The Case of The Strange Noise and The Missing Girl

Alistair got off to an unusually late start today, waking up at 1 pm. As he set his shop up in preparation opening for the day, a giant thunderbolt struck across the street from his shop. He stopped short, looked around, put down the open sign he clutched in his left hand, and walked out the door. The moment he saw the lightening bolt, Alistair had an idea. This could be his break back into the detective business. The other day, as he made casual conversation with some strangers, he had heard rumors about a girl who went to investigate some strange metallic noises in an old building next to castle apartments. The girl has not returned for a day and a half. At first, this news just seemed sad, and Alistair had not thought anything more about it. It never occurred to the somewhat naïve, loose-minded ex private eye that he could actually work on a case WITHOUT being hired first. Alistair was so excited as he ran toward Castle Apartments that he didn't even notice the downpour through which he waded. He took the steps two at a time, nearly running toward the fourth floor of Castle Apartments, and the last place Ethel Roberts was seen.

He knocked on the door. In a moment it was opened by a man with sullen face. Assuming this was Ethel's father Alistair said, “I have come to help you investigate the disappearance of your daughter and the source of the strange metallic sound from the building next door.” Ethel's father looked at him strangely. “Just who might you be?” he questioned. “I am Alistair Stratford Oxley, also known as the private detective of this town. You may know me as the owner of Jack's Jems.” “What, that old antique shop?” said Mr. Roberts. “Well I guess we'll take help from anyone we can get.” That was all he needed, and with a quick “thank you”, The Detective ran off toward the old building next to castle apartments.

As he approached the building, a background noise that he had heard for a long while grew in volume until it was apparent that it was the metallic noise in question. Although Alistair did not know how, he was sure that the noise and the disappearance of Ethel Roberts were connected. He slowly pushed open the door to the building. Inside it was dark, and the noise was so loud that it was almost unbearable. Alistair took out his flashlight and followed the noise through a twisting maze of doors until he found it's source. As he entered the room he braced himself for trouble, but when he opened it, he found an old, white haired man running a forge. Next to him, handing him chunks of metal, was none other than Ethel Roberts! Alistair came into the room and signaled for them to stop working. They looked surprised, but the man turned off the machine. “What are you doing in here Ethel?” said Alistair. “You're father is worried to death about you!” “I just came down to help this nice old man work his forge. I was bored with school, and I didn't have anything else to do. I don't know why, but Edith wouldn't come!” At least no one was hurt, thought Alistair. “Ok, well lets get back to your father now.” He said. The old man looked at him and said, “Hello, I'm the Blacksmith of Castle Apartments. I recently set up shop here in this abandoned building, and I will be opening up shop very soon. This young girl was helping me to create my first batch of useful tools and items. Come by anytime to look at my wares.” Looking towards Ethel, he said, “Bye Ethel, I'm sure I'll see you again soon!”

Alistair returned Ethel back to her father. He paid him a little and, more importantly, promised to spread the word about his detective business. He had done it, The Detective was back.

The Case of the Non-Existent Coffee

Alistair scanned the dark alleyway. He took out his pocket watch. It read 12:00am. The smell of half-burnt batter wafted out from Casa D’ Waffles even at this time of night. As he looked out into the darkness again, he had the feeling that he was being watched, that Syrius was hiding somewhere nearby. As he walked farther down the alleyway, a man hopped off of a roof, and landed with a swish in front of him. “You are the great Syrius Hawkins, I presume?” Alistair inquired. “That’s me.” Hawkins replied. “Well in that case, I suggest that we waste no time standing around. Let’s talk about my job offer.” Said the detective. “I was looking forward to this meeting, Mr. Detective. I’ve been quite bored with my recent musings.” “It does appear that your masterful talents in stealth and robbery were not tested by the feeble security measures at my shop. Anyway, I called you here was because I suspected something. Something of which I am now for certain is true. You are bored. I am bored. We do not have any challenges to meet our intellectual capabilities. If we join forces, we should be able to find cases and run my business in a more efficient manner. How do you like the ring of Stratford and Hawkins Private Investigators?” “As I said, I’m in.” “Ok, well, I’ll see you at my shop, three days from now, at six o’clock am.” With that, Alistair slid into the shadows.

Their meeting being over, it was now 3:30 in the morning. Alistair gave up the notion of sleeping and decided to head over to the coffee shop. As he walked up to the supposedly 24-hour coffee shop, he realized that there was a line in front of it. Instead of wondering why so many people were in line for coffee at 4 in the morning, Alistair pondered why he couldn’t have his coffee “whenever he wanted it”, as the sign in the door proclaimed. He noticed that the weather was quite strange. It was not quite cold and not quite warm. While he grumbled about forgetting his trench coat, a stranger walked up to him. He was an average looking man, whose rough features suggested that he worked long hours, probably at a low paying job. He introduced himself as one Robin Spartacus Moore, bowling attendant. The two men talked at length about many topics: the coffee shop, their respective work, and the meaning of life in general. In the end, neither of them came up with much of substance, despite giving it their best shot, and they decided to give up conversation entirely. Alistair somewhat liked the man, as he had made a tasteful pun about his investigative line of work. Alistair thought puns an ingenious form of communication indeed, and he invited Spartacus to visit him at his shop anytime he liked.

