A damp chill hung in the air as waif of a young woman made her way up the stairs of a small

three story office building. Perfectly placed black hair with impeccably done makeup still could not

quite cover the disheveled air about her and the dark circles under her pale blue eyes. She paused at the

platform for the second floor, inhaled sharply, and then stepped out in to the hallway. A few steps to her

left she found her destination, a door whose small glass window bore the lettering “Jack Cutler: Private

Investigator”.

She made as if to rap at the door, hesitated a moment to summon her courage, and then gave it a

couple of short, sharp knocks. The lock turned, a scarred, rough looking young man opened the door,

“Can I help you miss?” came the reply. “May Williams, my name is May Williams, and I was

wondering if you could help me” she asked, doing her level best to avoid eye contact.

“Well, might be that I can, come in and have seat” Jack turned inside motioning for her to

follow him. It was a small office, with a cluttered oak desk and a pair of folding chairs in front of the

desk, the faint hum of a radiator was the only ambient noise. He motioned her to a seat as he sauntered

behind the desk and sat down. She slid into the chair looking at once relived and uncomfortable. “Is

there something wrong Miss” Jack asked, he had already spotted the pain carried in her face and didn't

expect this would be a pleasant conversation.

“It's, well you see... I don't really know how to...” she was stammering, close to tears.

“Someone close has passed right?” Jack paused “your husband perhaps?” May looked relived not have

to be the one to say it. “Do you mind if I smoke” she asked hands trembling as she reached for her

cigarette case, “Of course” Jack pushed an empty ashtray from the end of the desk closer to her. He

produced a match from a book inside his desk and leaned across to give a light. She took a deep drag
and then exhaled, her nerves steadying a bit as she prepared to tell her story.

“Ethan, that was his name, Ethan” she took another drag “he died three days past, this last

Friday, they found him the next day. A hiker found his body, and the police came to collect him”. She

had a faraway look about her. “The police said it was death by misadventure, just an accident, that he

must have gotten lost out there on the mountain and got killed by some sort of animal. A mountain lion

was what they theorized” There was a fiery gleam to her eye “wasn't no cat that killed my Ethan”.

She was getting more agitated by the second, “The police were odd about the whole thing, they

wouldn't let me see his body. They said it wasn't worth upsetting me over and they didn't act like they

cared to make any real investigation in to the matter at all”. May sighed, looking much older than her

years. “Ethan was fighter” she pointed at a picture of a slightly younger looking Jack stripped to the

waist and gloved up with a handful of other men such attired “were you fighter Mr. Cutler?” A wistful

smile spread across Jack's hawkish features “Yes but not a boxer like your husband, a Savatuer, a boxer

in the French fashion where they use the feet as well as the fist. It was after the war, I stayed in Paris

for a time”.

May crinkled her nose for a moment as if trying to picture a man boxing with his feet, then

shook her head “Well anyway Ethan was fighter, he had a fight this last Friday, a big one, the one that

would have put him on the road to some real competition and maybe even fighting somewhere decent

like New York. He said that if things fell right he might could be in the top 10 by '26, just a year or so

would be all”. She paused to gather the facts in her head “he had been strange ever since he took this

fight, like he had something on his mind, and I had heard him on the phone arguing with his manager,

Nathan Fox, but he wouldn't say why, only that it was just some foolishness”.
 “Ethan and Nathan had their share of disagreements over the years but Ethan never kept the

nature of them hid from me. Secrets aren't like him, or at least they weren't..” May trailed off for a

moment, the idea that her husband was truly gone creeping back into awareness. She looked on the

verge of tears again, but pushed forward “He won, the fight I mean, but something was wrong, he didn't

seem happy and one of his friends from the gym approached him right afterward, they talked

something in whispers. Ethan got agitated so we hurried home, he wouldn't say what was wrong, he

just said that he needed to talk to some friends about something and that he was going down to the

Trick Shot ,that pool hall, and that he would be back later that evening.”

