Sometimes in this city, the nobles just piss on us and don't even have the courtesy to call it rain. That client we had, whose wife is planning to divorce him, was unable to take the truth, and tried to run out without paying us. I am quite sorry to say he was successful. We did our best to stop him, but he was a phenomenally slippery character. Not wanting to make a further mess of our parlour, nor wanting to have to kill the deadbeat, we let him go. Fortunately, he left behind most of the evidence that we had collected. If I have the time later, I may approach a barrister about getting our recompense for our hard work.
Fortunately, after that let down, we were faced with a new case almost immediately, as Amrita, the healer, arrived to report a murder. Aly put a cuppa on, to sooth the frazzled oozefolk, but I was more interested in investigating the scene of the crime as soon as possible, before this sudden rain washed away any evidence.
When we arrived at the alley near the clinic, I was able to discern that the deceased was a older gnomish gentleman. His hands were wounded as though something had been wrenched from them quite violently shortly before his death. The apparent cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the gut, and there was no evidence that the body had been moved since death. I put the time of death at no more than a few hours old.
What was most interesting is that both Aly and Amrita recognized the fellow, but with quite different feelings on him. To Amrita, he was a kind-hearted wealthy patron of her clinic, who had been quietly footing the bill to provide aid to the downtrodden of this city for years. To Aly, however, he was the bastard tinker, Archibald, who first repaired her, and then subsequently sold her into slavery to my father to cover his gambling debts. To the logical mind of course there is nothing inherently contrasting in these two descriptions, but nevertheless, it surprised even me to learn that Archibald at least seemed to pretend to have some kindness in his heart.
Upon the cadaver, I found little, save a bit of cash, indicating that this was not, at least, a common mugging gone wrong, and a note, which read "eleven, tonight, Roxie's Diner". Eleven had not yet passed, and naturally, we followed up on this lead to see what we may.
Aly, Amrita, and myself, approached the eponymous diner, and immediately, it was clear that something unusual was afoot. Two small fellows, a kobold and a ratfolk, crouched under an automobile outside, clearly thinking themselves stealthy. Inside, was another story. A number of shady characters sat around the diner, not really seeming to eat, and clearly waiting for something. When eleven arrived, and nothing had happened yet, the shady figures grew fidgety, and I left to see what information I could wring from the little fellows outside.
It seemed that they were a couple of bag-men, here for some kind of dropoff from Archibald, and I motioned for Aly to join me outside, but before she could leave, she was accosted by one of the diner goons, and a rip snorting diner brawl ensued. I must say, the two little strangers could certainly hold their own in a fight. The rat was particularly viscious, while the kobold seemed more interested in looting the fallen than actually helping us in this unprovoked and deadly attack.
As luck would have it, neither myself, Aly, Amrita, nor the two bag-men (who turned out to be named Edveign (the rat) and Winston (the kobold)) were permanantly injured, though myself and Aly both took a fair beating. However, I am well glad that we had the healing magics of the good priestess Amrita on our side. The would-be cutthroats were, shall we say, less fortunate, and less than half of them are likely to survive the night.
We were able to get some information after the fight was ended from one of the survivors before the chef chased us out of his restaurant. Their gang had received the same note that Archibald had. Not merely, the same words, or the same hand, but an identical copy. As it turns out, the bag-men had recieved the same. It would seem that an unknown someone tried to set up archibald, the bag-men, and this nameless crew of would-be gangsters for some kind of meeting, but Archibald never arrived. I do not know who was behind this, but I do not think they meant well to any of the three parties, and are likely the same person responsible for Archibald's alleyway murder.
Now, we return to our parlour, to interview the bag-men, and see if there are any clues that we can glean, that might point our way to the culprit behind these mysterious events.
And for tea, of course.