The Kibitzer Files: A Taste of Creole

[Paragon Vanguard]

It was a warm day. It seemed every day was a warm day this year. I had the window open to my upstairs office off of the docks, listening to the seagulls call out and the boats horn as distant voices wafted through the Independence Port air. I had my fan blowing, and of course I had a window unit pushing as much cold air as it's ancient coils could muster, but by god I wanted that window open, and no heat was going to stop it. It was me against the heat, or at least my ole mind was seeing it that way. Addled is what my secretary would call me, an old man facing off against Mother Nature herself. 
I wasn't that old. My early 50's, which puts me middle age. Middle age if I lived to be 108. Not out of the question with all the supplements being sold on the street corners of Paragon City. Just a few blocks outside my door actually. 
No, old just didn't fit me yet, but then no old man ever thinks it does. 

 

"Your two o'clock is here," Miss Wendy said, poking her head in through the door. She made a face, and I was assuming at how hot it was in the office. She disapproved of me keeping the window open with the air-conditioning begging the utilities for a little more power just to lower the temperature a degree more.  Wendy had to make sure the bills were paid when I was paid, and right now, payday took a bit of a vacation. It was too hot for people to even cheat on one another it seemed. Or too hot for the jilted party to even care. Unfortunately that was the kind of investigations that paid the bills. 

"Remind me," I said, sipping my coke, that was now completely depleted of ice. 

"Stella Marie Baptiste," she said, looking at the name on the file as she put it on my desk. I liked to look the files over in front of the customer, so I can ask right away what my brain wanted to know. It was a trick I picked up as a detective with the PPD. 

'Her sister is missing and she thinks she is here in Paragon," Wendy informed me.

Wendy always read the files, through and through. She was more than a secretary, though that was her official title for payroll and tax purposes. She was more of a colleague, a sleuth in her way. Not the go out and knock on doors and pound an informant over the head for information kind, but in her gentle 'I know what a computer is and am not scared to use it' way. Very different from me. 

I nodded for her to bring the client in, and got up and closed the window. I know it isn't possible, but I was sure that the air-conditioner gave a sigh of relief as I did so. Rhode Island is not suppose to be this hot. Something the air-conditioner and I agreed on. 

"Mr. Drudge," she gently called in a southern accent, as she entered the room. I was now looking at the file, and merely motioned for her to sit in the almost leather chair across the desk from me. I put the file down to offer a smile to her, but the smile got caught and came out more as an awe. 

I could tell she was used to men looking at her like that, though it still seemed to bring some discomfort to her as if she did not seem to feel she deserved it. She was beautiful, and if her name had not given up her ancestry, her dark skin and high set cheek bones did. She was Creole, and judging by her accent, from New Orleans or round about. 

"I am here about my missing sister," she offered, as I must of took too long to acknowledge her. 

"Of course," I managed to say, and forced my eyes back to her file. She had a problem, a missing sister that she wished found, and she did not need some old man staring at her to add to her discomfort. 

Yes, suddenly, I felt very old. 

Edited August 29, 2023 by Paragon Vanguard

[Paragon Vanguard]

"The file says she lived with you and your mother, in Gretna? I am not sure where that is," I said, but I had an idea where it was. I was pretty sure it was near New Orleans. It wasn't information on where she lived that I was truly after, I simply wanted her to start talking. 

Always start with easy and simple questions. 

"Yes, that is right. It's in Jefferson Parish, right by Orleans Parish," she said in her wonderful accent, and for the first time offered a slight smile. "We took care of mother, as her health was declining. If I were to be honest, Amede, my sister, took care of her more than I did. I worked in New Orleans at a shop we owned."

"You owned? All of you? It was a family business?"

"Yes, a family business for generations. Amede did not care to run the shop. It is in the French Quarter, on Conti Street," she said, and I could tell by slight tones and facial motions that this was a sore spot for her. 

"What kind of shop," I asked, and she looked down at her hands a moment, before looking back up at me. 

This was also a sore spot it seemed. 

"It is such a cliché now, but it is a Voodoo shop. Baptiste House of Magic is what it is called, though it had been through different names in the past. No offense Mr. Drudge, but I do not think this has anything to do with my sister, as she had nothing to do with the shop. Or Voodoo."

"Mrs. Baptiste," I started. 