Jack ran his fingers through his dark hair as he thought, “You think something happened there,

that someone must have killed him, and that it had something to do with the fight most likely?” He

paused, his face taking a sympathetic cast “Honestly Mrs. Williams this isn't really my thing, I track

down dead beat dads, gambling debts, adultering spouses, that sort of work. I don't know that I'm

qualified to handle a murder investigation”. A deep sigh escaped from his lips “I would like to help you

but.. I'm just not sure I'm the right man for this”. May shook her head “Hours after the police came

another man came by to talk to me. Said he was a detective, he asked all manner of questions about

Ethan and the night of his death. Which was strange because the police that came by earlier didn't ask

me a thing. I demanded to know what was going on, he said he couldn't tell me and that he wasn't sure

himself. Now I told him that wasn't going to cut it, he said that he knew someone that might could help,

gave me your number, said you specialized in working in the gray areas of the law as he put it.”

Curiosity was getting the better of him now, he had a guess as to who the detective that had

recommended him might be. Old Jim Neary, he had provided outside “assistance” on a few cases for

Jim, doing things that internal affairs might have frowned on. Jack had done some work for local hoods
as well, helping them track down errant debtors, keep tabs on rivals, things of that nature. What did he

care if he helped the garbage take out the garbage? Inwardly he chuckled at the thought of “working in

the gray areas of the law”, sounded better than “borderline criminal” he supposed. He threw his hands

up in surrender, “I suppose I can take a look into this for your Mrs. Williams, but I'm going to be honest

with you, might be that you won't like the answers you find. Good men have kept secrets before.”

Mrs. Williams nodded solemnly, her soft features tempered with resolution “I know that, but I

don't believe it, not deep down. Something happened to my Ethan and I aim to know what. It may be

that I don't like the answer but it wasn't like him to keep secrets.” She paused “ I believe he was afraid

of something and I need to know what”. Jack shrugged, “If you feel like you're ready to go there, then

I suppose I can help you”. The relief on her face was palpable “Thank you Mr. Cutler, I can't stand not

knowing what really happened, if something untoward happened then it deserves to be known, he was a

good man.” she paused as though unsure how to approach her next thought “I suppose there is also the

matter of payment.. I don't have much .. I mean we have some savings but” she trailed off. Jack gave a

slight nod and a weary grin “Don't worry about it just yet, let me ask around, get a feel for things and

I'll get back to you on it, I'm still not entirely convinced that there is much of a case here at all so I don't

feel right charging you for it just yet”.

Jack fished a notepad from a drawer in his desk, producing a pen from a case in his shirt pocket

at the same time. “Leave your particulars with me, address, phone number if you have one, and as soon

as I know something I will get in touch with you” he stood extending his hand. May scribbled her

information on the pad, rose and gave a meek hand shake “Thank you again Mr. Cutler, I will be

anxious to hear what you find out”. She made her way to the door but hesitated at the threshold a

moment “Truly, thank you”, she turned again and was gone. Jack continued to stand for a moment then

set about his usual task of making notes of what he knew so far and possible connections there in.
 At the corner of 2nd and Main Street sat an unassuming warehouse style building, unadorned

cinder blocks with a simple tin roof. It sat apart form the art deco office buildings and the plain brick of

the tobacco outlets, restaurants, and small time retailers. Jack was familiar with the area but couldn't

help himself from checking the letters painted across the side of the warehouse “Fox's Boxing”.The

gym was somewhat well known, Nathan Fox had coached a handful of locals into the top twenty in

their respective weights over the past two decades. Jack stretched as he stepped out of his sedan and

turned his coat collar up against the cold. He wasn't sure just how productive this trip was going to be.

If Fox new anything of what happened, and it was his guess that he did, he may not be inclined to stick

his neck out.

The dull thump of leather on flesh, the pained grunts of men locked in struggle, and the

rhythmic hum of the jump rope provided the familiar orchestra of pugilism. Sweat and blood hung tart

in the air, it was all familiar to Jack, comforting even in a peculiar sort of way. He had spent countless

hours in the Savate Salles of Paris after the war, hammering away at the stresses left behind by a year

of bloody trench warfare. Most of the aspiring champions ignored his entrance though a few heads

turned. Jack hailed one of the men gloving up outside the ring that sat center in the gym “Mr. Fox

here?” he asked. “Yeah he's in his office” the fighter never looked up from his task.

