Disclaimer: I think I don't own it.
I likey this chapter. =3
BTW, I go all out on cussing in this chapter to get into the true bad-arse side of Detective Tony (when dealing with Detective Homer anyway), so bear with it. :P This is where the PG-13 rating really kicks in. I'm not sure if I was in a bad mood when I wrote that part, but yeah, be warned. It's also vaguely annoying to keep naming people "officer" or "detective" so I'm not gonna be doing that a lot anymore lol. Enjoy.
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Chapter XVI:
"Detective Anthony Peterson, in charge of the Brendan Birch case, has also helped contribute to other cases such as the kidnapping of Tate and Liza, twin gym leaders at the Mossdeep gym, the disappearance of Giovanni, leader of the infamous Team Rocket, and the negotiation with Team Magma Leader Maxie and Team Aqua Leader Archie in order to find peace between the two rival teams. Co-partnering Detective Anthony is Officer Jacob Scott of the Rustboro Police Department. Mr. Scott is a well-respected officer of Rustboro, known to negotiate and figure out things with the simplest of clues. Wait- here they are now! Detective Tony, Officer Jacob, can you tell us anything new about the case?"
"No Gabby, all information about the Brendan Birch case is strictly confidential between Officer Jacob and me and we would prefer it if you and anyone else for that matter would not try and probe into it. That is all."
"But what about Brendan Birch him-"
"Hey, I was watching that!"
In a mad struggle, Max wrestled the remote control out of Drew's hands and clicked it back to the news, only to have it snatched away once more. Drew laughed at the redness that made its way to Max's face as he used the remote control to change the station to the Pok?mon Coordinator's Channel. He then sat on the control, sure of the fact that Max wouldn't dare go so far in order to watch the news.
"Latios Max, do you really watch this crap? That wasn't news. That was media. There's a difference you know. Besides, we know more about the case than Gabby does. What do you think
she can figure out?"
"It's not what she can tell me, but what she knows," Max replied back cooly, mocking Drew by flicking his bangs with his index and middle finger. "Yes I do know it's "the media" as you like to call it, but I do want to know what
they think is going on. Besides, maybe they can tell us a thing or two about how to look on things. But I guess it doesn't matter since they really haven't said anything about the case. All this do is rant and talk about the people involved with the case. You're right Drew I'll admit."
"Ye-yeah, that's right," Drew said, a bit bewildered that Max gave in so easily. "I am right. And there's nothing else to it."
"Of course not! Hey, can I see the remote? I can't hear what the judge is saying about that one girl and her Flareon, and I really want to know if she won or not!"
Drew was smarter than that though and figured that Max only wanted to see the remote to change the channel again. "Nice try kid, but I'm not falling for it. I know you're not really interested in this stuff, and you just want the control to change it back to the boring news. Well I laugh at your face because you think you won. Ha! Ha, ha, ha- hey! Who changed the channel?"
"There is a thing called getting up and changing the channel from the television," Max answered, sitting back on the bed, adjusting his square rims. "I just pretended to be interested into the Pok?mon Coordinator Channel because I knew you would have an arrogant rant about it, distracting you from me changing the channel."
"Changing the channel from the television? How primitive."
Max paid no heed to Drew and to the television set instead, the light from the T.V. reflecting off his glasses.
"Brendan Birch's wound to the shoulder was like the shot heard round the world," said the news anchor, Dan. "The crime scene investigators are getting a bit frustrated too, for there are not many clues to lead up on. No blood trails. No car tracks. Barely any footprints. Practically nothing. At least no clues that the CSI is willing to reveal to the public."
Wally, sitting down on a chair, squirted a bit of ketchup that was intended for his hot dog onto his button-up white shirt. "No foot or car tracks . . ." Wally muttered, holding his hot dog in one hand, resting his chin on a closed fist with the other, as he directed his bright emerald eyes toward the television set. "Interesting."
Max turned his head and looked at Wally. "If there were no car prints and barely any footprints, that means they had to fly to Littleroot didn't they?"
"Obviously," said Drew, rolling his eyes, answering the question for Wally. "Cars make noise. Flying types can be ordered not to make a sound. The killer thought ahead and realized that. I told you that these news people are brimming with stupid. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."
