[Gumshoe] The Corrigan affair

[Aardvark 001]

There’s a hot wind blowing tonight. One of those blistering winds that blow in from the desert, carrying the sand with them. It races through the city streets like the devil in a cruiser, roaring through the alleys and pelting pedestrians with sandy shrapnel. To be outside on a night like this is unbearable. To be inside is worse.

The wind makes the windows rattle as the heat inside builds up slowly. There is a small ceiling fan overhead, moving as fast as a greyhound with a bad leg.

The room is well furnished, complete with chairs, houseplants and the pretty girl behind the desk. She peers at you over her typewriter every once in a while.

The offices of J. B. Hunter, private investigator, are usually full with the cream of Hollywood society. Young starlets who want to bury unsavory pasts. Older starlets who want to dig them up. Agents with clients who’ve disappeared off the face of the earth. But today it’s as empty as your wallet.

You sneak a glance at the third occupant of the room. You’ve never met before, but you can always tell a fellow **** when you see one. When you got the call from Hunter he said he had a job for you. But then why are there two of you here?

[Inspector Valin]

Wretched weather. Wretched place. Ms. Spark scowls at the rattling window, adjusting her jacket and fidgeting in her chair. Her mind lingers on all that lies beyond the dirt-bespattered pane of glass. Freedom, the streets, a trip to Karoubas' on 54th Street, with a cool drink and shade to enjoy it in. What few little comforts persisted in this city were denied the Russian detective because of her summons here. Because of this man, this muckraker, Hunter. She can get a sense of his chosen clientelle by the style of this office, and it does not impress her. Mercenary work, within her skill but outside her interest. At best a bounty hunter, at worse a parasite praying on the nouveau riche. Not the type to venture into low places, or to put the good of the people above his wallet.

Still, it's hard to look at a well appointed office with hired help and not envy the man a little. Especially with her own funds painfully thin. If he was in need of specialist assistance... well, Iskra has worked for fouler men. After a few minutes of gentle fuming, she turns her attention to the second 'honoured guest', looking him up and down with a quizzical eye. After a handful of seconds spent on appraisal of her fellow sleuth she chuckles, voice gruff and a little hoarse. "Let me guess. Harvard?"

[Plerumque]

These are the kinds of days that make Nigel Dainty miss London. Actually, every day is the kind of day to make Nigel Dainty miss London, but today in particular there's not much he wouldn't give for a nice depressing drizzle. He toys with his cane, feeling the pinpricks of sweat in his dress shirt. Tries to catch the eye of the receptionist and give her a wink or six, but when she starts looking concerned he lays off that with a sigh.

Hunter, eh? Nigel knows his type. Uppity bourgeois, thinks he can claw his way to the top with favors and gossip. Thinks he can skip all the equestrian training and proper matching of cufflinks. Hah! He barks out a short, dignified laugh, drawing another glance and a head-shake from the receptionist. Nigel shall work for the man for the time being, of course—green is green—but he will be sure to nourish a healthy contempt in the back of his mind. Not that that makes Hunter especially special.

Nigel has about reached this point in his internal monologue when he is so rudely interrupted by his—comrade seems like the right word, for some reason. He listens, then chortles. "Wrong continent, I'm afraid, madam. I would thank you if I thought those Novanglian ruffians could hold a candle to us Stags. But alas, brought far and brought low. As for you..." He muses on her attire for a moment or two. "Thug? Not," he adds hastily, "meant as an insult. Just, ah, a statement of fact."

[Inspector Valin]

It's not a completely unfair assessment. The stranger looks a little like she's single-handedly wearing the contents of a military surplus store; between hefty boots, thick army trousers and the bulky jacket that's resting on the back of her chair. At least her white shirt looks clean, if ill tailored. The strange woman fixes Nigel with a long stare at his final words before snorting at His Highness' choice of words, "You are very English. 'You are stupid but it is not an insult so it is okay'."

Leaning back in her seat, the strange woman raps her fingers on a nearby table. Waiting bothers her, no matter the situation. It takes her a moment to realize she should probably give some sort of introduction to the Englishman. She tilts her head while addressing him, relaxed to the point of casualty. "Call me Spark. Ballistics expert. Mr. Hunter wants my opinion on something." The newly named Spark waves at Hunter's door with a look of almost bored disinterest. Whatever this is has to be boring, or Hunter wouldn't be involved. "Are you also an expert, Mr. English? You look more like one of his clients. Fancy shirt, walking stick, those little neudobnyy wrist-stone things..." She waves a hand at the last part, searching vaguely in her memory for the right term.

