FicWad

Alvin blinked. He had managed to change his clothes this morning, into a heavy, itchy wool sweater the color of phlegm and dark pants. He flipped up the collar of his coat against the rain, and did his best to ignore the stares.
There was nothing wrong with him. Alvin pressed his jaw together so tight he felt it in the cores of his teeth. They couldn’t see his tongue. Did they smell it on him? Did being mentally ill give him a certain look? Why couldn’t any of these jokers mind their own damn business?!
Passing by a group of girls, he was treated to a chorus of giggles and one whispered word. “Yellow!” a redhead chuckled as he went by.
Ah. Of course. They were staring at the umbrella. Not at him. He cursed himself for being so conspicuous. He was so busy berating himself that when the elevated train pulled out of the platform, it was five minutes before Alvin noticed that he had gotten on the wrong train.
“Oh, bull. This is just fantastic,” muttered Alvin, staring blackly at the outdoors.
Well, if he was heading downtown anyway, he might as well make a stop in at Police Headquarters.

______________________

Kaylee glanced down at the paper napkin. A raindrop landed on the paper, making the ink run. “Oh, goodness gracious!” she whispered, and held it closer to her. It wouldn’t do to get water on it. She needed it. Although Jim's was close enough to walk, she wanted the house number.
Skirting around a puddle, Kaylee hummed a brief snippet of jazz she remembered from her short stay at The Second Star. The club itself was absolutely jazz, of course, but the owner was pure scum. She sniffed. A woman like her would never step in an establishment of ill repute like that again!
Kaylee paused and debated jumping into a puddle. She decided against it, because it would ruin her shoes.

______________________

Sam Spade did not much care for Alvinius J. Freck. All he had on him was a file that contained, in order, the boy’s birth, his detainment in a loony bin, and the deaths of both parents. Sam did not like the fact that Alvin didn’t drink. Honest to God, everybody drank! It was illegal, but it’s not like that’d stop anyone. Music was hot and booze was cool, what else was needed?
What Sam Spade did not like the most about Alvin Freck was that he had tried to break into his office by climbing up a flagpole. In the rain. Holding an umbrella in between his teeth.
Kids today were out of God Damn Control.
Sam needed a drink.

Alvin had managed to drip a steadily growing pool of water onto the floor of Sam’s office. He seemed genuinely pleased to see him and reeked of wet wool.
“Morning, Detective Spade! I climbed the flag pole!” he said, eyes shining brightly. All crazy people had eyes like that, with scorched pupils and glittery color parts.
Sam wanted a drink.
“You told me I wasn’t to come by the front door,” smirked the kid, folding his stretched wet woolen arms.
Sam exhaled through his nose, and made his way to his desk. “What can I do ya for, kiddo?”
Alvin’s manic smile faltered. He’d expected more guff about the flag pole, that much was certain, but if the kid wanted flak he could talk it up with Irene and her gorgeous gams.
“I have news on the Lavenza case,” said the kid, managing to keep his voice even.
Sam started to rummage in his desk for his flask.
“Oh really?”

The kid nodded. “Yeah. She’s a cousin to Victor Frankenstein, and I don’t know if you’ve heard the rumors but...”
Sam stopped listening. This kid was just going to spew the same song that Finnegan from the DP had. Although Sam had been able to get Finnegan to the curb with a quick kick to the ass, he doubted he’d be able to pull the same trick twice.
“Look, Freck, it’s swell that you think you can do my job. And I’ve heard every angle already. So either tell me something new or shimmy down the flagpole and go hit a dance marathon.”
Sam’s hand closed around the flask at the back of his drawer. It was nearly empty, but Hell, a little bitter scotch was better than going dry.

Alvin narrowed his eyes. Apparently, he had more points to make. Sam sighed inwardly. This kid needed to learn to control his facial expressions. One day, somebody would read him like a book and pummel him for it.
“I believe that my sister and I have discovered the monster capable of killing Elizabeth Lavenza,” stated the kid.
Sam could feel a headache starting to build in between his eyes.
“Look. Kid,” Sam paused, not entirely sure how to continue. Well, this kid could probably use some directness.
“I didn’t hire you. I’m not the boss. Irene told me to give you the crime prints, and I gave them to you. That was it. I don’t want you in my office, and I sure don’t want you working my crime scene. If you have an issue, jabber it to Irene.”
Sam paused to take a swig from his flask.
If this kid had half an ounce of sense, he’d deflate and go silently out the door.
Instead, he chose to jump up and start to shout, nearly slipping in the pool of water his clothes had created.

“Look, ya bum! If I’m right, which I know I am, then we’re looking at some serious damage here!” he seethed, trying to get up in Sam’s face despite being a foot too short.
Sam put a hand on the kid’s forehead and pushed him back.
“You’re flooding my office. Hate to say it, kid, but you’re all wet. Go talk to Irene,” said Sam, taking a sort of strange pride in his childish joke.
The younger man fumed, spat a well-thought-out curse, and exited, slamming the door behind him. A framed photo of Sam's promotion to Detective in his assistance on the Morgan Case fell to the floor. The office echoed with silence.
Alvin then re-entered briefly and abruptly to grab a yellow umbrella, and left for good.


Commissioner Adler steepled her fingers. Alvin had just finished telling her all of his findings, and was trying to get his breath back.
“Well,” she said. “We’ll be on the lookout for this...Twelve Ozzie?”
“Thank you, Commissioner,” said Alvin, fidgeting.
“We’ve also been on the lookout for the Doctor Frankenstein, but apparently he’s been on a sabbatical for the past three years,” explained the Commissioner, pushing a coffee-stained file forwards.
Alvin snapped up the file. “Oh really?”
She nodded. “To put it in simple terms, nobody really knows where Frankenstein is. He could be dead for all we know,” she sighed, and pressed her fingertips to the corners of her eyes. “What a nightmare.”
Alvin went through the file, noting that although it said quite a bit, it was nothing new. He slipped a photograph of Frankenstein into the sleeve of his wet sweater, praying that the water wouldn’t wreck the ink.
“I’ll say,” he said, handing the file back. “I’ll telephone you if I get anything new.”

Alvin left the precinct, opening his yellow umbrella against the rain.
He was soaked, he’d been humiliated by a binge-drinking detective, and the case was starting to run cold. What a bad morning.
Well, the only things he had left to do was see Lavenza’s apartment again or go see Jin. He mulled it over, and then dashed to the train platform, slipping in on a train headed to Angrai. Slamming down all of his pocket change for a ticket, Alvin squelched to an open seat, whistling.