"You can call me Marie," she said, but not the way I would have said it. It was Mah-Ree, and it sounded so different in her accent as she slightly rolled the R. 

"Marie," I acknowledged, attempting to repeat the way she said it. This brought a slight smile to her pretty face, and it seemed impossible, but it made her even prettier. 

"Close enough," she said, and this made me smile. 

"In my profession, everything has do with everything. It is why people come to me who need answers, because, and I apologize for sounding so arrogant, because I am that good. I am that good because I want to know everything, and then I decide what is important and what is not."

She looked my face over for a moment, and in that moment, and I stress it was only a mere second, she let her southern charm drop. She studied me, even as I was studying her. I do not know exactly what she saw, but she relaxed and sat back in the chair. Just slightly more. 

I have to add here that there was something gnawing at me, and I did not know what. It was as a shadow that you see out of the corner of your eye, but when you look, it's gone. Then when you look away, there it is again. That was how this felt, even at the beginning of our conversation. I knew she was not lying to me, not yet anyway, yet there was something here already that was important. Something she did not even know. Something I did not grasp yet. 

"Tell me about your sister and how she went missing," I said, and sat back all the way into my chair, causing it to creak ever slightly. 

[Paragon Vanguard]

"Amede is what we call a home body, someone that doesn't really get out much. When she does, she is quiet, seems shy, and doesn't really socialize much. As I said, she took care of momma more than anyone. More than me. I focused on the shop, and told myself that we needed the income so that was what I needed to do. I don't think I was purposefully pushing this off on Amede, but maybe subconsciously I just did not have what it took to stay at home and watch momma die. And she did die., 

Amede was very sorrowful, and cried alot leading up to the funeral and after. It was a terrible time for her, as her and mother were very close. I loved momma, but she did not see eye to eye with my life style. She wanted me to be more like Amede, who seldom went on dates, seldom left the house in fact unless it was to run an errand or some such. 

That was until mother died. A few weeks, maybe a month, of proper mourning, and she was out on the town far more than I ever was. Mr. Drudge, I longed for the weekends but my sister, well, she did not care what night it was. I suddenly became the responsible one, and she was just, just wild."

 

I nodded, taking it all in. I offered that it was normal for this to occur after a death, especially a parent, especially with the person that was the care giver. She was polite and nodded to that, but I could see she did not believe what I was saying. I was interested in her take on it. 

 

"Well this is where Paragon City comes in and why I am here. She began to take up with a man, a well dressed man with a northern accent. He had money and was very charismatic. Always in suits, always the life of the party. He bought her clothes, and jewels and told her stories of this place. He said Paragon City made New Orleans look like a backwater shambles. He tried to charm me but I was not buying any of it. I told my sister to leave him alone, that he was bad news. I think that pushed her closer to him. She said I did not like that she was considered the pretty one now, the one that men wanted to be with. I didn't understand any of it, or where this was coming from. I wondered how long she felt this way about me. I never thought I was prettier or better than she. I always admired her responsible nature. One day though, she was gone. She left a note, apologizing for our fighting, and said she was coming here."

 

"What is the man's name that she took up with," I asked, as she had not mentioned it yet. 

 

"His name is Antonio Salvator, but I have not been able to locate him. I don't know if that is his real name. He is Italian, though probably second or third generation. His accent was there, but not very strong. I have met some Italians with a much stronger accent. He promised her a glamourous life here in Paragon City, with him. He promised her alot of things, but Mr. Drudge, I know he never intended to deliver. I know that type. You stay away from them. My sister would not listen though."

 

I nodded, even as I began to consider who he was, or who he was attached to. I did not recognize the name other than it is a common name like Joe Smith. May well not even be his real name, if he was acting in any way nefarious. Still, it was a start, and it got my intuition kicking in. 

My intuition. I have to say, there was something about all of this, all of her story, that ate at me. It was like something stuck to the roof of your mouth and you can't quite get it off no matter how hard you lick at it. No, I was going to have to reach in, and dig for this. She may not be lying to me, but I have a feeling this is not the whole truth. 

