rigorous about this matter. His first question to Patrick in a condescending manner is, why he is here at the station, he replies without being insolent, saying that he needed money for the rent and groceries, he doesn't know what else to say.

"Your name is on the police report, do you have something to say about it?" said Clarke.

Patrick told them everything he knew already, about his manager at the postal service, Emilio Reyes who died 3 months ago, no one knew how it happened, no eyewitnesses, he was lying on the floor in the basement, he fell off downstairs, breaking his neck. Clarke summarizes if it was either homicide, suicide or more likely an accident, fellow workers including Patrick were interviewed by the police. As a result, the case was closed. Following Emilio's death, Patrick lost his job due to manpower cut, last in, first out, he is unemployed ever since, new job searched without success. Clarke thinks it's so timely that Patrick is arrested, not yet he is suspected but he can stay here and serve his sentence. He accepts his own failure and he is ready to take the consequences of his actions. This may entail that he's going to say one word, it comes out of him, "Borden.", the attention is reaching. 

"Keep talking." said Clarke.

The adrenaline starting to brush up in his head, filled with clear memories, Patrick overheard Reyes when he had a conversation with someone on the phone before he died, as Emilio shouted;

"You can tell Bernard Borden that he can go fuck himself!!" 

"Bernard or Leonard, I don't know." said Patrick.

Clarke is listening, extracting verbatim to the observation room, browsing a name on database results estimated numbers of the full name in domestic, cross-referencing locations and Emilio's phone log. It indicates one possible junction, Leonard Borden, an investment broker, mid-50's, born in Chicago, graduated from Yale University, studied philosophy and accounting. He lives in Connecticut where he has his main office in brokerage firm but his current position is here in Hedgingville somewhere. Clarke makes a call to the headquarters, he learns that Leonard is not there and he will be back in 4 days, he's been gone for months. Clarke asserts that Patrick might be telling the truth.

"Why didn't you tell us in the first place?" asks Clarke, an uncool way.

Patrick is bewildered, he doesn't know why. What he has done to end up here might not be vindicated unless Clarke has something in mind. Clarke has spoken with Mr. Cooke, the owner of a briefcase which Patrick has stolen at the diner, about putting the complaint on hold temporarily.

"Guess what, it didn't contain any valuable things, you must be damn lucky." said Clarke.

Clarke would reopen the case if there are enough leads. Basically, he thinks it's waste of time but he's forced to double-check it, to see if it's worth it. Clarke decided to give Patrick 48 hours to observe and report under his supervision. In the end, if it's successful, he emphasizes that Patrick will be released with no charges, or more accurately, become an auxiliary officer in New York. He believes Patrick is still well-rounded and able to pull this off. Clarke is not done yet, he requests a polygraph test, which Patrick cannot afford to contradict. It will take place in the other room, in addition, Clarke's associate Sharon Morton will engage the device, Patrick is going to sit down with sensing probes on him, he will answer yes or no. The baseline is switched on, they begin to give him various questions.

- "Did you work for Emilio Reyes?"

- "Yes."

Stable line.

- "Did you see Emilio Reyes die?"

- "No."

Stable line.

- "Did you kill Emilio Reyes?"

- "No." 

Stable line.

- "Have you ever met Leonard Borden?"

- "No."

Stable line.

- "Did you know anything about Leonard Borden in the past?"


Stable line.

The baseline is switched off, the test is completed, Patrick is clean. Clarke lets Patrick walk out of precinct but he's not allowed to leave Hedgingville under investigation. A sweet fresh air has caught him entirely in his mind, he's upon the path that leads to his home, he lives in low-income tenement building at 132th Street, the door number is 122, he's passing through a mailbox where he picks up his mail but he's too tired to open it up, upstairs on the third floor, inside his apartment, it's a small tawdry chamber with kitchenette and a window, he gets himself intoxicated with his liquor from the fridge, fainting on his snug bed next to the window, almost like he's laying on the coffin in peace, a good night until tomorrow.