"Not necessarily a bad thing to point out though," pointed out Wally. "Whoever tried to kill Brendan has to be a bit of an experienced trainer. They had to have an evolved Flying Pok?mon on their team."
"And why's that?"
"Well, it's not nice to squish your Taillow with your a
ss when trying to fly on it."
"You can fly on it in the game!"
"This is reality man! Get your head of the gutter!"
"Uh . . . okay."
"Yes, I do know what that metaphor means."
"Say that to Detective Tony then."
"Anyways, my point being is that the attempted killer has to be an experienced trainer, coordinator, breeder, whatever. Which also makes you think that they could of been jealous of Brendan winning, hence trying to kill him."
"Jealously, in this case, has many sources though. It can come from a rookie trainer. It can come from an opponent in the league. It can come from an angry father. Hell, it can even come from another top-rank trainer."
"Duh," said Max. "We already know that."
Wally got up from his seat and put his hot dog down on the night stand and grabbed a hotel key in return. "Yeah, we do. But now we know why Detective Tony called us and who to eliminate as a suspect." Walking swiftly across the dirty red carpet of the hotel room, Wally pushed down the rusty gold doorknob and left the room.
* * *
"Reporters," Detective Tony muttered as he and Officer Jacob walked over to his unmarked Sedan, only to be stopped by a voice hollering in the distance.
"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Peterson! Please stay there! Just for a minute!"
"I'm so accustom to calling you Detective Tony, that I forgot you were a higher rank than me," Officer Jacob said, turning around to see the figure run toward them. "How pathetic. I'm a lower rank than you are."
The detective only laughed. "That's right. I hope you've been practicing your a
ss-kissery with me being a higher rank."
"Of course! Only for you lieutenant!"
"Now, now. I said a
ss-kissery, not over exaggeration."
Patiently, the two waited for the man to come over. As soon as he got there, the man hunched over, resting his hands on his knees, panting. "Thanks for waiting," he said between breaths. "I've been trying to reach you two all day, but the secretary said not to disturb you too from your work."
"Ah yes," Officer Jacob said, reminiscing on the poker game the two played before they left. "Important work. . . . Right. Anyway, what's up John? Anything good come up from the analytical lab?"
John, one of the head scientists of the analytical lab that specialized in crime investigation and pathology, shook his head. "A bit. We must go back into the lab though. That is if you're willing to go back into that mob of crazy people."
"Also known as the public news."
The wind kicked up and howled, and drops of silver, slanted rain fell from the night sky as the three made their way back to the station where reporters stood waiting their return, umbrellas open, cameras covered in plastic.
* * *
"It's raining," May said, curling herself up in the lobby couch, as she stared out the window of the hotel. Hard drops of rain splattered against the window, blurring the outside world from her own reality. She cuddled Brendan's sweater and sighed, turning her head and watching Brendan look over the tabloid that accused the legendary Red of attempting homicide.
"It's funny," he said, flipping through the pages, "but this . . . Catechize has got a point. Let's think about it. Red hates all evil organizations likes Team Rocket right? Well, why wouldn't he hate Team Magma or Team Aqua too? We were on those teams May . . . He mustn't like that two top rank trainers were part of an evil organization."
"We didn't know that until it was too late to back out though," replied May, resting her head on Brendan's shoulder. "Besides, if he were that die-hard about evil teams, wouldn't he want to go after the leader instead of the innocent victim?"
"He doesn't know that we wanted no part of his schemes. Hell, no one really does. We contributed greatly to the orbs project didn't we?
Everyone knows about that, including those in Kanto, watching basic cable. They didn't know we were force to awaken the ones that were suppose to be kept in an eternal slumber. They didn't know that their lives were at stake if we didn't do as we were told. All they knew is that we were evil for once, and sometimes, first opinions stay."
"Common sense B Boy. How can Red fly to and fro from Kanto to Hoenn then back to Kanto that quickly?"
"He's legendary; he can do anything."
Lightening lashed out across the sky and thundered roared. May flinched and shivered a bit, whether from Brendan's words or nature's roar against the world. She tugged Brendan's sweater over her shoulders and stared at the ceiling, resting her feet on the armrest.
"Just think about it May," Brendan said, lifting her head off his shoulder and shifting his body so she could relax her head against his chest instead. He winced a bit as his wounded shoulder grazed the leather couch doing so. "It does make sense. There's no proof that he did it though."
