Caramel parchment.

A 175c cup o'joe from a three-bit stand at the side of the old skatepark could buy you the knowledge that none of the rest of them really knew it he was actually a part of their thing. That he kind of just turned up one day and never quite left... not for good. The not-so-higher ups usually followed his words with a dedication that only an intrinsically unsettling unsureness would provide.

It was apparent that he had a way of knowing that the drop of rain hanging on the side of the three-bit stand's red-striped canopy had decided to hold its time and wait until you'd be standing just underneath until it finally let go of the loose spindle of thread and land itself neatly, wrapping around the side of your cheek; even before the clouds which had only just pulled back to its home to check on its wife and kids for the evening, had decided to spit it out.

The splodge of acid-draughted full-bodied rain drop was just about to splodge onto the neatly pressed stamp of inked menace as...

And so he sat at a clanking old type-writer; finishing a long drag from an unfiltered Morley. Its lingering dust falling by the way side under a not-quite-heavy shade of lamp from one of the old gold and green chain puller things; just off to its side. A not so strong musk of coffee barely masked the citrusy-green cologne still resting relaxedly against his crisply crinkled white shirt's subtly pinstriped collar; complete with a mis-placed cimson-pink press of lipstick tucked neatly under the inside. A rusty old warehouse would be a description undeserving of expression for a building such as this - one with a history like this one could be and always was to noone but them, something with so much more. A comfortable room, with a a stoicly embodied "Private InvestigatoR" held firm by a neatly arched string of letters against its frosted glass entrance. The "r" having long retired to a news room far far away.

Another sip of the decorated-in-brown-with-a-white-handled mug and the finish was almost in sight. An accomplishment signified by a well earned recline into an unfashionale desk-chair and a criss cross of tan-leathered shoes along the single open drawer.

That's all very interesting but this crowd of no-gooders have been a plague on this city for far too long (since last week's early evening). I'm assigning you this because it's your god-damned job as an agent of civil protection (to hell with civil, this town was long past conjugated community feeling). Just last week, some old thing filed a complaint that we had taken over an hour to respond to a call out for a reported firearms assault (she thought it might be fun to try and charge them protection for being in the old studio; they decided ten bucks a month would cover house-cleaning, she thought otherwise - infact, it was her own shotgun). Listen, you question me one more time and you're off the force. This is a god-damn order and you'll execute to the best of your ability. I'm sorry... just... sometimes I'm not sure on which side of the fence we're supposed to be (-didn't have to worry, it'd be looked in to and they would let them know) -thanks.

"So called 'Rain Dogs' steal another painting from city gallery due for private-collector sale."

"Rain Dogs strike again! Three found dead."

"Wire - tap finds judge taking bribe. District Attorney suspects self-fashioned 'Rain Dogs'".


"Time to go, Ecks."

"Almost finished, almost finished..." as he read, assuredly, over all of the front pages stuck to the facade of the three pads. The butcher, the baker and the candle stick mak-- the type-writer, the laptop and the notepad. Each drew neatly to a close with a straightening of the thin black tie against a loose top button and dread-black under-shirt. "See if you can't post them, one at a time to the old box across from the coffee stand?"

- "on my desk by three-fifteen!"

A tall $2.75 mug of Irish-cream cappuccino nestled snugly against the smooth grooves of hand varnished pine was the perfect accompaniment to the stack of old, brown sugar papered files and folders. From the very peak of its tower, you could look over to the surrounding principality; a benevolent gaze cast upon and around the customs and customers and waiting waiters and waitresses behind the unimposing desk, complete with its very own display cabinet of delicate treats, cakes and delicacies - niceties in contrast to the otherwise stark and dark afternoon of the encompassing snow outside. A $2.75 which, presently retained by the assistance of a P.D badge and arched eyebrow.

Extensive case notes and filed references stored in archive from before re-structuring:

- Theft (petty) / convicted: $70 fine.
- Theft (petty) / convicted: 200 hours community service.
- Brandishing a weapon to a city official / charges pending.
- Threatening a police officer / pending.
- Fraud / charges cleared due to mis-trial.
- Wire Fraud / awaiting trial.
- Forgery / awaiting trial.
- Embezzlement / charges cleared due to mis-trial.
- Money laundering / charges cleared due to insufficient evidence.
- Racketeering / charges cleared due to mis-trial.