September 24th, 2017 


A sunrise shows up mildly, Patrick is still sleeping until he eagerly wakes up, his eyes is half-open, it's almost afternoon, he had a long night sleep. He gets a different perspective, a positive change, a full of energy. The weather looks fine, he wishes to go outside for a stroll, worthwhile or not. He's setting direction to the east, far away, healthy footsteps with an impetus to Walton Street, next to the garden-looking place, equivalent to a focal point. Warrington Square Park, there he goes, a landmark as well as a meeting place and diverse activities, chess and scrabble on the table in playing area, surrounded by the buildings, in the courtyard, he's resting on the bench, then he sees something quirky from distance, each person shows up, one by one, making a cryptic gesture individually in front of white-collar workers on the bench, a signal to communicate discreetly, it could be an admission in secret. Once they have done it, they step aside to the same spot where they're all gathered, both genders, they're professionals with different backgrounds, including the guy with overcoat who seems to be retired. Patrick moves a bit forward gradually to see closely, they're about to leave separate ways. Someone is sneaking behind him, someone is talking to him, he turns around, it turns out to be a teenage girl, pretty light short haircut, denim jacket, jeans, and sports shoes. She sounds intelligent, amicable, strong-willed, who asks if she could give him money to buy a pack of cigarettes to her and her friends, they're sitting on the greensward, she's pointing at them, boys and some girls waving back.
He understood why she seemed chagrined but his answer is "No.". Her persistence keeps pushing him further but he still refuses, he's got enough burden. The argument ceased to escalate.

"Are you a cop?" she asks.

"No, why?" said Patrick. 

Alternatively, she is merely amused when it comes to sarcasm. Before she walks away, they're exchanging extended words and a sense of perspective, about this garden cordially. She then proceeds randomly. Patrick's iPhone is ringing, it's Clarke, he orders Patrick to meet him on the west side of the river immediately. Later they meet again at the river, Clarke is making a brief, he got a word that Leonard is spending time at the club couple of times, it's called Per Ordo Lounge, and also, Emilio attended there for a meeting. Clarke explains that he's not allowed to know where Leonard is. Therefore, Patrick is given an assignment.

"Your job is to go inside the club and infiltrate in order to collect the evidence, you will go tonight." said Clarke. 

Patrick inquires about why it's so important, Clarke is keen to answer that, he unveils a bunch of records and photo of Leonard Borden; a bald one, wearing a business suit.
Clarke dug up Leonard's business deals in past 6 years so far, Leonard went to Brazil, England, Morocco, Georgia, Canada and Philippines, each year, same month and now it's here in this territory, there were no signs of illegal activities or misconduct, except that something bothered Clarke. Leonard choose investor to buy a property, an actual percental, but this is different, it looks more of a handpicked. Lots of things happened during October in the past, a degree of casualties, the landlord got complaints from locals, about the firefight, as well as demolition in one of the countries, rumor has it that some of the delinquents, involved in heist attempt, claimed they were hired by a non-existent faction. Clarke thinks Leonard tried to sabotage someone by using Emilio to constrain delivery to the recipient for a commission. Patrick jokes to himself to read Time Magazine more often.

"I forgot to tell you, the dress code is required there." said Clarke.

Patrick is not provided anything, not even good luck, as Clarke prefer not to.

"I don't feel sorry for you, be grateful for that." said Clarke.

Both leave the river for tonight, Patrick is making preparation, procuring necessary items. First he wants to eat, either at the vendor or restaurant, bouncing to the place where they have Wi-Fi, ordering the shish kebab menu simultaneously using his iPhone to get an internet connection in order to do the research on Per Ordo Lounge and their supplier, hoping to find an advantage of his infiltration, he's setting an appointment, he plans to disguise himself as a representative, likely a substitute.
At the second store, he buys a few accessories before returning home, he's going to change his image, a suit he kept for a quite some time, a new tie added. Patrick embarks on his way to the south-east. When he is there, he sees Clarke in the car who is watching him standing in the line. The bouncer lets Patrick go inside the club, surprisingly. He asks the waiter to call the staff for a talk. Meanwhile, the band is on stage, playing a song, an intriguing song. One of security guard services comes out of the kitchen, appears to be quite tall, brawny, proficient and genuine, wearing an all-black suit.

"Good evening, I'm Zack, you wanted to talk about the quotation, am I right?" 

"That is correct." said Patrick.