Jack made his way through the maze of hanging bags and lazily discarded equipment toward the

small office near the back of the building. He gave a small knock on the office door, “Yeah come in

already” came the shrill response. A small bespectacled man sat behind a lavish oaken desk, pecking

away at a type writer, “The fuck do you want” he inquired? “Mr. Nathan Fox, I'm Jack Cutler a private

investigator in the employ of Mrs. May Williams” Jack let the words hang for a second before

continuing “I'd like to ask you some questions”. Fox sighed, rubbing at his temples “If it was anyone
other than May had sent you I would to tell you to fuck right off”. Fox was middle aged, balding, and

leaning quite heavily towards the portly side, in short he was the physical antithesis of the men he so

aptly coached. At this precise moment he looked all of his forty six years, “Sweetest girl, every bit as

stubborn as Ethan was”.

Hesitation hung from Fox's every feature, it was clear to Jack that he had a secret to keep, one

that he was struggling with. Jack could feel a weakness so he cut straight to the point “I'm going to be

blunt with you here Mr. Fox, Mrs. Williams doesn't buy the official explanation of her husbands death,

she doesn't believe he had any reason to be on the mountain that night, and she sure as hell doesn't

believe that he got killed by some animal wandering around drunk up there.” He gave another pause

and slid into the seat directly in front of Fox's desk “She knows that you and Ethan had some sort of...

disagreement in the weeks leading up to his death”.

Fox's face turned to stone “I didn't kill him”. Jack gave a slight smile, raised his hands in a

defensive gesture “I don't think that you did, what I do think is that something fishy was going on with

Ethan's last fight, and that may have had something to do with his death. I also think as his manager if

there was something going on with his last fight that you know what it was”. Fox looked exasperated

“Is it not possible Mr. Cutler, that Ethan simply kept some secrets from his wife, that he was seeing

some girl or partying with friends in one of the cabins up there” he asked. Jack shot him a quizzical

look “I don't know, how likely does that sound to you?'”

It was Jack's turn to look exasperated “Mr. Fox, I don't think you buy that line for a second,

what was really going on? Look I'm not the police, there isn't much I can do either way, but there is a

grieving widow out there who like to at least know the truth of her husbands last hours”. Nathan Fox

looked torn in that moment, it was obvious he had some affection for Mrs. Williams, Jack had the
feeling that Ethan had been fairly close to Fox meaning that they had likely interacted quite a bit as

both friends and colleagues. Fox looked as if he was the crux of a moral dilemma, he stared down at

grain of his desk absent absentmindedly “Look, I don't know why I'm telling you this, but yeah I figure

there is more to the story. When we got approached for this last fight it was supposed to be a fix, Ethan

was a local talent with a decent looking record that would make a nice scalp for an up and comer.

Diego Morales, nice enough kid, bad enough manager, I doubt the kid knew he was even supposed to

be taking a fixed fight”.

Fox fumbled in his breast pocket for a cigarette case, he shifted a wearied glance at Jack, then lit

up. “Morales manager is a sleazeball named Edward Case, Case is a good friend of Frank Mullen. I

don't think I need to tell you who he is”. Jack cringed, in his line of work he had his ear to the street

constantly and it was always whispering Frank Mullen's name. Complicated, things had just got very

complicated. Mullen was a local thug, well more accurately the local thug. Jack didn't know much of

him directly, but one heard plenty of stories, he had a vicious temper and didn't take no for an answer.

He wasn't a shot caller per se, no one seemed to know exactly who was pulling Mullens strings, but he

did seem to be acting as the head enforcer for someone. Certainly he had earned a reputation as the

most fearsome leg breaker in town.

Jack rubbed at the bridge of his nose, “So Mr. Case made it known that his good friend Frank

would be mightily upset were Diego to lose this match?” Fox nodded “Yeah something like that,

Morales was an underdog on this one. Ethan had experience over him, a bigger punch, and a better

chin. If Morales had pulled the upset it would have been a nice little payday for whoever put money

down on him”. Fox shifted in his chair nervously “Now look I warned Ethan all I could, we argued

over it through his entire training camp, but the stubborn bastard just didn't listen. He was convinced he

could deal with Mullen if he needed to. I told him every way I could that it wasn't worth it, we would
take the dive and in a few months be onto another fight, told him Mullen didn't play games”. He threw

his hands in the air “What can you do though? I mean I couldn't make him listen, he said he wasn't

worried about it that he'd cross that bridge when he got there”.

