Quoted By:
You are Arsene LeBlanc. From the Continent, before it was taken over by your "patriotic" countrymen and turned into the core of The Internationale. You and many other émigrés now called Los Diablos home, though most of the ones fortunate enough to escape were also rich enough to maintain a comfortable way of living. Not you though.
It's been a quiet day in the office the past few days. Your last case was rather boring, finding a woman's lost husband. She was worried he had been cheating, or perhaps found himself caught up with The Mob, but it had been more simple than that. You had found him in a bar drinking himself to death, apparently because of his nagging wife. You'd gotten paid and that was that. And now you had nothing to do.
You pour yourself another drink. Probably not a good idea if you're waiting for a client, but this late in the day and-
A knock at the door.[/i:lit]
Damn. You were banking on having the evening to yourself. You wish you had a secretary right now, but they're too expensive. Who knew detective work didn't pay regularly?
You quickly shove your glass and bottle into your desk and clean things up a little. You're not as drunk as you could be, and beyond a little stubble on your chin you look neat enough. Or as neat as you can be. Standing up, you stride to the door, behind which stands the hazy silhouette of a person. Opening it, you see...
>A dame
>A cop
>A tough guy.
>A man in a suit