Patrick has gotten clearance to the backstage. Zack is giving him a tour, the long corridor, the kitchen, and the meeting room. Patrick insists to be alone for a minute, he's searching for documents to obtain necessary details with his iPhone, the tour continues. Patrick asks if there were two important people who had an encounter here, something it didn't work out. Zack wonders why he's so nosy, Patrick makes a variable excuse to forget what he said. Zack has toned down his skepticism, the next stop, they go to the old traction elevator, this space is big enough for cargo, it starts rolling down to the basement, both are standing and waiting silently, until elevator shudders. In the concrete passageway, they move towards the door to see inside, its emptied storage area, the Fluorescent lamps switches on. In an instant, Zack throws Patrick on the floor like a berserker, the door is locked, Zack put the keys in his pocket, he takes his blazer off, putting it on the doorknob as cloth hook. He confronts Patrick.

"We're gonna have a little talk, I think I've seen you before." said Zack.

They start fighting, Zack pulls out his weapon, Zack the knife, Patrick's odds is unlikely unless he is able to defend himself. Patrick's resourcefulness disables Zack's weapon, they hit each other with bare hands, ultimately, Patrick strangles him with both arms around his neck from behind, Zack is still struggling and Patrick is trying to put him down, the trouble is getting worse in the heat of battle beyond judgment, both slams into the wall, they fall on the floor.
One is moving and the other is not, the bloodstains are everywhere, Patrick seems to be fine but he is physically wounded, he's looking over Zack lying on the floor, he's not moaning, he's not breathing, he's not faking..... he's dead. His head must have landed sickeningly, Patrick is shocked, completely speechless, in a minute until he comes back to his senses. He searches Zack and his blazer; wallet, keys and the iPhone, but suddenly it starts ringing, he's not answering it, he takes all with him except the iPhone, Patrick goes out of this room promptly before they find him down here. Back to the same floor where he came from, he's sneaking into the room for a band-aid, stealing a uniform to cloak himself as a cook, using trashbag to cover his face so he can make it to the backdoor unnoticed, out of the door to the alley with full of garbage containers, he ditches cook uniform and walks onto the street, the bus arrives in time, he uses it as an escape route, he's very fortunate, they almost got him.
Shortly, back to his apartment, Patrick has seen no other choice but to leave Hedgingville at once, he's aware of his absence regarding Detective Clarke. People will be looking for Patrick everywhere, he has all his things packed up. He abandons the tenement to make his next move, he's uncertain if he wants to return to his hometown or go somewhere else, the circumstances have left him contemplating what he heard and what he saw lately, Patrick perceive the consistency of predicament, there is a probability that could contribute an impression on him, danger and opportunity. He walks away with his suitcase and disappears by blending in with the crowd.

At the same nightfall, a man is walking through the hallway of the 8th floor, he's wearing a business suit, a bald one; Leonard Borden, who is driven, very smart and very well informed. He's talking on his iPhone, he's not in the mood about the incident at Per Ordo Lounge, he orders them to find the one who is responsible at all costs. He rushes to his secretary named Colette, she's sitting at her desk right next to the serviced office room as his workplace, she informs him how it all went but they are both concerned about what happened recently.

"How many private actors left out?" asks Leonard. 

"Very low, sir. Furthermore, Duke Sykes has joined in." said Colette.

"Just as I imagined... very well, tomorrow it begins." said Leonard.

He enters his office, turns on the computer on his desk to survey calendar; it displays a schedule plan set within 30 days, he's about to rectify the check on the roster. Suddenly, the footsteps are making a noise, he's not alone in this room, he's got an unexpected company, a shifting-form emerging from nowhere.

"Who are you? how did you get in here?" asks Leonard.

A masked man with a balaclava and reflective goggles under a hood, wearing a modified heat reactive jacket and gloves, the appearance is left anonymous, faceless, color scheme of the whole outfit is green-teal-black, who doesn't say a word. Leonard tries to recollect why he doesn't get respond, instead, he comprehends the severe portent, something he was aware of, but he could not see it until now, in front him, a suppressed firearm is aiming at him, Leonard doesn't do anything but to evince his blunder with his approach, subsequently, he muster the energy to say his final word.

"Tabanid." said Leonard.

The masked individual utters a reaction that Leonard is indeed a clever man. Leonard's fate is now unknown, what is left is around this scope, the side of the wall has a big transparent part, the office window, it's overlooking a landmark, very close by, a view of Warrington Square Park, it can see the courtyard perfectly.


© Copyright 2019 Theoux. All rights reserved.

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