Jack leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the ceiling “Of

course we know he didn't take the dive”. Fox gave a half hearted chuckle “Course not, in truth it was

mismatch. Morales is tough but he's a stand up fighter too, just hangs out right in front of you, when

you get two guys like that together the one with the bigger punch and the harder chin comes out on top.

Ethan dropped him in the third, Morales never made the count and that was that”. He shrugged “That's

it, that's all I know. Ethan took out of here in a hurry after the fight and that was the last I saw of him”.

Jack stood slowly from his chair extending his hand to Nathan “I think that's enough for my purposes

Mr. Fox, you've given me quite a bit to work with”. Fox returned to handshake weakly “Don't act like

I'm doing you any favors on this, if you got half a lick of sense you'll drop this case and tell May to let

well enough alone. Now if you don't mind Mr. Cutler you know the exit so good day”.

Jack made his way back toward his car at a brisk clip his minding whirling around what Fox

had revealed to him, the pay would have to be very good indeed to make this case worth it, Mullen was

a dangerous character. As he opened the door Jack heard heard crunch of gravel beneath feet and

wheeled about to see who was approaching. A tall young black man with an honest face and a shock of

wavy hair was jogging to meet him “Mr. Cutler” he hailed. He was still clad in his shorts with ring

shoes on his feet and was still in the obvious state of exertion only a tremendous physical endeavor can

produce. Jack swept him with a curious gaze “Can I help you” he inquired.

The young battler stopped a few feet away from him “No sir, I doubt it, but maybe I can help

you”. He paused to draw a breath leaning down to rest his hands on his knees “I'm George, George
Kemp, Ethan and I were sparring partners, friends too. Look I uh, well I wasn't sure if I should tell

anyone this but, the night of the fight I was in the crowd I over heard that Mullen character cursing up a

storm when Ethan won. Swore up and down that he was gonna have his head for the money he'd just

lost. I told Ethan in the locker room, he went off all half cocked saying he was gonna go set him

straight that he wasn't no pushover himself.”

Jack nodded, it didn't surprise him. Fighters were often a little heavy on guts and a little light on

common sense, the sport nearly required it. A picture was starting to come together here, Ethan had

been asked to take the dive, refused, won the fight and when he found out Mullen was on the warpath

he decided to meet him head on. There was no real doubt in his head what had happened “Just a guess,

but Mr. Mullen didn't happen to heading back to the Trick Shot that night?” George was caught a bit off

guard “Uh yeah, yeah he was, I heard him talking to some dame he was with, said he was gonna meet

with some friends to talk business. Ethan asked if I knew where Mullen was, so I told him what I

heard”.

“Look I never meant any harm I... I just couldn't keep what I heard to myself knowing what was

going on and all” George stammered. Jack a gave a sympathetic nod “I know, you were just cluing a

friend in, nothing wrong with that, why don't we keep this conversation between ourselves, thanks for

your help friend”. Jack slid into drivers seat, gave George a curt wave before firing the ignition and

easing out of the parking lot. The young pugilist stood for a moment watching the private eye pulling

away before finally making back for the gym.

Jack navigated the traffic on autopilot, he had great deal to think about now. There was clear

picture of events now in his head, all he need was to fill in the details. It was undoubted in his mind that

someone had killed Ethan Williams, there was logical sequence of events, a suspect, a motive, and if
his suspicion of how things went down were correct an opportunity as well. All he needed to do was

confirm that all the players had been in the right spot on that night and somehow figure out how in the

hell Ethan Williams had ended up on the mountain. That was the only real head scratcher here as far as

he was concerned, it seemed awful brazen to just dump a corpse near one of the hiking trails, it spoke

of someone who was quite confident.