Born to a Mr. and Mrs. Fraustein of upper - west San Paro to a relatively stable and wealthy up-bringing; the family then being added to with a younger brother at age 7 (1a) and a younger sister (1b) at age 9. Following from above-average recommendations from primary, went on to attend secondary school at...

... criminal activities emerge around this time. Beginning with relatively minor misdemeanors; to then increasing in seriousness and severity to crimes and felonies (mostly theft, domestic and inter-state)...

... came to the conclusion that if, as suspected, he had by this time attained a relative position of influence and power within the gambling rackets which had taken a hold of the majority of the state's 'illicit' spending and an almost monopoly on the continuation of illegal activities (2a), there would be a substantial rivalry experienced from both...

... from the federal investigation (3a) into governmental corruption that state executive and judicial officials had been persuaded into either complicity or inactivity with regards to the operations which had by this time, been long established; whether through payment (bribes, however never directly traced back to the organisation) or an assertion that to act upon recurring reports may have in fact been detrimental to public safety and well - being...
-- it had been noted as unusual by the committee (4a) that such an empire could have been existent on a relatively low feeling of direct fear of violence, rather that they...

"Hey, you."
"Hey."
"Hmm, you've been in here writing for most of tonight, stuck behind that wall of notes. Sure I can't get ya anythin'?"
"I'm good. Still enjoying this mug right here. Pretty perfect, in fact."
"The coffee or your novel?"
"Well... the chief's been pretty set on - edge this past while. At least I think so... I'm just wondering why they choose now - hey, do you remember Sephr?"
"Hm... I think I know the name but a little before my time, to be honest. I heard the manager tell a customer once about back when he -- slice of black forest cake! -- that's my que to get back."
"Zai jan. Don't be a stranger, now."


... fewer listed citations and references, leading some to believe that he had either taken more of a back-seat role, hoping cross the funding through a legal means into more substantial, legal, investment or had retired altogether from...
-- conceded by the committee and the San Paro P.D that the most probable outcome would be his departure from the city in the late early 90's.

... that following from a period of relative obscurity and a complete avoidance of all law - enforcement agencies' monitoring, is thought to have returned to greater San Paro. Upon request, psychological profiling (5f) suggests...

More recently, suspected involvement with group known as 'Rain Dogs'.

It is my opinion that in order to...

---
. Case files(s) of alias: Sephr.
. Detective Xiaoyu attending.
. See: 'Rain Dogs', SOC.

1a: Thought to be active within the east - coast finance sector, specifically in and around New York and New England.
1b: (details forthcoming).

4a: Senatorial Fact - Finding committee, approved by Boston Junior Senator Alex Parsons and Senior Chair of the Finance Committee, David Roberts. (16 presiding).

5f: Dr. Sarah Calzone (Federal Bureau of Investigation) upon request of Captain Murphy (San Paro P.D).

A complimentary glass of drip - poured cappuccino was refreshingly timely to prepare and complimentary to the kind that was see-through and could hold itself together through the intense...

...constantly falling snow, glazed ice and crumbling fog made sure that mostly everyone had migrated to the Mid - West for the winter or packed indoors for the long haul to see the season out. Comparatively quiet. There was still a flash of headlights every so often as each automotive transport rolled on through the freeway parallel to the old studio. Lively inside with the fusion of Sulphuric acid jazz with a drudging morality vibrating through the lazy drawl of the double bass. Interestingly complex company to a lit Morley - lit for warmth, outside on the criss - cross cobbled frosted road. The air's chilled breath blowing softly onto each of them; cool enough to eat; inhaling equally as fluently with the muted drag known only by the beveled edge chamfer provided solely from a rounded filter tip was customery to be on - hand to anyone waiting at the station waiting hoping, wishing, dying to be questioned by that someone or by anyone just so long as it meant being inside until later. When it'd be quiet enough to stroll home next to the the tall worded man on the long road home with longer sentences rolling out from the passenger's panel with a bebop sway adopted from a beatnik cafe near Oklahoma...

