A Perfect Crime (TWS)

Really, it wasn't so much one single thing as a whole wave of realizations leading into each other.

It started with a potted plant I could see just outside the exit door. But I'd seen that same plant inside when we came in.

And once I realized that, it became clearer that these thugs weren't leaving the building, they were entering it. We were seeing the whole scene backwards.

Except, it was more than that. Once I looked more closely at the walls, I realized that this was on the second floor.

I said all this out loud, of course, because that's the right way to do things, not writing down everything on Observation Form 492-D12. The kid gave me a funny look as I did.

"But, there's no entrance to the building on the second floor."

That's what I would have thought too, but the facts were staring me right in the face. I dragged the kid to the second floor and looked for a potted plant.

It was identical to the plant on the first floor, no doubt because both had been bred to the Council's exact and necessary specifications. A little tapping around revealed a painted-over door. I pulled it out and found...

Well, nothing. We were on the second floor, after all. It just opened out into thin air.

"They didn't look like flyers," I mused. "That leaves levitation. But why? Why go to all the trouble to levitate to an outside entrance that was being recorded anyways?"

At that moment, my communicator beeped back. They'd run the check and this Crone had a license to conduct up to Class C criminal activities. Racketeering, extortion, bribes to non-Council officials (obviously the Council themselves were totally incorruptible), and up to four non-lethal assaults per reporting period.

But not murder. That was just asking for a suspension. That might explain this - those weren't the Crone's goons, but someone else trying to ruin a criminal in good standing. They staged the murder and made it look like the Crone was responsible. It even explained why they'd go for a dissident - it could be passed off as an attempt to curry favor with the Council for a better license.

Of course, the Council would never do anything so unethical. But that didn't matter as long as the masses believed it.

It was a good theory, and the kid was nodding along as I explained it, but I couldn't do anything more to check it from here. I had to meet with this Crone and find out what I could.

But I'd have to go undercover. Legal Enforcement Agents weren't supposed to meet with crooks unless they were authorized to take bribes, and my license had been suspended while I was under review.

Of course, I couldn't let the kid tag along for that. Kind of blows your cover to constantly be filling out False Claims Made For Enforcement Purposes forms, after all. So I needed to come up with something to keep ??? busy while I did the real work.

But how do you keep an eager young rule-following cephalawpod occupied?

>Put him on parking violation ticketing. Make up some excuse that the criminal always returns to the scene of the crime parking too far onto the sidewalk.

Hats. Gotta investigate hats.

Find a legal quandary for them to get lost in

>Help him vent his managerial gall by investigating illegal anagrams.

Suddenly, I was struck by the perfect idea.

"Kid, you're doing a solid job so far. I've got something else important I need you for, though."

I dragged the kid down to the parking lot.

"I need you to wait here, and when someone arrives, I need you to check that they have a valid parking pass. I also need you to write down what brand of hat they're wearing, if any, and then see if you can rearrange the letters in those hats to spell something illegal. We've been having a lot of trouble with those subversive hats lately, and I wouldn't be surprised if they had something to do with this case."

I left before the kid could ask any questions. Then I clocked in for the day. If I was going to be sneaking around a Council-licensed speakeasy, I couldn't do it on the books.

Instead, I headed home. I needed to be someone else for the evening, and I had to think about just who that was going to be.

Who was I going to pass myself off as at the Crone's place?

>"Prostitute" is obviously the first thought that comes to mind, but you don't know the Crone's orientation, so that's not happening.

>Plan B is naturally then going as an avant-garde DJ whose mixing has become cult popular in some middling-sized cities across seas. Your name is "Bloke D43th" (but is pronounced "Bloke Death" regardless of how it's spelled). Your inspirations include various blues artists, despite dealing entirely with rock tracks from two decades ago.

The Maiden, duh.

As an Illegal Criminal, ofc. You have clearance for that ruse, and if they don't report you then you have some dirt on them, should it be necessary now or some time in the future.

a traveling bartender, just passing through for the night

It came to me in a burst of inspiration. I would be a traveling bartender/DJ, who illegally made their way into the city for some shady business, stopping at the club hoping to have a glorious night of mixing songs and mixing drinks.