"No proof that anyone did it really," Wally said from behind them. He sat down on the other armrest of the couch. "We've been watching the news in the room and they said that there was very little clues. No car tracks and barely any footprints. At least, that was what was revealed to the public. I'm pretty sure that's all we're going to know too since I doubt the police officers are going to tell us anything." Wally noticed Brendan looking disdainfully at his shirt. "Uh, what?"
"What's that on your shirt?" Brendan asked, looking at the smeared red blob on Wally's shirt.
"Uh, ketchup. I was eating a hot dog."
"Oh, silly Wally. As a top-rank Pok?mon trainer, we must look dignified and well-respected to the public."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I did not know that. May Latios forbid I ever use ketchup again from this day forward until I die. Only caviar and croissants from now on, therefore, a higher quality of shirt stains. I swear it."
"Hilarious." Brendan handed and Wally The Catechize turned his head back toward May. "What they say makes sense. While I seriously doubt Red would go to such an extend to kill a former Team Magma member, he does have the right motive to do so."
May paid no attention to the two boys but instead listened to the rain beating on the window. The air condition sent chills up her spine and pricked up the hair on her arms, but she didn't know whether it was actually from the cold or the case, clues and suspects along with it. She chewed on her knuckle as if it were to soothe her, even though it seemed a bit infantile for her to do so.
Lightening thrashed the night again like the crack of the whip, and the rain, a translucent gold from the streetlight, continued to smack itself into the window and the street below, nailing the night to the city. The heavens roared again.
"The weather picked up sure fast," Wally noted as lightening flashed again, causing his eyes to glint a bright white.
May nodded as Brendan held her around the waist with his right arm to reassure her. "Yeah. Sure did."
* * *
"Let's begin with the bullet itself," John said as the three huddled themselves a table. He picked a small piece of the bullet with a pair of tweezers and held it up for Detective Tony and Officer Jacob to see. "On further inspection, I noticed that this bullet was coated with Teflon. Teflon, or it's chemical name, polytetrafluoroethylene, is mainly for cooking usually so food doesn't stick to its cooking utensils. However, it can also be used in weaponry, mainly bullets, so that the bullet can even pierce through bulletproof vests. It ensured that Brendan would at least have the bullet go through his flesh if he failed to kill the boy. The bullet itself, I believe, is hollow-point cartridges, but it's hard to tell with what pieces I was given. The doctor has to break the bullet in order to take it out you know."
"From this cartridge, can you tell what gun it came out of?" asked Officer Jacob and John placed part of the bullet back under a microscope.
"This is where I get lost and figure that I assume wrong. It seems that this bullet came from not just a regular gun. I assumed a Walther .45 semiautomatic, but it just seems . . . wrong to me. It's a gut feeling. Like it came from a custom gun or something. Like a gun not regularly sold to the public. Of course, you really can't tell with these small piece of bullet anyway. If it were still together, for sure I could figure out what gun it was."
"Pity," said Detective Tony. "We could of tracked down whoever owns that type of gun, used serial numbers on guns, and all that fun
shit. He pulled out a soggy cigar from his pocket and lit it, taking in a deep breath and exhaling gray smoke. "Anything else for us to know?"
John turned around and came back with a white plaster mold like the mold they used in the dentist. "The CSI managed to get a print of what footprints there were." He moved a finger down a small groove. "This shoe print, although scuffed a bit as if the killer tried to hide his footprint, looks like it came from a boot. Not just any boot however. See the zig zag pattern and spade-looking design? I looked it up and noticed that this design is only made by a custom shoe shop in Slateport. So are killer comes from Slateport."
"Or at least gets his shoes there," Tony muttered. "Besides that though . . ."
John shook his head. "Nothing."
"No fingerprints? No car trails? Nothing?"
"We dusted whatever we could, but the only fingerprints around were the ones of only the Birch family. All the killer did was hit and run. Well, actually, hit and fly. We know that he had to of least flown if he didn't leave car trails and little footprints. We also figure that the man had to be about six foot three since Brendan is five foot nine if the killer just shot him by raising his arm comfortably. But really, that's all. The only thing we have is Brendan's statement. From what I've heard was that the killer was in shadow, so Brendan couldn't see his face. He didn't see a Pok?mon's figure though. Possibly out of view sight."