[Paragon Vanguard]

I don't just go around knocking heads, I am getting to old for that. I try first with more subtle tactics. Jonny Johny, and yes that is his real name, is a low level cigarette vendor from the streets. He isn't exactly Italian, but he sure looks it. Maybe he just doesn't come from any of the Family's family. He isn't a Mook either. He has connections though. Saying low level cigarette vendor doesn't mean he doesn't have his hands on other things, and prostitution and human trafficking is something these low lifers surely will deal with. The top dogs are busy dealing with the heroes of Paragon City, so they use people like Jonny so their hands aren't that dirty when they get caught. 

For the record, I do not believe Jonny Johny has anything to do with this missing person. No, I am pretty sure he does not. I do believe he can put me on the right track.  A trip from Rhode Island to New Orleans is a big trip to "hire" new girls to work the street, and its a step into other gang territories. Something like that would get around, even as a rumor. 

I do fear that my client's sister has been pushed into flesh trade, willing or not willing. It's an old story. The quiet ones get their freedom and they go wild, but when they run into the wrong person, bad things happen. 

Lucky for me Jonny owes me, and he was going to have to pay big. I got him out of trouble with some Mooks, trouble that would have had him floating in Liberty Harbor. Or concrete shoed to the bottom of it. If he didn't feel like paying me, well, I have a friend I can send to talk to him. My friend isn't quite as nice as me. You don't need to owe my friend anything, when he wants information, he will just get it. 

The Kibitzer, however, was going to stay hanging up in the back of my closet for now. Jonny would talk. 

[Paragon Vanguard]

 

I found Jonny where I always find Jonny Johny, by Exarch Industries. Their slogo is "For All Your Component Needs", but it may as well say "Serving Crey Industries Since..." To each their own I suppose. Crey doesn't factor into much of what I do, and I try not to factor into much of what they do. Crooked security guards if you ask me. 

Jonny was there, selling to the working class. He has his stand, and no it was not a real stand just a saying, set right up on Liberty Quay where all the gang members and all of the dock workers can have complete access to his ill gotten, albeit quite cheap, cigarettes. Far enough off the PPD path to not get noticed, small enough that supes don't give him a second look, but right smack down in the middle of happenings. Well, Independence Port dock happenings. 

I reminded Jonny of our little talks, and how I could include others in our little conversations, at least make them privy, if he didn't talk with me. Jonny is not a tough guy, so threatening me was not his way. I know many that would have. They would have tried to scare me with who they are, who they work for, and what they would do to me if I caused them any troubles. Jonny was not built like that, and he knew I was not the kind of guy that could be easily intimidated. Oh, he didn't know I could defend myself pretty well. I preferred to keep that to myself, and keep that to my other business. No, Jonny just wasn't a violent man like what folks think of when they think of gang members. 

"You wouldn't," he said, but his eyes told the story. He knew I would. After threatening him with that, I would have to. I would have to go through with it because if I did not then others would not believe me when I said something. Jonny knew this of me. I did not even have to answer him. 

"Ok, ok. Yes, I know of one that has been going back and forth to New Orleans," he said, looking around nervously. 

"I was told his name is Antonio Salvator," I said, offering Jonny a cigar. He was being helpful, and he deserved something. These weren't blunts, they were true expensive cigars. He smiled big seeing it, I mean a man dealing in tobacco would know what he was looking at. I personally seldom smoked, but for cases like this, well, you offer the whip or the carrot. Or in my case usually both. 

"Antonio Salvator," he said, low, thinking that over. I was ready to go back to threats if he pretended to not know. If he said something like " I will find out", well, we would have to have another tough discussion of what could happen to him. 

"Tony, Tony Batts," he said, as if a light bulb popped over his head. "Tony Batts goes by Salvator at times, wishing that was his name, but it aint. He is probably Italian, but he don't have no family. He was an orphan with no one knowing his family. Tony Batts, or Tony the Bat as they call him at times, was said to be going down into Louisiana. I heard tell around Shreveport, north Louisiana, far from New Orleans, but that dont mean that is where he went. It may be enough to throw folks off, you know, stop in up north then head down and do business down south."

"Is he into flesh," I asked, meaning prostitution. He shook his head before I could finish. 

"Batts don't do that, not at all. He is a player in the card games more than anything else. Kind of a hard man, a heavy hand if need be, but he likes to keep the cool type of rep. He rips games from other gangs, but no one goes against him. His capos dont mess with him, they get paid no matter if he deals the game or rips the game," Jonny said. 