Naturally, due to my entirely unauthorized entry, I wouldn't have a valid crime license at all, and I would be sure that the Crone knew this. If she didn't report me, I'd have a case against her, which could serve as potential leverage.

But I needed a cover name. I decided that my angle would be that I was trying to ingratiate myself with her, and so I would call myself "The Maiden" to fit with the Crone's theme.

That took care of everything... except the notification on my communicator that the Council had temporarily suspended my authorization to pose as an illegal criminal while they were reviewing my record.

The notification that I never saw until after I'd already left, because my communicator happened to go missing. What a shame I wasn't going to notice until the next morning.

With that settled, the kid distracted, and my new identity for the evening planned out, I was just about ready to go for a night on the town. I just had to make sure I had everything I needed. Was there anything I'd forgotten?

>Make sure to apply some eau de criminalité to smell the part.

a disguise. you can't show up in uniform, dummy

A full suit of SCUBA gear.

I nearly slapped myself. I hadn't picked out my disguise yet.

And as it turned out, my disguise closet was rather bare. Mostly from pawning them off to make last month's rent. All I had was my scuba suit.

But I could make that work. Obviously I'd gotten in by water, and in fact my unauthorized voyage into the city had happened tonight. I grabbed the scuba gear, and a dose of particularly sewage-smelling perfume for authenticity, then I drove off and parked a few blocks away from the Crone's place. Couldn't show up in a police-licensed vehicle, after all.

So I got my gear together and sprayed on the stink, then made my way to the back door of the club. I knocked on the door, and two suspicious eyes greeted me through the peephole.

"What's that smell?" the eyes asked suspiciously.

"Took a detour through the sewers. I need to see the owner of this entirely legitimate establishment. It's very important."

"No one sees the Crone without an appointment," the eyes snarled back. "And in your case, probably a shower."

This wasn't good. I didn't have time to deal with criminal bureaucracy, but I also didn't have the money to bribe my way past it.

So how was I going to get in and find out what the Crone was up to?

Take the equal threat route. You should imply that the Crone will be /very displeased/ if you're not let in.

Wait: crone, chrome, clone, clown, or cone?

Slip him a bureaucratic paradox note: "The council requests that you ignore this council request."

While he's distracted, dangle your regulator through the peep-slot and unlatch the door.

>"I do have an appointment, under the name 'John Smith.'" Say this knowingly as if to imply it's really a pseudonym and your name isn't John Smith. Hopefully there's an actual John Smith with an appointment with the crone.

"Well, as it happens, I do have an appointment. One that the Crone doesn't want to delay."

"Name," the eyes asked suspiciously.

"John Smith."

It was a gamble, but a safe one. No one had an actual name of John or Smith these days, not since the Council banned them, so naturally every criminal looking for an untrackable pseudonym used it.

"Which John Smith?" the eyes shot back.

Damn. I hadn't been prepared for that one. Luckily, I always had another trick up my sleeve.

"The John Smith here on official Council-related business," I said, slipping a paradox note through the eyeslot. The eyes looked down for a bit and then turned away, closing the slot... but not before I squeezed my regulator through it. With a little work, I got the door open, while the doorman was still figuring out what he was supposed to do. I figured paradox notes were above his pay grade.

(The right thing to do with a paradox note is to delegate it to a subordinate. If you don't technically have a subordinate, you just hand it to anyone who doesn't actually have any authority to report you for it.)

Of course, the doorman was just one of the shady characters hanging around the place. When I walked into the next room, I found about a half-dozen of them, all glaring at me.

But I also found the Crone sitting very pointedly in a nice chair. The kind of nice chair that a licensed criminal who sticks to authorized illegal dealings usually can't afford.

I had some questions for her, questions that would surely come to mind just as soon as I figured out how to keep her goons from pouncing on me.

Tag each of them first and call "No backsies." The childhood play laws are deeply ingrained. Even though they no longer apply past a council approved age, chances are most of these goons never went through the proper age update proceedings.

>Distract them with an old fashioned "Oh my God, the building's on fire! Specifically, in that room on the opposite side of the building!"

Just tell them to chill out and make your undercover pitch

Point in a random direction yell for everyone to look over there.

Pull the pin out of a grenade and hold it closed.

(it's a small pineapple you keep in your back pocket, but you're hoping they don't know that)