[Plerumque]

"Ahaha, no," Nigel chortles. He seems to chortle a lot. "Once, perhaps, but I'd certainly like to think I'd never have been taken in by an operation like this." He indicates the surroundings with a vaguely dismissive hand-wave. "My name is Nigel, Nigel Dainty. Don't laugh." He pauses pointedly for a moment before resuming. "I don't know that they'd call me an expert—I prefer to think of myself as more of a dabbler—but I suppose we're in about the same line of work. I tend to be the one people like this Hunter call when they need a handsome face, or someone who can attend a dinner party without starting four different fights. Not always dignified work, but one must have some way to keep oneself in cravats, no?" He smiles insincerely at Ms. Spark.

[Inspector Valin]

"Ahaha, no," Nigel chortles. He seems to chortle a lot. "Once, perhaps, but I'd certainly like to think I'd never have been taken in by an operation like this." He indicates the surroundings with a vaguely dismissive hand-wave. "My name is Nigel, Nigel Dainty. Don't laugh."

Ms. Spark blinks, seemingly more confused than amused by Sir Nigel's surname. Her English is overall good, but 'dainty' is a word that seems to have eluded the Russian detective's lexicon. Perhaps through lack of a need for it in her day to day life. Uncomfortable silence lingers between the pair for a moment.


He pauses pointedly for a moment before resuming. "I don't know that they'd call me an expert—I prefer to think of myself as more of a dabbler—but I suppose we're in about the same line of work. I tend to be the one people like this Hunter call when they need a handsome face, or someone who can attend a dinner party without starting four different fights. Not always dignified work, but one must have some way to keep oneself in cravats, no?" He smiles insincerely at Ms. Spark.

"I suppose. I stick with tinned soup myself." Spark briefly ponders what a cravat might be. It sounded like some kind of cream pastry: those tended towards tasty in her experience. Of course well dressed Mr. Nigel would make a point of still eating as he always had. Having gleaned enough about Hunter's possible second expert, Iskra's attention returns to the receptionist. The Russian woman rises and towers about the humble record keeper. "Lady, is Mr. Hunter ready for us? We are both experienced professionals. I don't think he can afford to keep us waiting much longer."

[Aardvark 001]

The receptionist squeaks. Before she can answer, there's a garbled croaking from the comms unit on her desk. The receipting looks at you with a triumphant smile. Mr Hunter will see you now, she says.

Hunter's inner office is just as well furnished as the waiting room. But instead of a pretty girl, there's a fat man waiting here. His chair is big enough for two people, although it barely holds one of him. He sits behind a table that looks like the bar from a fancy New York joint, with him as the sympathetic bartender, willing to listen to all your little worries. Just as long as you pay the tab.

Hunter smiles at you and waves you down to a seat. He gets up and goes to a sideboard, pulling out a bottle of fine scotch. He sets it down on the table and asks if you'd like a drink.

When he's finished pouring, he sits back in his chair and downs his glass. Good stuff, that. He sighs and shots back in his chair. Beads of sweat are forming on his forehead. He wipes them with a handkerchief.

I need a couple of sleuths, he says. It's a good job, and it's delicate. My boys specialise in delicate. But it's also dangerous, and they don't do too well with that. From what I've heard, you two do both pretty nicely.

It's not a difficult case. A man and his wife are both playing away from home. Apparently the man has been hooked by some unsavoury broad and the client wants you to put a stop to that. As for the wife,
that's just a follow and observe mission.

Hunter pauses. Like I said, it's a delicate job. I need to know you're up to it before I spill any further.

[Inspector Valin]

Spark shakes her head at the offer of a drink: tempting, but a vice a good detective can't afford. She muses as Hunter pours though. He might have made a better barman than detective. As a host, he's congenial, friendly and the sort to put you at your ease. But as an employer... he's sweating, Iskra notices with an eyebrow. It could be the weather but a part of her wonders if Mr. Hunter has met his match in this case. She listens impassively as he gives his outline of the situation. Once he is done, the Russian sleuth taps her fingers on the desk, rapping against the wood as she turned to the most curious point in Hunter's synopsis. "Someone is hiring you for both the husband and the wife?"

Presumably that's part of what the man's trying not to talk about. Nervous, edgy muckraker. In over his head? With a sigh, Ms. Spark leans back in her chair and nods. "Discrete, yes. Dangerous, too. Though these things cost money, Mr. Hunter. You hiring outside your agency makes this job seem... suspect."