“Stranger?”
“Don’t be.”
“Yeah. I hear they’re workin’ on the old rail-road just across from the harbour.”
“So I hear.”
“You do?”
“You just told me.”
“…”
“Hm.”
“What is it?”
“Mm, exactly.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinkin’ the same.”
“It’s interesting that they’d choose now to proceed with the planning.”
“It is?”
“It is.”
“Yeah, so lots of old crates. New ones, too. Just hope they didn’t bring any rats with them.”
“Nah. It’s too clean of a town. Too nice of a place. Wouldn’t be here otherwise. Well… I would but it’s what brought me… all of us, probably. Really beginning to enjoy my time here, actually.”
“And you never left since, right? Heh. Tell me about. Only…”
“Only…”
“Only two and three quarters to go before…”
“There’s time. Lots. And then more still.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You’re probably right, you know.”
“I know.”
“Hell the P.D’s been asking the same. I’m not so sure they’ll like their answer though.”
“Theirs?”
“All of ours.”
“Je vois.”
“Convoluted conversation interspersed with preparatory latin - dervied European Anglicisation. And here I thought I’d seen everything.”
“Seen and heard, old timer.”
“Old?! Just you…”
“Don’t worry, there’s still time. Lots. And th--”
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
“Worth it, though.”

...and almost, almost always took just as long to disappear.

---
[The following: to be enjoyed with a single sip of decaffeinated rain water.]

"Xiaoyu." : extra emphasis on the former and latter grouping of vowels as much as on the intent of her eyes. "It's been a while."

The inner-city cabs provided a beacon of illumination among the saturation of X's and O's and kisses and cuddles on offer from the hundred 'few neon lights of the late-night sorority row. Fraught and taught with individualised businesses in long - wrapped brown darcy coats. The slick black bayeux tapestry of the underside of San Paro's finest littered and scrapped with six - shot revolvers and nine - bit broads in two dollar lipstick. On the other side of the widely spaced transitory conduit, small pockets of 16th century Renaissance inspired oak architecture. Upon each, a scratching of art, a scribbling of prose with no interest to make a sale and every enthusiasm to encourage a contemplation or, at the least, provoke a reaction. The rain-washed varnish at its centre offering the reflection of that which was written - a mirror to the face of the half - eaten apple at its most vulnerable. Even then, even now; it was strong.

Their stock yellow gilded with a fabric not far from its weight in gold; with poem and tale and song of dance of yesterday afternoon at the stock exchange and of tomorrow night's charity ball soiree at city hall. An uncompromised and uncompromising relic of forward looking development, its inflamed rubber tyres half-nibbled at the edge by a hungry rat or sum'more at the tail of a long weekend.

The tall worded man with longer stares stood idle against one such cabin, rolled-up-at-the-sleeves brown shirt with caramel parchment pinstripe crinkled at the sides of his slim figure; having been in service since at least the early 40's, perhaps the late 50's though paradoxically born to an age no longer of strife but rife with promise and praise. An tired but not yet sleepy blackened tied loosely in a lazy knot across the front, the same brown leather boots strewn as criss-crossed as the cobbles from just under the door of the cab; the same blunted half-spent Morley sparking to a full blown flame of half-hearted orange as the almost sun half asleep on top of the cab's roof. Bringing a long overdue and foregone conclusion to the previous evening; making way for apres-'early hours'. The time of day that would engulf anyone in its wake with the prerogative to walk with him to the coffee stand on the other side of the kerb and order a dollar twenty-six triple espresso with brown sugar and sweet-talking semi-skimmed milk and ask him all about what he was doing in time in town with him and him and the 'so-called' "Rain Dogs". And she did. And he did.

Even still, it still didn't make any sense.

He smiled affectionately with his eyes half closed on hers; right index and middle finger wrapped loosely around the stick of mud at his waist and chuckled over thinking that she thought it had to.