Noirville

The Investigation Begins

The morning sun was a pale imitation of warmth, casting long shadows over Noirville's alleys. Johnny navigated the labyrinth of backstreets with practiced ease, his footsteps echoing off brick walls graffitied with the city's unspoken truths. He was on his way to find Frankie Malone—a small-time crook with big-time connections.

Frankie was the kind of guy who knew things. Things that most people preferred to keep buried. If anyone had heard whispers about threats against Vivian or the resurfacing of Vinnie's ring, it'd be him.

He approached a dimly lit doorway beneath a flickering neon sign that read "The Rusty Nail." It was one of Frankie Malone's usual haunts—a dive bar where the bourbon was cheap, and the conversations cheaper.

Pushing open the creaking door, Johnny was met with a haze of smoke and the murmur of low conversations. The scent of stale beer mixed with the sharp bite of cigar smoke. At a corner table, Frankie sat shuffling a deck of worn playing cards, a sly grin spreading across his face as he spotted Johnny.

"Well, well, if it isn't Johnny Lovegood," Frankie drawled, flicking ash from his pipe. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"Need some information, Frankie. And I'm guessing you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Information comes at a price, you know that" Frankie smirked.

"Put it on my tab," Johnny retorted. "This one's important."

Johnny reached into his coat pocket and pulled out Vinnie's ring, placing it subtly on the table between them. "You seen this before?"

Frankie's eyes flickered to the ring, and for a split second, a shadow of recognition crossed his face. But he quickly masked it, leaning back casually. "Can't say I have. Nice piece, though. Antique?"

"Belonged to Vinnie Moretti."

Frankie raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Ah, Vinnie. Now there's a name I haven't heard in a while."

"Someone sent it to Vivian Von Knight with a note saying she's next."

At the mention of Vivian's name, Frankie's demeanor shifted. 

Johnny noted the change. "You know her?"

"Know her?" Frankie chuckled. "Who in Noirville doesn't? She's the brightest star in this dreary city. That voice, that look—she's got a way of turning heads, if you catch my drift."

"Focus, Frankie," Johnny said evenly. "Vivian's in trouble. I need to find out who's targeting her."

Frankie leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Can't blame a guy for appreciating beauty, Johnny. But if someone's messing with Vivian, that's news to me. Bad for business if something happens to a dame like that."

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "I thought you might have heard something. Word travels fast in your circles."

Frankie smirked, shuffling the deck of cards once more. "Now, I might have overheard a thing or two. But my memory's a bit... hazy."

Johnny sighed, reaching into his pocket again and sliding a folded bill across the table. "Maybe this will help clear things up."

Frankie glanced at the money and then leaned forward, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. "Funny you mention old Vinnie. The other night, I heard some fellas talking down at the docks. They were mentioning a certain warehouse—the old Sinclair Warehouse on River Street."

Johnny's gaze intensified. "What about it?"

"Seems they're interested in some... documents stored there. Financial ledgers, records, maybe more. Stuff dating back to before '46."

Johnny felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "Connected to the incident?"

Frankie nodded slowly. "Could be. They were being real secretive, but I got the sense they're planning something big. Might be worth your while to check it out."

"Names. Did you catch any?"

Frankie shook his head. "They weren't exactly the chatty type. And I didn't care to stick around and introduce myself."

Johnny sat back, processing the information. "Anything else?"

Frankie grinned slyly. "Just remember, Johnny—I scratch your back, you scratch mine. We're in this together, yeah?"

Johnny met his gaze. "I've always held up my end of the deal."

"That you have," Frankie admitted. "Be careful, though. These guys play rough. And if they're digging into the past, they might not appreciate you meddling."

Johnny stood up, slipping the ring back into his pocket. "Appreciate the heads-up."

As he turned to leave, Frankie called after him, "Oh, and Johnny?"

He paused, glancing back. "What is it?"

"Watch your step. Wouldn't want to lose another friend." Frankie winked, but there was a hint of genuine concern beneath his playful facade.

Johnny gave a curt nod. "I'll keep that in mind."

Leaving the haze of The Rusty Nail, Johnny emerged into the fading light of dusk. The city streets were coming alive with the electric hum of neon signs and the distant wail of sirens. He felt the weight of Vinnie's ring like a lead weight in his pocket. The warehouse was his next stop—a place where, perhaps, the answers he'd been seeking for years were finally within reach.

He knew the path ahead was fraught with danger, but the shadows of the past were closing in, and Johnny Lovegood was done running.