As much as he had known that this was likely to be a case that carried a bit of risk Jack still

found himself being drawn in. He hadn't worked much in the way of interesting cases for months now,

he was quite frankly bored of chasing down deadbeats and serving the odd summons for the sheriffs

department. He could of course have found lucrative and interesting work for one the towns seedier

“businessmen”, but he was trying to avoid the wrong end of the law after a few close escapes last year.

The only problem with this case was a sneaking suspicion that there was something more to this. By all

outward appearances it was fairly straight forward for a murder, it all made sense anyway. Still

something Mrs. Williams had said about the state of her husbands corpse bothered him “mutilated but

not like an animal, like it had some purpose” something along those lines anyway.

He had made his mind up to keep the case. When he got to his office he would phone Mrs.

Williams to let her know his decision. After pulling the sedan into the parking lot of his office building

Jack sat in the car for a few moments scribbling notes onto his pad, thinking. He supposed that the next

logical step from here would be to head down to the Trick Shot this evening and see if any of the

regulars might have noticed anything unusual the night of Ethan's disappearance. He didn't have a

particular desire to spend the evening at the city's seediest pool hall but it seemed like the next logical

step.

Jack had whiled away the rest of the afternoon crossing T's and dotting I's. He had got his case
notes together organizing what he knew so far. The phone call to Mrs. Williams had been made, she of

course was delighted to hear that was willing to take the job. She had pressed for what details he had so

far but he had declined, it was his policy to keep clients in the dark until he had his facts as straight as

he could get them. No part of him wanted to risk some client going off all half cocked because he had

given them an incomplete picture. Having decided to invest his time in the case Jack thought it prudent

to go ahead and give Jim Neary a call. Neary had never referred a client to him before and the case

certainly had the look of being an interesting one. The call was terse and Neary sounded cautious on the

phone, he apologized for not already having called about the matter and suggested that they meet in

person to discuss it. A lunch date was agreed to for the next day. He found the whole thing a bit odd.

Neary sounded as if he was troubled by something and that wasn't like him. Nothing to be done about it

tonight though, maybe he was just cracking under a heavy case load. Still there was some growing

unease in the pit of his stomach about the whole thing. Either way there was work to be done tonight

and he wasn't about to let a case of the jitters slow him down.

The Trick Shot was ramshackle little dive on the eastern edge of town. It was officially a pool

hall but operated mostly as a speakeasy these days. Anyone who knew a not so secret pass phrase could

pay for the privilege of being served whatever manner of rot gut tickled their fancy. For the most part

it's patrons were sots, ladies of the evening, and low level hoods, it made sense that Mullen would hang

around a place like this. The trick of this evenings work would be finding out if anyone saw Ethan here

without tipping off someone that might have a connection to Mullen. His best bet would be one of the

winos that tended to spend the greater part of the their time in such fine houses of entertainment.

His entrance went unnoticed save for the odd side ways glance or half hearted nod. The air in

the joint was a stifling mixture of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor. Grimy would be a polite

description, Jack doubted anyone had ever lifted a finger to clean the place. There was an assortment of
weathered old pool tables, a pinball machine, a small dining area and cashiers office that sat behind it's

own enclave. Giving the patrons a look over Jack thought it may be best to grab a quick pick up game

of billiards, he didn't want to look like he was too out of place.

Two hours and a couple of games later he found his mark. An older gent, likely in his 50's or

better, reeked of cheap liquor and failure. One William Roper, a friendly enough sort who seemed to

have more mouth than sense. They made small talk over the clack of billiard balls, weather, local

politics, sports. Finally Jack eased his way into the matter at hand, “So you hear about that Williams

kid”? Roper looked up from aiming his next shot “Yeah bad bit of business that, seen him fight a

couple of times, he was good”. Jack decided to press it a little “Yeah word around town is that he was

here the night he died. Folks are starting to say something's rotten with the whole story”. It was bullshit

of course, sadly Jack doubted anyone besides Mrs. Willams and Nathan Fox gave much of a damn.