"Or possibly it wasn't a bird," replied Tony, inspecting the footprint again. "Teleport perhaps? A psychic Pok?mon can go to and fro without being noticed, hence why Brendan didn't see a Pok?mon figure."
"It's possible." John only shrugged and put the plaster mold back on the table. He looked grim. "All I know is that this is one hard case to crack. All we have are emotional motives, not dire-hard evidence. We can't rely on opinions and thoughts and try to make it factual. I know there's a clue to solve this. We just haven't found it yet."
The ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound heard as the three stood in solemn silence.
"Well," the detective said through a cracked voice, breaking the awkward silence. He took in another drag of smoke from his cigar. "If you find anything else John, let us know."
"Of course lieutenant. Until then . . ." John crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, only to slip on the cold linoleum and onto his rear. He smiled nonchalantly and got up as if nothing happened. "Have a good night. Don't get too drunk now."
"But it's so hard!" whined Tony as Jacob nudged him out the door, closing the door behind him.
Jacob sighed and stared at the wall in front of them in the brightly lit hallway of the police department. "It did help a bit, but John's right. We don't have enough clues to pinpoint anything other than the fact that he buys shoes from Slateport and might have a Psychic type with Teleport or a Flying type that was out of Brendan's eyesight."
The two began to walk down the hallway, their wet shoes squeaking against the linoleum, as Tony said: "He's also right about more clues though. The CSI isn't looking hard enough. Let me see your keys."
Without a thought, the officer gave him the keys. "Wait. Why?"
"We're taking a little road trip to Littleroot."
* * *
"Wow, I didn't know that Flannery was really a witch in disguise!" said Wally, reading The Catechize out loud. "This things knows everything! I mean, I can't believe it! It's- it's incredible!" He threw down the tabloid in disgust. "Incredibly stupid."
"Oh my God. Irony!" sarcastically stated Brendan, rolling his crimson eyes as he pulled his sweater over the sleeping form of May. He breathed her scent in and sighed. "I'm worried about her Wally. She's been a tad paranoid since we went into that old building this afternoon."
"A tad paranoid?" Wally said ludicrously. "She's completely emotionless! Like a walking vegetable! Like she's in some sort of trance really. But remember that she's only like that because she cares."
"You really need to cut down on that sarcasm, wiseass. It's not funny anymore."
"Sarcasm? Funny? Never in a thousand years!"
"Seriously. I'm trying to have a one-on-one conversation with you, and you're cracking jokes."
"I thought I was being sarcastic."
"Whatever! Back to the matter though. The point is that even though I got shot, it's like she's the one that took the pain of it. You get what I'm saying?"
"Well, I'm considering if I should care or not." Wally continued to flip through the pages of The Catechize. He stopped at a page, skimmed it, and laughed soon after. "Look what it says here. I love the stupidity."
Brendan took the tabloid and began to read it. "The stupidity of what?"
"No, that's what the column is called."
Brendan only shrugged at this and continued to read. "I believe," Brendan read out loud, "that the attempted murder of Brendan Birch was not out of the jealously of him becoming the new league champion, but the jealously of him overall. The facts given - more like the no facts to give really - were well planned. The attempted murderer knew that he would of been seen through the window even in the dark, so he waited until the moon was behind his head so Brendan could only see shadow. He knew the police would look for clues so he didn't leave behind much evidence, like his foot prints . . ."
Brendan licked chapped lips, a thoughtful look dawning his face. "I've read enough. This . . . Antonio Peters knows a lot of things. But if what he says is true . . ."
"Then you weren't shot at the spur of the moment." Wally stared out the window where the rain knocked on the window. Lightening flashed again. "You were planned to be murdered before the finals even began."
Brendan rolled up the tabloid and slapped it against the couch lightly. "I say we track down this Antonio Peters."
"Why?"
"Tabloids may make up s
hit, but all the things he said has happened. The clues . . . Wally, you were just watching the news, and it was just now they told you about the clues, like the footprints! This tabloid was printed earlier than when the news told the region! He knew ahead. Either he's psychic . . . or he's the conspirer."
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Too long. Had to cut it in half. :P