Black Tide City

*The city caught a cold in the last couple of days-a new sheen of rain coating every surface it can without stop. The air on the bay smelled of salt, and the closer you got to the scene of the crime, the smell of smoke and the disgusting undertones of decay grew stronger. Standing just beside the caution tape was Reggie.

He had his back turned to you, looking at the details of the scene. His trench coat fluttered this way and that in the wind, trying to cling to his frame. His fedora was tailored to his head just well enough to stay in place.

The scene of the crime was a simple, consistent sight. Another car rigged to blow with some poor soul on the offending side of the Vultures. Reggie didn't acknowledge you until you came within the distance to where talking was acceptable. He pulled his hands out from his pockets.*

They got another. he scowled as he spoke, pointing in the general direction of the car reduced to scrap. Police couldn't identify them, and the body is in such bad condition a mother couldn't recognize it. The car's stolen, once owned by a 'Vincent Smith'. His hands clenched then forced themselves to relax. Reaching into the inside of his damp coat, pulling out a mostly dry manilla folder. Keep this dry. It's got what I've told you, records on the car and places witnesses said it went to. Our best bet? Find out who stole it. We know who did it, we just need the ties for this noose.

*A tip had been slipped underneath your door. 'Black Bean Cafe' was all it said, with the familiar, steady writing from Reggie's hands.

It was a small thing, bullied and shoved between two other buildings, its neon sign dead save for a pathetic flicker from the letter 'B'.

Reggie was waiting in a corner of the cafe, his back to the wall, making the booth he sat in look small in comparison to his frame. Taking the seat opposite of him, he slid a folder across the table.*

Some tips from a couple birds pointed me here. Two women meet in this exact seat at an almost weekly basis. They must be good friends. He opens the folder for you-a black and white photo lays atop other paperwork, depicting what seems to be a promotional image, with the inconspicuous blurry figures of two women in the background. The curly haired one was handing a brown package to the one across from her. No one knows their business, but rumor has it that the package is full of cash. Enough to make the Knives blush. Whatever the case, we need to figure out why these two are doing before the knives catch wind.

*The air was dead and cold, washed away by the rain. Each step felt familiar yet distant at the same time, always to a familiar destination. The scene was as predictable as it was gruesome.

The lack of Reggie's presence made the place feel uneasy, but it was notably empty. The caution tape surrounding the scene was a mere suggestion as opposed to keeping anyone out. The dock was littered with blood in every direction, and the body lay covered in a tarp, forgotten and left in the rain. Most notably, there was a puddle of blood that stained the edge where the victim was set to hang to bleed into the black sea, the cruelty the usual calling card of the knives. It was coupled by the injuries to the victim's body. Reggie should be arriving soon, but until then the dock is inhabited by two ghosts.