Dearest Detective · ONC

·Prologue·

The man staggered into the road, being pushed from the hotel bar behind him. The owner, a coarse, bearded man threw the man's briefcase out with him. "You're not welcome back!" he spat. He turned around and slammed the door behind him, drowning the man on the road in darkness.

He leaned forward to grab the case and teetered onto his knees. After staying down there until the world stopped wobbling, he stood up, wiping his nose with the wrist of his suit coat. He snorted and spit into the gutter and began the walk to another hotel. He wouldn't have any luck for hours, however, even if he ever did get to traveling. This hotel was the only one for miles and he had gotten himself kicked out of it.

"All the nice girls love a sailor," he sang, words slurring over atop each other. "All the nice girls love a sailor, all the nice girls love a tar. For there's something about a sailor-- Well you know what sailors are!"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, twisting the cap off a taking a sip. "Bright and breezy, free and easy. He's the ladies-"

"Hello, Mr. Jones."

The man stopped suddenly, spitting out his drink. "Who are you?" he asked, squeezing his eyes closed to get rid the watering. He squinted and could make out a dark figure, its silhouette blackened by the moon behind it. And it didn't say anything.

"I said, who are you?" the man called. The figure walked closer and the man staggered back. "If you come any closer I'll-"

"You'll what, Mr. Jones?" the figure said. "Con me? Like all those people in the bar? And like," the figure paused. "Like... Razor Ricci?"

While the figure couldn't see it, the man felt the blood run out of his face. "I... No, I never conned him. Please, I promise." The figure walked closer.

"No!" the man cried. "I didn't do anything! All I did was..." The figure stopped. The man realized what he said dropped to his knees and sobbed. "Please, I'll pay all the money back. I didn't know it was a bad batch! I bought it, just like you did! Oh, please." The man fell onto his face, praying to God.

The figure now stood over the man. "Ricci doesn't have time for dirty drunks." The figure pulled out a small gun and pressed it into the man's back. "Nice doing business with you."

At the sound of the gunshot, people came pouring out of the hotel. But there was nothing on the road. Just a smear of blood.

The next morning, the drunk man's body was found draped over a statue in New York City.