Dead Water: A Wammy's House Casefile

Cold Open

Sylvester Stone fiddled with his cufflinks, feeling dramatically overdressed for the rusting pick-up truck he found himself riding passenger-side in. "What's the deal, Hector?" Stone asked, desperate for conversation. "I thought you said this was just a five minute ride."

Hector remained silent, one hand on the steering wheel, the other flicking a cigarette butt out the window. He glanced into the rear-view mirror, making sure they weren't being followed. "Si, gringo. Five minutes."

"Damn it, Hector, you said that when we left town two hours ago! I don't get any cell reception out here in bum-fuck no where, and there's no way I can-" Stone was silenced as the truck jerked to a sudden stop, tires screeching on pavement below them. To Stone, it felt as if gravity had increased tenfold, and a thick lump formed in his throat. He side-eyed Hector, and saw that the portly man was now resting his free hand on a pistol, which lay atop his leg.

"Gringo," Hector said slowly, "you have asked me to drive you to a sacred village, which is located just past the outskirts of cartel territory, so that you can write a story which will make your country's putas curse my peoples. You have offered me a lot of money to do this for you, but the more you speak, the less value I see in that money. If you are smart, you will shut your mouth and find a radio station to listen to. I like classic rock."

Hector swallowed, his palms sweating. "Y-yeah, man, no problem. Of course..."

And so the rest of the drive went on in relative silence, excusing the aggressive melodies of Black Sabbath.  

Several hours had passed, in which time Sylvester Stone had fallen asleep. Hector pulled into a lone gas station on the side of the highway and parked the car behind it, before cutting off the ignition. The sudden silence and lack of movement awoke Stone.

"W-where... Are we-"

"No, reportero, we aren't there yet. The cartels like to move products along this road, so we will be waiting for sunrise here, where it is safe. As long as you stay behind this building, you can get out and stretch your legs, but do not, are you listening to me, gringo? Do not step from behind this building, because if you are caught, and you will be caught, they will use you as a hostage and then that will lead to my home being destroyed by your War-Mongering government, do you understand?"

"G-geeze, man... We ain't that-"

"Cállate, gringo. I am tired, hungry, and I have been holding my bowels for four hours. I am allowed to generalize."

Stone's eyes widened, and he found himself stifling a laugh. "Y'know... You ain't so bad, Hector."

Hector scoffed. "Go stretch your legs, reportero."

While Stone stretched, Hector walked into the gas station, where he encountered a thin man with white hair and wearing earth-toned clothes behind the register. Hector purchased a Kirlunch Ham Sandwich, a Carlos chocolate bar, two bags of Tablitas de Fruta Enchiladas, and two bottles of coke. Hector set his purchases on the counter, and reflected on some distant memory while the cashier in earth-toned clothes ran his items. When the transaction was complete, Hector produced his wallet.

"Don't worry about it," the cashier said while bagging the items. "You're covered. But do me a favor and duck behind one of those shelves behind you in five... four. three. two..." In a flash, the cashier vaulted over the counter and shoved Hector backwards, sending the man tumbling to his buttocks. In the same moment, glass shattered, an entire window collapsing inwards from the force of a high-caliber round. 

The cashier clicked his belt buckle three times, and then whipped a cellphone out of his pocket. He answered just as it began to ring. "L, tango has taken the bait. It worked out just the way you said... Yeah, it's a good thing such a high-profile reporter was headed this way, huh?"

Hector's head was spinning now as he watched the cashier cast aside his white hair, which was, in fact, a wig. The man's head was shaven, and he had the look of a military greenhorn. Excited and pure, not yet exposed to the horrors of combat. The cashier, whose name was Marlo Redfern, grabbed Hector by the arm and pulled him to his feet. Marlo shoved Hector's bag of goods into his hands, and then dragged him towards the backdoor of the gas station.

"Get your truck started, mister. We're going to need it. And get that Stone guy loaded up, too! We can't leave him around here! He'll compromise the mission! Just throw him in the passenger side, I'll ride in the back."

Head reeling, and recognizing the danger he was now in, Hector hustled to comply. 

Two minutes passed, and then the Marlo emerged from the gas station, a rifle slung over his back. He leaped into the truck's bed, and then slapped on the rear-window. "Drive, drive, drive! Rapido!"

The truck tore off through the dirt, angled back towards the road, and increased its speed. Marlo leaned over the side of the truck's bed and shouted, "Cut the headlights and stay straight, Hector!" With no other options, Hector complied.

Marlo observed as two armored vehicles converged on the gas station. They thought they had captured the one and only L, but in reality, it was the other way around. Steel shutters slammed into place along each window of the gas station, and both exits locked magnetically. A black helicopter emerged from the darkness of the night sky, a rope ladder dropped from its gaping mouth. Two figures descended from the helicopter, and made quick work of the two cartel guards who had remained outside. The duo would now tear through the cartel's vehicles, inside of which they would find valuable information on the cartel's headquarters, trade routes, and assets.

I know what you're thinking. Why did I take the time out of my busy schedule to handle a matter as trivial as a drug bust? The truth is, after the little stunt my task force pulled to escape Kira's cult, I was running low on funding. It's not so different from how those Shinigami operate, I suppose. I needed to solve a series of cases to insure the longevity of Wammy's organizations. But... Well. What I suspected to be a cut and dry case turned into something a bit more... Interesting.

"Marlo. Go ahead and direct our friends to take the next exit they see, about ten miles north from where you are now. After that, direct Sylvester Stone's tour guide to get lost in the hills and backwaters. Keep travelling North for one day's worth of driving, and then find a motel to crash in. Use the cash I gave you. Use your belt to signal me after you've checked in. I'll call."

"Got it, L. Marlo Red-"

Click.

"-fin is on... Yeah," Marlo said, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, I should've expected that. Alright, Hector! Listen up!"