BS detector up in full force, especially around the statement 'not a difficult case'. Also want to know what the exits from this room are. Wouldn't be the first time a guy hiring people for a job like this got shot.

[Plerumque]

Unlike Spark, Nigel gladly accepts a glass of Scotch; in this life you never know when your next decent drink might be. He tosses it back surprisingly indelicately, then sets the glass back on the table and wipes his mouth. "Classic Arthur," he says ambiguously. "But yes, I am rather inclined to agree with my comrade, here. This job does seem rather... piscine. And I'm very good at delicate, but dangerous?" He ***** an eyebrow. "I can manage a scrape or two, but I'd rather not, and those seem to happen due to someone or another being misinformed depressingly often. So yes, Mr. Huntingdon, I'm willing to take the case, but it would be a great service if you could perhaps be a little more frank with us." His smile is no less winning for being obviously practiced. "As I understand you Yanks say, scratch my back and I'll scratch yours, eh?"

Two people using the bull detector is probably redundant. Perhaps I could use Negotiate or some such to convince him to be a little more frank here?

[Aardvark 001]

Yes, Hunter says, looking at Iskra, My client has an interest in both parties and would like to know what they're up to. He mops his brow again. As for hiring outside my firm, like I said, my boys aren't used to roughhousing. They deal with producers and directors and two-bit dramatists. This job doesn't quite lie within their scope.

It won't be a dangerous job if you do it right. There are a few wild elements in there, but I'll tell you about that if you accept. Even so, it's nothing that you won't be able to handle, Dainty. Sometimes a cool head is better than a quick draw.

Besides, he continues, The client made a point of asking for you two specifically. And before you ask me,
no, I don't know why.

He means back in his chair. The money isn't bad. Twenty a day plus expenses,
fifty paid upfront. An extra hundred at the end if you manage to do the job discreetly.


You realise, of course, that there's nothing simple about this job. The request in itself is unusual, although the reasons he gave for hiring you do seem seem genuine. The money isn't bad either.

Iskra notices that although the door they came through is the only one in the room, she can see a fire escape through the thick blinds of the window behind Hunter's chair. It seems even when dealing with the cream of Hollywood, it helps to have a fire escape handy.

[Plerumque]

"I'll take the case," Nigel says, fiddling with his cane. "Still don't like this, not one bit, but that's a lot of lettuce. And a lot of fancy dinners. Especially if you can count the pots de crème as an expense. So go on, Huntingsley. What's the catch?"

[Inspector Valin]

Some things never change.

Iskra notes the fire escape with a smile: sensible, and it raises her opinion of Hunter just a little. The man's not entirely divorced from reality at least. She raises a curled hand, as if to toast the enterprise with an invisible glass, "I'm in too. Bog dal, bog i vzyal. Though I'm surprised we were both requested. I doubt we have many... mutual friends.."

That reminds me, where is this set? Like, what city is this? We can keep it unnamed if you want Aardvark, but if you had a real location in mind, I'd love to drop a little local colour. :smallwink:

[Aardvark 001]

It's Hunter, the detective says. And expenses must be written up and submitted to me at the end if you're too see a dime. As for the job, the man you're following is Arthur Corrigan.

You've both heard about Arthur Corrigan. The agent responsible for building up many of the famous names in Hollywood. If he's not a millionaire, he's not too far from it.

Now Corrigan has been married thrice before, and every time he was bled dry when he got divorced. It's a tough game. So when he got engaged to a fourth broad, his lawyers drew up one of those fancy pre-nups. Made it so that if the wife was unfaithful to him, she wouldn't get a dime if they got divorced.

The marriage didn't last too long. They drifted apart and the dame went the same way that the previous wives had. But this time old Corrigan did something foolish. The chump got hooked by some girl himself.

And that's where you come in. My client is a friend of Corrigan's and doesn't want him to go through a bad divorce for the fourth time. So you've got to put a stop to whatever he's up to, and you've also got to get evidence about his wife in case she comes for divorce.

Hunter pauses You think you can manage it?


The story is set in a fictional 'Bay city' on the Santa Monica Bay. You'll be familiar with all of the cities on the bay though so you can reference them if you like.

[Inspector Valin]

Spark flexes her fingers, frowning. What she should have expected. Not work that she enjoyed, but money is money. Still a few things are niggling at the back of her mind... She takes a second before speaking, voice slow and a little measured. "Finding secrets on Corrigan's wife is something I can do. Keeping him apart from his kotyonok however..."