Rip the game meant he robbed illegal gambling places. It may well be that he was in New Orleans to steal from the criminal elements there. If that was the case, though, why would he kidnap my client's sister, or anyone else. He would go in, do what he had to do, and leave. He would not want to leave any around to know he was even there. 

A thought crossed my mind then. Maybe Amede was a witness. Maybe he could not leave her there. Jonny said he was not violent, not for violence sake, but that does not mean that this man, called Tony the Bat, did not have to get rid of Amede. 

I tried to push that from my mind. It was too easy, and too easy was what most cases turned out to be in the end, but I liked to push out the obvious until it became the actual. People too often decide on something, anything, and then they make it their truth and it is hard to convince them of anything else. A detective can do the same thing if he isn't careful. No, I never just went with the easy, it was always better to make sure. Push it as if its a hard case. As if maybe there was something else, besides the beautiful Stella Marie Baptiste's sister being dead. 

"Thank you Jonny," I said, patting him on the shoulder as if we were ole friends, and walked away with this new information playing at my brains. 

As obvious as it seemed, that maybe something bad had happened to Amede, still there it was. There was that something in the roof of my mouth. Something that I could not quite grasp yet. Something I should do, but was not sure what it was I should do. 

Edited September 7, 2023 by Paragon Vanguard

[Paragon Vanguard]

"It's cause you don't know nothing about your client," Mrs. Wendy said matter of fact like. 

I just looked at my secretary a moment as I poured some bourbon over a couple of ice cubes in my drinking glass. She frowned, as she does when I drink, but it was late enough in the day to not be ashamed of a drink.

She knew I hated when she told me something I really should have thought of on my own. 

"If your hitting the street tonight don't drink more than one," she admonished, though she didn't even want me drinking the one. I would have a second before she got off at 5 o'clock, but she was right. I was hitting the streets. Or more importantly, the Kibitzer was hitting the streets. 

Yes, she suspected, though she did not know for sure that I put on the mask. It was not something I wished made privy to anyone. One part embarrassing that I dressed up as some Halloween clown so no one knew who I was, another part for their safety. I didn't want every crook I fingered coming banging on my not so well secured door. Some of them don't need to use a door, for that matter. 

I clinked the ice cubes around as I swirled the bourbon, purposefully making the noise when she popped her head in to say she was leaving. She's a good secretary, and a great woman, and her husband was a very lucky man. No, I didn't have any romantic feelings towards her. I have known her for so long it would be like having romantic feelings for your sister, or cousin, or some such. Wendy was pretty and classy in her own way though. The put on frown she showed at my show of defiance made me smile. 

"No more," she said, then offered her own smile as she closed the door. I heard her go down the stairs and the bell ring behind her as she left.  

 

I don't know my client, not well enough. And I wasn't travelling down to Gretna Louisiana to find out about her. No, that wasn't what I needed to do. I probably needed to have another discussion with her, and get to know her some better. Maybe a drink or two in Atlas, away from the docks and the Italian gangs. Tony Batts was a good start, but I hate going into any conversation without the full story, and right now I didn't have the full story. 

I was thinking on this when I heard the bell ring over the door down below. I knew Wendy did not come back, she rode the rail and if she forgot anything she would just pick it up tomorrow. I put my hand on my Smith and Wesson .357 that I kept in a holster attached under my desk. It was small protection against supes, but supes weren't really my business. No I had a feeling who this was. By the broad shouldered shadow I saw on the wall as he crossed through Wendy's office, it could only be one man. 

"Come on in Mr. Batts," I said. 

[Paragon Vanguard]

Anthony "The Bat" Batts entered my office carefully, almost as if he figured it was a trap. True to his name, he had a well used bat over his shoulder. His eyes scanned my room quickly, and then fell on me. 

"You been asking about me, so why not ask me," he said. 

My hand stayed close to the revolver, but I relaxed a bit. He was not here for hostile reasons, and I could see it in his face. The truth was he looked more like a cornered rat, though a large dangerous cornered rat. 

"I suppose Jonny couldn't wait to tell you I was asking about you," I said.

"Jonny knows what's good for Jonny, and you asking about me aint good for Jonny," he said.

I motioned for him to take a seat in the chair across from my desk, and to my surprise he took it. He leaned the bat on the chair by him, and sat back. He wasn't relaxed, not really, but he was more relaxed than he had been when he came in. It was almost as if he was thinking there would be more folks in here waiting on him. 

