November

NOVEMBER 10, 1946: A DETECTIVE REALITY

NOVEMBER 10, 1946: A DETECTIVE REALITY

1

The door to the office was slammed harshly. "Doll-face, I just don't know how much more I can take!"

Emma took a drag from her cigarette and looked down at herself. She was in a fancy red dress. "What's wrong?" She felt like she was cast in some movie or play. It hardly felt like something tangible. It felt like she wasn't in any modern reality. It felt black-and-white. It felt old. She felt like she did not belong.

"Another client refused to pay me." He sat down on his office chair and pulled out a flask of bourbon. He took a swig. "This is the fifth time a client has refused, all because they didn't like the outcome. I can't make outcomes. I investigate things. I don't make things happen."

She found herself swooning over this man. He had a thin mustache and a strong build. He wore a brown suit and hat. Then she noticed the plaque on his desk: "Detective Matthew Hawkins." She sighed to herself. This was just another game. Another mixed-up world for her to experience.

"I just don't know how much more I can take." He took another swig from the flask.

Emma got up from the leather couch and came up behind Matthew. She started to kiss his neck. She whispered in his ear: "Don't worry, we have the party tonight." It was hardly like she was the one doing these actions. It felt like she was merely playing her role as the actress. She wanted out.

"I don't even want to go. I just want to stay wherever you are."

"Well, I'll be at the party," she whispered. She wasn't even entirely sure what party she was talking about.

"Fine, fine." He furrowed his brow and mostly looked unhappy.

2

The party was at the home of Sir Richard Smith. He was a main financier in the defense industry. He helped fund much of the United States weaponry during World War II and has only continued his work of destruction. He was one of the richest Americans and people in the world. The power he held was arguably stronger than the United States Government itself.

He was 74-years old and had a smoker's cough. He had anywhere between 3-5 years left in his life. Cancerous cells were spreading in his lungs and he did not even realize. He was a chain-smoker. Regardless, he would not get to experience those 3-5 years. He would be dying tonight on November 10, 1946, at his own party.

Matthew Hawkins would have to solve this murder and everyone would be a suspect.

3

The mansion was a beautiful display of wealth. Big chandeliers in every single room, a gratuitous display for the rich to pat each other on their back with.

The only reason Matthew Hawkins was invited to this party was because he had worked on a case for Sir Richard Smith. He helped track down a whistleblower for Bryson Industries – one subsidiary of Sir Richard Smith's many subsidiaries - and got him jailed. Ever since then, Matthew Hawkins and his wife have been invited to his parties. They didn't attend all of them but they attended many to keep up appearances, to become buddy-buddy with the rich and powerful.

Sir Richard Smith had a huge smile on his face and pushed up his round-framed glasses. He still had a bit of white hair left but not very much. He immediately shook Matthew's hand strongly. "Matthew Hawkins. How wonderful to see you!" On the outside, Sir Richard Smith seemed like a kindhearted man. He did indeed help the good old American boys win in WW2. But he was becoming part of the newly entrenched Military Industrial Complex, making weapons for everyone and anyone who would buy them. What the American government did not know, is that he had helped the Axis Powers as well. He had played both sides. In reality, he was helping kill innocent people. In reality, he was a monster, a quiet, calculated monster, all for the almighty dollar. He didn't care about victory or peace; more war meant more money for him. He sold death to the highest bidder.