She chuckles, darkly, "Also something I can do, but I doubt any friend of his would be happy with me. Perhaps that side can go to you, Mr. Nigel? Have a 'man to man talk with the old bean'?" She looks at Sir Dainty with honest curiosity, before turning back to Hunter. "Do you know who he's seeing? We can find out but that would save us groundwork. And your client some money."

BS Detector on 'the client is a friend of Corrigan'. I'm dubious; a guy knows a hotshot Hollywood producer, Nigel and Iskra? It's not technically impossible but it seems unlikely. If Hunter's flat out lying about who is paying for this, Spark wants to know. Also BS on anything Hunter says around the mistress: that's the centralpoint here so if he lies, we're mucked.

[Plerumque]

"Oh, I believe I can ménage that," Nigel says. "Oops, pardon me. But yes, Mr. Huntworthy, as always, I'm inclined to agree with my new partner here. You haven't, surely, told us what the wild elements of the case are. Some surveillance, an egg-to-egg talk with the man, nothing out of the ordinary there. Nothing that would seem to call for the employment of Boggins here." He hefts his cane. "I've said I'll take the case, for Corrigan's sake and for the sake of my wardrobe, but being forthright here could save us a great deal of trouble. If you don't mind my being direct, why should come into this case expecting to be shot at?"

[Aardvark 001]

Humter looks at Nigel oddly as if asking why he invited the man, then address his remarks to Iskra. The client doesn't know anything.
Just rumours. That's why she's come to us. As for why this could be a dangerous case... Hunter means back and picks his lips, like he's longing for another go at the scotch. Arthur Corrigan is half-brother to Mike Lennox.

You're surprised. There aren't many people in town who don't know Mike Lennox. Especially in your line of work. Lennox isn't a big crook. But he's big enough to own a couple of casinos in the city and to hire an army of gorillas to throw his weight around for him. You'd never heard about any connection with Corrigan though.

It's not that bad, Hunter says, As far as I know, they haven't spoken in years. But Lennox might get shirty if anyone starts sniffing around his brother. Still,
as long as you keep with the discretion, you'll be fine.

You have the feeling that he is being completely frank with you. The case is too hot for him and he wants to pass it on without much trouble, so he's feeling you everything he knows.

[Inspector Valin]

"Oh joy. The Ox."

Spark sighs, though she doesn't look surprised. Lennox is hardly the most dangerous man in town. He's still a problem, but for twenty a day, she'd risk far more than the wrath of a second rate thug boss. The Russian detective nods, "Not a problem. As far as I'm concerned, that's all we need. Sir Nigel?"

BS! Did Hunter mean to give away that the client is a woman just there or was that a slip up? :smallwink: We can't really demand it of him but it's worth keeping in mind

[Plerumque]

"Spiffing," Nigel says. The mention of Lennox has him a bit nervy, but he reassures himself it's nothing he can't handle. If he's learned anything from the cinema, it's that the classy ones always win. Granted, he's only ever seen two movies, but he's sure the principle holds universally. And hell, it's worked for him so far.

Nigel turns back to Mr. Huntwold. "No further questions, Your Honor. I agree with Ms. Spark here; 'we can take him,' as the Yanks might say. I believe we're ready to get cracking, so that leaves only the small matter of the fifty up front, and then we'll be on our way."

[Aardvark 001]

Hunter sighs and opens his desk drawer. Taking a wad of notes from it, he peels off a hundred bucks in crisp ten dollar bills. He slides them across to you.

The Corrigans live on Silverwood drive. House called the Dragoons. Whatever that is. Our golden boy leaves the place at eight in the morning and drives down to his agency on Lester Avenue. At six he comes back home. Your job is to find out what he does during that time. As for the wife, I don't know what she does, but she sure doesn't stay home and knit. Find out what she does and who she does it with.

Hunter sits back in his chair. Report back here if you need anything, but remember that this has to stay quiet. You get yourself in trouble with Lennox, I'm not going to get you out of it. He nods gravely. Good luck. I think you're gonna need it.


No, he didn't mean to let that slip. He'd been doing a good job of keeping it quiet until then though. He probably hasn't even realised he gave it away. Good sleuthing, Miss Spark.

[Inspector Valin]

"So. How do we play this?"

Spark flicks through her fifty as the two of them wander out the door, glancing around the street as she talks to her colleague with a quiet tone. "We could split up, handle both husband and wife separately. Or we could work together. Slower, but safer. Do you have a plan?"