"I know you aren't telling me that you hurt Jonny," I questioned, and I really wanted that answer. Jonny was a low life, but he was an informant, and when your informants start getting hurt it makes others not want to inform. 

"Naw, he aint hurt. He did what he was suppose to do," he said. 

"Mr. Anthony," I began.

"Call me Tony," he said, cutting me off quick. "We aint doing business, we just talking."

Tony was dressed like a button man, his suit was very nice, nicer than my suits. He didn't wear the hat, but his hair was slicked back and very black. He did look part Italian, but something about him said he was not full Italian. I could not put my finger on it, but chances were he had to deal with that all his life. 

"Tony it is. I was asking about you because I have a client that is trying to find her sister. She feels you may know something about it."
I put it on the table. If he was here, he knew what the deal was already. He would play his cards, I would play mine, and we would see who busted. It was obvious by his face that he was a card player, because poker face was definitely his game. 

"Amede hired you," he said, and that caused my own brow to furl. My poker game was not to his level for sure. 

"It is Amede I am looking for," I said, and there was a very slight hint of confusion on his own face. Maybe we weren't playing the same game. Both of our faces then dropped all pretense and we knew we definitely needed to have a discussion. 

"Amede don't have no sister," he said, the wheels in his head obviously turning now. We were both wondering what we had gotten ourselves into. 

[Paragon Vanguard]

The black hat sat low, the glasses with the red lenses not only covered my eyes but also assisted in seeing in the dark. It wasn't magic, it just took whatever light there was and evenly dispersed it. The black trench coat I wore was not seasonal, as it was a hot summer night, but no one really saw me. I learned how to stay out of sight in the military, but that is another story I may never tell. I wore a grey shirt, a nice shirt really, cotton and soft and helped to keep me cooler, but for the coat. The trench coat was sleeveless, so that also helped. The pants were thick dark jean and tucked into boots. The boots were very utilitarian, high and also black. I was no longer the private detective Daryl Drudge. I didn't speak some code word or magic name or anything as some of these heroes speak. I am not super. If I did have a super power it would be my inquisitive nature. It would be that I had an uncanny need to dig into other people's business. No, when I say I become someone else, it simply means I am now the Kibitzer. It is an alter ego that merely keeps people from knowing who I am. I could easily just as well been John Doe. Kibitzer fits who I am though. 
Kibitzer, someone who imparts unwanted advice, but it is also synonymous with a busybody, a buttinski. It all fits me. It is what makes me a good detective. 

 

I needed to find out more of Amede, and according to Batts, she was neck deep in the underground of New Orleans, and actually had some connections to Paragon City. He didn't know that when he decided to rob her poker games in New Orleans. He knew that now, and now he was laying low. Lucky for him most people wont talk to some prostitute from New Orleans. They didn't really have that much respect for what many called the swamp mafia. Not their real name, it was derogatory. I don't know if they have some kind of name, like The Family or The Mooks even. Not even now. I just knew Amede had tried to play me for a fool. She was probably playing others for a fool as well. Daryl Drudge alone can only get so much information. However, the Kibitzer has a way of finding things out that few others can. 

[Paragon Vanguard]

I did a little digging through the night, entered a few back doors and listened to the illegal card game talks. I have a knack for them not knowing when I am there, and some inner knowledge of how to stay there with them not knowing I am there. Not much was happening at the first few card games. Normal underground mook talk to be honest. 'This chick is easy, that broad is classy'. It depended on what game I was listening to as to who was classy and who was easy. 

It wasn't until 2am that I came across the two men in the alley talking about the boss from New Orleans. They weren't debating hooking up with her sexually, but instead they were debating hooking up with her criminally. Batts was not pulling my leg when he said she was neck deep in the underground of New Orleans. He may have mislead me on why she was tracking him though. He didn't steal her money, according to these two family members, he stole her heart. He stole her heart and she wanted him dead now. Still, that seemed too simple for such a complicated bunch. I was betting Tony the Bat was not hiding from her, as he said he was. He was looking for her, and figured to use me to find her. I am guessing the winner of this one would be whoever found whoever first. The loser would be dead.

My next thing was to find out why Tony wanted her dead. I don't know the exacts of Amede's motives yet, but I could find Tony easier.

Edited November 23, 2023 by Paragon Vanguard