The line worked a treat though, guys like roper loved to feel like they had an inside line on

something. “He was here, seen him myself. Fussing and a hollering at old Frank, bad idea that, Franks

got a hell of temper. Didn't catch what it was about though” Roper carried on like a school girl with the

latest gossip. “Frank and a couple of his boys escorted him out, made some sort of commotion out in

the parking lot. Heard from a friend what was on his way in at the moment that they had a hell of a row

out there” he droned on. Jack had his confirmation, it wasn't the most reliable source but if fit the

picture that had been coming together thus far.

Roper crept closer to Jack, motioning with all the subtlety of a bull toward the bar “Yeah them

two over at the bar was the ones what were with Frank that night. Bad news the whole lot of them”.

Jack gave a quick glance in their direction, then cringed. He had been made, the pair by the bar were

watching him with looks that would bore a hole in steel. They were a rough looking sort, one them
burly with a great thick mustache and bald head. The other was of an average build with a weasly look

to him. Jack patted Roper on the back, and offered up an excuse as to why suddenly needed to head for

the exit. The old sot looked disappointed but seemed used to such hasty exits from his company. Jack

barely paused to grab his coat and hat.

He was being followed out, of that much he was sure. A quick look over his shoulder revealed

that the pair of “gentlemen” were hot on his heels. He picked his pace up hoping to make it back to his

car before they caught up to him. He could hear the crunch of gravel under their feet growing faster and

closer. He was halfway from the door to the sedan, but the parking lot was large and he had parked

toward the back in hopes he wouldn't attract this sort of attention. There was no helping it now, they

would catch up to him any second. He came to an abrupt halt, did an about face, spread his arms in

front of him and put on his best smile. “Gentlemen how can I help you?” he called out to the pair. They

eased to a halt, just a few feet between them, his greeting seemed to throw them off kilter for a second.

It was the smaller one that piped up first “You sure do ask a lot questions friend, maybe it's

better if you mind your own business”. Jack was starting to think the goon here might just be right

about that. “Hey now gents, no harm intended just keeping up with the gossip. Nothing better to do

right” Jack was doing his best to pour on the charm but it didn't seem to be working. Facial expressions

that could have been carved from stone gave him the feeling that diplomacy might just fail. The larger

one took his turn to speak “Ain't been no gossip around here, way I see it your the only one nosing into

things that don't concern you”.

Jack shrugged “Hey, I'm not even sure what y'all are talking about”. Mr. Big stepped nose to

nose with him “Don't give us any of that horse shit, you were asking old Roper back there about that

Williams guy. It's none of your business, Frank Mullen is a private man, he wouldn't be happy to hear
you're nosing about”. Jack could see it in his posture, our large friend was about to take a swing. He

had dropped his right shoulder back and was leaning his weight over the same foot. The second of the

ruffians had begun to circle to Jack's left. A neon sign couldn't have made it any clearer, they were

about to jump him. This was going to be a long night.

The battle was joined in an instant. One fist flew, and then a flurry of them, both men

hammering away at him. Jack managed to stay just a split second ahead of danger, hard pressed on two

fronts he slipped this way and ducked that way. Inside and outside he darted. Trying always to keep

them turning, unable to get set. He made his returns where he could, arms and legs darting out quick as

a snake. A straight here, a front kick there, all the while dodging what he could and parrying what he

couldn't. Time passed in a blur, all sense of it's scope distorted by adrenaline and fear.

There was a momentary lull. His foes were already gasping for breath, not used to the wild

exertions of hand to hand combat. These men weren't fighters but mere hooligans who were used to

having extreme advantage over their victims. They were already showing the wear for their efforts,

bloodied noses and angry red weals growing on battered flesh. Jack continued to circle the two, he

wasn't nearly as exhausted but he hadn't come out unscathed. He could feel a trickle of warm crimson

flowing from beneath his left eye, he could sense a dozen other spots across his body that were sure to

bear their own badges of black and blue come morning.

He waited, there was no hurry on his part to go rushing off into disaster. The moment came soon

enough, the pair worked their courage back up and came at him again. The larger of the two lashed out

at him with a kick, he caught the foot and swept the remaining one out from under him sending him

sprawling. An instant later he found himself reeling, his other foe had seized the moment smashing into

him with a wild swing. He found his footing though and an instant later scored a thunderous hook
knocking the smaller of his opponents senseless.