[Plerumque]

Nigel stows his take of the cash safely in his boot, then hops on one leg to keep up with Spark, though somehow managing to maintain his gravitas. "I am rather given to suspect that we don't quite have redundant skillsets," he says, just slightly out of breath. "Not that one often needs bullets analyzed in the middle of a masquerade or people charmed in the middle of a shoot-out, but in my experience it happens more often than you'd think. I would propose we stick together, you and I. If nothing else, the bonding experience may mean we both come out of it with a new best chum." He smiles winningly at her. "The question, then, would be where to start. Or with whom, rather. I'd suggest the wife, but I'll grant I'm biased towards the candidate less likely to get us whacked. Thoughts?"

[Inspector Valin]

"You're scared of the Ox?"

That gets a throaty chuckle from Spark. The detective shakes her head, "Corrigan is the harder job. The wife, we just need to stake out and follow for a day. Easy. Let's start with 'The Big Fish'" She leans against a nearby lamppost, closing her eyes and trying to think this over a little, "Investigating him will be difficult. He knows reporters, knows how to be sneaky. But he's a public man. He has his agency, his parties. If we could get close enough to him for a while, we might find some clue about his latest kotyonok. Maybe if we got him to represent us in the pictures..."

Spark lets the thought hang before snorting, "We could bill the client for that. Though I don't think it'd work for me. I..." She waves a hand: the number of ways the Russian Sleuth is not an all American Movie Starlet seem self-evident to her. Her and 'polite society' don't seem likely to meet much.

[Plerumque]

"Oh, I don't know about that," Nigel says, taking his cane out from under one arm and leaning on it. "I think we could be stars. Imagine... our names, in lights."

He returns from his reverie to find Spark with a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps not, then. Remaining inconspicuous and all. Still, hiring him is an option we should leave on the table. What else? There's your garden-variety surveillance; we have his address. Or we could run into him at a party. People always tell their most interesting stories at parties."

Nigel considers this for a moment. "There's another option. We could go right for Lennox—I don't especially want to, but it would be ungentlemanly not to offer the idea. He seems to be the loose thread here, and if we tugged on it the whole thing could unravel."

High Society: Are there any upcoming functions where one would expect the Corrigans to be in attendance?

[Inspector Valin]

Spark frowns, weighing the idea for a few seconds, before ultimately waving it away, "The client wanted discretion. If we go for Lennox, somebody will probably shoot somebody. Not very discrete."

Iskra takes a few steps along the street, staying away from the road and rapping her hand gently on the walls she passes. After a few seconds of that, she turns back to her companion, "I have a few ideas, but I'll need time. Let's split up to start with. Come together to make our play." Using an American term makes her grin. The investigator doesn't leave the shade, but waves a hand in the direction of Downtown. "You shadow Corrigan tomorrow. Find out as much as you can. We'll meet up in the evening to talk about what we've found. Say, 9:30, Sunrise on 32nd Street?"

If Iskra suggested it, Sunrise is low rent and classless. If Nigel wants to overrule her and have their first meeting somewhere swankier (after all, expenses covered. :smallwink:) Spark ain't gonna stop him. :smallwink: Just want to agree to the split before I outline what she's doing.

[Plerumque]

Nigel ***** his head. "No idea what or where that is, but I'm game. As long as they have a decent gin." He tips his hat to Spark and strolls off in the direction she indicated, his non-cane hand perched contemplatively on his chin.

[Inspector Valin]

Spark manages a smile, and a tip of her hat. "Well then. I have to place some calls. Stay safe, Mr. Dainty."

Brief words given, the Russian slips into the muggy shade of the nearest alleyway. A busy day lies before her. She needs to go catch a little shuteye first

First activity is gonna be meeting a reporter contact, as you said. I figure Iskra worked as a photographer for a while, so probably had a partner she can call upon to at least consider sharing some dirt. Aardvark, do you want to set that scene or should I?

[Aardvark 001]

Nigel

You sit in your car outside Corrigan's office, fanning yourself to keep cool in the oppressive heat. You've been here since 9am. That's over four hours. If you weren't a hardboiled sleuth before, you certainly will be one now.

Corrigan left his house at 8am on the dot and came straight here. Now if that Humboldt fellow was right, he should leave his office at 6pm and go home. You wish you had a good gin and tonic handy.

Then you see your man walk out of the building. You haven't met him properly but you recognise him from the papers. Old man with a moustache and salt and pepper hair. Looks like that judge who booked you that one boat race night for stealing a constable's helmet.

He comes rushing out of the building, clutching a loose sheaf of papers. He climbs into his car and his the gas, speeding down the empty street.