Chapter 1, Part Ai

"Well?" Fletcher Gereld asked again. He was a tall, skinny man, at the least six-two, with shoulders that curved inwards and a neck that, besides looking to long, bowed, like a vultures. He was dressed in a brown three piece suit that looked like something his grandfather had been buried in. His overcoat was an equally pathetic example of men's clothing. A stiff, cold wind knifed down into the alley, tugging at the gray hair that protruded wildly out from under the only decent article of clothing he had on: a new, leather, carrimac ivy cap.

"Stupid Boy Scouts," Isabele murmured as she brought out a palm sized, plastic wrapped package and began fumbling at the contents. She managed to extract one of the deathly little white cylinders, badly bent and twisted, the lethal end smashed almost flat, and placed it between her lips as she began searching for a means of satisfying the craving beast within her.

"Those things will kill you, you know," Felicity stated with a sardonic smile. She was five-four, a hundred and twenty-five pounds, and dressed to the nines in a smart red, woolen skirt with matching tailor-made jacket, tied precisely with a two inch black patent leather belt. Ankle high boots, that matched the belt, with fur trimmed throats and two inch heels, kept her small feet warm, as black and red checkered leggings disappeared under an at-the-knee hem. The outer edges of the ruffled collar and cuffs of her white blouse, protruding out from under her jacket, fluttered sporadically in the icy breeze.

"You deal with stress in your own fashion.
"Stupid lighter" Isabele groused absentmindedly as she threw her cigarette away disgustedly. Then as if she suddenly realized what had been said to her she turned crossly on the young girl with the flaming red hair, tied in twin French braids down her back. "You're more likely to be run over crossin' the street than I am to die of cancer!" And she ground the heels of her hands into her eyes, exacerbating the insomnia bruises, before she began to vigorously scrub her scalp, pulling her hair loose from the messy knot. Turning her face into the breeze she combed her hair with her fingers, the gray developing at her temples shot contrasting color through the long blue-black mane that snapped in the wind. Quickly she pulled it into another messy topknot at the back of the crown of her head.

"Forget to pay the power again, Izzy?" Calvin asked as he approached the three, looking Isabele up and down, taking in the yellow sneakers, the blue running pants with the white stripe down the side, the cream "I-Love-Anywhere-But-Here" sweater with the dripping green print, and the oversized duck-cloth carpenters jacket.

"Haha," Isabele sneered as she took the steaming Styrofoam cup of Ain't Got Time for Sleep brand, jumbo sized coffee out of Calvin's hand and began drinking.

She turned back towards Gereld, who's brown eyes were flicking over the entire alley, squinting in the waxing morning light, contemplatively adding up the "evidence" in his head. He was sixty-something, or so the rest of the group thought, there was an ongoing pool back at the house, looked well past retirement, but was still the cheifs favorite. Something about a photographic memory. He had turned down so many advancements that the city had finally stopped offering them. He like being in the field, something about how a desk "affects the human physiology" or something like that. Everybody had stopped trying to figure it out.

"Calvin?" Gereld asked without looking at the dapper young man.

"Dispatch received a call," Calvin began as he shoved his hands down into the pockets of his charcoal wool overcoat. It still smelled of the store. "At three-thirty that there was quote 'man a crazy load of fightin' man'. The caller refused to provide I.D. and hung up. Dispatch traced it to the phone booth down the block," he motioned with his head, up the alley and over. "Forensics is dusting it. Local patrol was sent here and when they finally got here, at four-fifteen, they found this" pulling his gloved hands out he spread them wide, palms up, thumbs out, taking in the entire scene. "Patrol is canvassing. So far, their not turning up any information. You could bring the Third I.D. and the Seventh Cav. down here and let them light each other up and no one would notice. Except some local indigent, like what seems to be the case here."

"Is that your initial thought?" Gereld asked somberly, his smooth face not betraying any expression. "That the Third I.D. and the Seventh Cav. decided to have a turf war in the middle of the industrial sector?"

Calvin just smiled, warmly, and adjusted his wire rimmed glasses.

"Isabele. Do you still think that this is the work of Boy scouts?" he asked as he crouched down, peering under a dumpster.

Isabele mumbled something unintelligible.

"Felicity? Do you have any thoughts about this?"

Both Calvin and Isabele sniggered under their collective breath.

"To early to tell, Mr. Gereld." Felicity shot the two a dungeoness look. "Of the evidence, there is absolutely no shortage. The crime scene is positively enormous; starting down there, " she turned at the hips and pointed with a delicate, black leather gloved hand at the yellow police tape at the mouth of the alley, "and ending there," she pivoted and pointed at the dead-end wall, some ten or twelve feet high. "Forensics is going to love this one, positively."

"If a crime was even committed" Isabele slurped "her" coffee.

"Ah," Fletcher Gereld smiled smally.

The others turned in the direction that their leader was facing, just in time to watch the sun crown the small Five and Dime store across the street from the alley, its rays shooting down into the alley like wild colts chasing butterflies on the high mountain slopes.

Fletcher Gereld stood a little straighter, gaining a little more altitude over his subordinates, his posture just as awful as ever. Calvin squared his shoulders and set his jaw. Isabele closed her eyes, exhaled deeply, and sort of slumped while still standing. Felicity bunched her shoulders and shivered, pulled the collar on her jacket up and buckled the patent leather clasp.

"Isabele. You and Felicity get a patrol and go around to the other side of this wall. Calvin. . ."

"Done," Calvin finished and began walking down the alley.

{[(As you will notice, only one charcter has a last name. That's because he's the only character that had names suggested for him that actually worked as a last name. Need last names for the three additional charcters. What are the facts? Where might the facts lead? Is there anything on the other side of the wall? If so: what? Will forensics turn up anything at the phone booth? If so: what? Will the canvass reveal anything? If so: what? Where do we go next? Read the new element added to the page)]}