Having never gotten his coffee, Alistair walked back to the shop to prepare for the day. As he strolled down the street, he heard a radio that was usually tuned to WTF just playing static. Back at the shop, as he flipped over the open sign, he could not stop thinking about how weird the town was. “Something is coming,” he thought. “Something is coming.”

A Missing lion and A Meeting In The Dark

The next morning, Alistair woke to a surprise. At first, everything seemed normal, the light shined through the shutters, the heat filtered in, but at Jack’s Jems didn’t feel quite right. As soon as he walked up the steps, he saw it. Someone had broken in and stolen his prized lion statue. The statue was over 500 years old. The thief had done their work well. An average person may never have noticed, but Alistair was not an average person. Yes, the statue was gone. He mumbled something to himself, and got ready for his morning walk.
Today, he felt like a change of pace. “I’ll go down through the middle of town”, he thought. As he turned on Poplar, he heard in the distance the iconic croaking of Bob Dylan. “Who would blast music this early?” He pondered. As the clinic approached, he realized that the music was coming from a boom box sitting beside a homeless man on the side of the road. Being a normally out of work private detective, Alistair had a soft spot for the homeless. As he walked by, he tossed a bit of spare change that he had in the pocket of his overcoat into the homeless man’s dented money bowl. Had he turned his head, he would have noticed that the homeless man was blind, but he was occupied thinking about today’s dilemma. He kept walking. Alistair had all but forgotten about the man when he heard a voice behind him say, “What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence." Alistair turned around, but the man was asleep. “That’s it!,” Alistair thought, “I have a plan!” He ran back to his shop shouting thanks at the sleeping blind man all the way there.
Alistair spent the entire rest of the day devising his plan, and setting up the shop. He cleared out the middle of the shop and set up a table with a piece of paper, a pen, and a lamp. He was ready. Alistair turned off all the lights except the lamp at the table. He remembered what the old man had said. “What will come will come.” He hoped it was true. After hours of standing till in the dark, there was a creak at the window. A man in black climbed through slowly. The intruder stared at the illuminated table, and approached it slowly. He stared at the words on the page for a good five minutes. He picked up the pen, scribbled something, and left swiftly the way he came. Once it was safe to come out, Alistair looked down at the paper. It read

“Judging by the skill with witch you stole my lion statue last night, it appears that you have practiced the art of stealing in a disciplined manner. It is this that leads me to believe that we are somewhat similar men. We both have too much time on our hands, and a passion that the world of today is not letting us fulfill. Essentially we are both out of work. I’d be interested in meeting with you face to face to discuss a job offer. If your interested, sign you name here, and meet me in the alley behind Casa D’ Waffles tomorrow night at 12:00 am.”

Sincerely,
Alistair Stratford Oxley, “The Detective”

Beneath which was only a scrawled signature reading, “Syrius Hawkins. I accept.”

The day started with the usual routine. The light, filtering through the brown shutters, shined onto the face of Alistair Stratford Oxley. His nose, sensing that his body was now awake, twitched slightly. He opened one eye, than two. He stood up. Brushing the dust off of his nightgown, he wandered upstairs to the interior of “Jack’s Jems”. Jack’s Jems is the only antique shop worth mentioning in this town and Oxley, being it’s proud owner, does not hesitate to mention it to anyone. Walking slowly around his shop, the middle aged man looked down at his hands, weathered with use from refurnishing pieces from the fifteen hundreds, sighed, and walked to the front door.

As he left the shop for his morning walk, the heat and smell hit Alistair at the same time. Although he could not decide exactly what the smell was, it combined perfectly with the dense heat to make even his short time outside close to unbearable. He looked over and saw the WTF radio headquarters. He wondered what crappy music they were playing at the moment. “No matter,” he said to himself, as he moved quickly towards a shelter from the weather. As he reached the arch marking the entrance to the park, he thought about his recent business. Not his antique sales, no, his side business. As his surroundings changed from the dull, intense heat of the city to the cool, natural greens and browns of wildlife, Alistair thought of his work as a private investigator.

He thought of his first case in town, how he had successfully deciphered the mysterious symbols plaguing Ms. Sarah Jade’s texts. He had helped locate her harasser, whom she quickly married. But that was back then. Apparently these days the only people who need the services of a fully operational private eye were grandma’s who thought their cats were stolen, and people who had misplaced their shoes. He paused, and looked down at his pocket watch. It was 10:30. Time to get back to the shop.

Back at the antique shop, Alistair picked up the welcome sign and, putting it in the window, took his place at his favorite stool, all the while mumbling his ritual welcome rhyme:

Come one, come all

To the shop that you call

When you need something

That has been

If you should ever

Need someone clever

Enter, why not?

The detective is in.