There was no time for celebration though, the larger combatant had hauled himself upright.

Before Jack could get himself turned properly a shoulder careened into his ribs and he was tackled to

the ground. He was driven onto the cold, jagged, gravel, could feel it biting into his flesh in a myriad

of places as the impact drove the breath from him. They struggled ferociously, grasping and clawing at

any grip they could find, pausing only to hammer away at one other. Skill and cunning were pitted

against brutality and brawn.

For but a fleeting moment he saw his opening, Jack writhed free scrambling to his feet, his

opponent flailing about in an attempt to drag him back down. As he rose Jack drove his knee into the

jaw of his attacker, it was blow struck with ill intention and it gave a sickening crack as it connected.

Jack didn't give pause to admire his handy work, he made a mad dash for his car. He fumbled for a

moment at his keys, then found the ignition. He pushed the engine of his sedan as hard as it would go,

making it back to his apartment in what was sure to be record time.

The mirror wasn't offering a very pleasant view. He stood in his bathroom wincing as dabbed

rubbing alcohol at the cut under his eye, it was just shy of needing stitches. A small knot was growing

under the other eye and closer inspection revealed a cut inside his lip. He sighed, that hadn't gone

according to plan at all. It was his hope to avoid any entanglement with possible associates of Mullen.

Of course he suspected that he may have had “friends” lurking about, he hadn't counted on a lonely old

drunk being quite so loud. A slow shake of his head, this was amateurish on his part, he should have

been a bit more careful. On the other hand he couldn't think of much better way to have gotten the

information he had tonight. Maybe tomorrow would be more productive with less hassle.
 Just shy of noon Jack pulled into the parking lot of a small, rundown diner. A cheap little greasy

spoon called Doe's. It wasn't exactly a quality establishment, but it was however close and discreet. As

he walked through the glass double doors he was greeted by a wave. Neary had found a table in the

corner and had already ordered. He was nursing at a soda and appeared somewhat impatient. Out of

uniform there was nothing of particular note about Neary, he was smallish man with red hair and a

plain face. Jack slid down into the chair opposite him taking in the smell of overcooked steak and

grease long past needing thrown out.

“You're late” Neary sighed, “and you look like shit”. Jack grinned “Yeah I bet I do. Had a bit of

trouble last night looking into a case. Sorry I'm late, I overslept.”. A waitress came by looking to take

his order, he kept it light, a glass of water and a salad. “That's not food, that's what food eats” Neary

ribbed. He responded with a shrug. “Why are you so interested in Frank Mullen all the sudden?” small

talk apparently wasn't on the menu today. “A case I took, I think he may have killed, or had someone

killed. A young fighter from over at...” Neary cut him off “Yeah the Williams case I know it”. Jack met

his gaze and held it “So what do you what do you want to tell me about it?”

Neary reached under the table, fumbling about in a brief case. He produced a manilla folder

near bursting at the seams and held together with rubber bands. Jack picked it up, sliding the bands off

and flipping through the contents. Pictures, case notes, and all manner of possible connections listed

out. The pictures though were godawful, corpses sliced up six ways to Sunday, after a few pictures a

pattern became discernible. Strange sigils carved into flesh and eyes removed, each corpse showed the

same wounds and there must have been a dozen photos of as many victims. The final picture was

Ethan, carved up just like the rest. “What the hell is this?” Jack had seen some demented things. God
knows France had shown it's fair share of horrors but there was something deeply unnerving about this,

it tickled at some strange yet familiar dread somewhere in the recesses of his mind.

“That right there is what I have been doing for the last year” Neary had pushed his plate away.

“Somehow or another homicide has ruled everyone of these cases some sort of misadventure” his face

hardened “Needless to say I'm calling bullshit on that”. He took another drink of his soda “I got wind

of one the cases, did some looking of my own. A little digging in records turned up the rest, a dozen

victims roughly one every month. Everyone connected to Mullen, everyone of them all did up the

same”. The waitress had returned with Jack's salad, his appetite had fled him it seemed as he pushed it

away.