A Night in the Spire

A cold, winter night at the town park. One of detective Lance Blaire’s favorite views. Even though he was a tough-as-nails, no-nonsense person, he still enjoyed the simple things in his city. Blaire was a 32-year-old, apathetic, yet down-to-earth and blunt person, specializing in homicide crimes. He wore a ragged black jacket, a gray fedora with a black band, and a white suit shirt every day to work. His hair was dusty brown, graying at the temples, and he had a very light beard. Crime in Spire, Massachusetts was always high, and it was Blaire’s job to snuff it out. Even though his colleagues praised him for his incredible work, some even going so far as to call him a “modern-day Columbo,” Blaire always noticed that it never mattered much. Sure, Blaire was really good at his job, but as one criminal is incarcerated, another still roams the streets causing mischief. Blaire promised himself that he’d never rest until Spire was rid of crime completely, but he knew that’d be impossible. Crime was at an all time high this year, something that would always make Blaire clench his fist. He had been working five hours overtime on a big case today, and it was nearly midnight. He knew he was close to cracking this case, but he knew even more that without some rest, he wouldn’t solve anything. Blaire let out a sigh and watched the vapor leave his mouth, fading into the cold night. He was alone in the park, just sitting on a half-snowy bench on a cold day.

Blaire’s case involved some larger mob bosses in Spire going off the grid, and some civilians as well. Parents with families, teenagers, even the elderly, all people who’re just trying to make a living, coming across something they shouldn’t, and then being hidden in the alleyway dumpster, rotting with the trash. Blaire’s face scowled at the thought of people being caught up in the crossfire, with their last thought being why a bullet was in the middle of their skull. Crime had taken his uncle, and he wanted to make sure that no one else suffered the same fate. Blaire remembered his uncle, a kind soul. Coming across one in Spire these days was like winning the lottery - it’d never happen to you. Not in a million years.

Getting up from his chair and grabbing his cane, Blaire started to pace towards his apartment. His right foot was disfigured at birth, which couldn’t allow him to drive a car. He didn’t like Ubers or the bus since trust is hard to come by in a crime-ridden town like Spire. His apartment didn’t have the best living conditions, but he couldn’t afford much. It was always a tough year, catching criminals, thinking critically more often than not. More than anything Blaire wanted to go back to his home, improvising on his violin, but not as much to wake up his neighbors. A gift from his late uncle, it was his most prized possession. The ivory and ebony contrasting with the silver strings, he thought it was perfect. Playing the violin to him was almost pure bliss. Blaire always had a knack for music, also playing the piano and the trumpet from time to time.

As Blaire passed the local convenience store, he saw his apartment up ahead. Blaire walked into the door, and got into the elevator. He pressed the elevator button for floor 2. When it reached the floor, Blaire headed for his room, 237. As he opened the door, he set his cane aside near the entrance, right by the coat hanger to his right, and took off his shoes, setting them right next to his cane. Then he closed it, and sighed again. Blaire closed his eyes and thought about what the city would be like without him. Maybe not so different. Maybe better. He stopped thinking about it before bed, and approached his fridge for some wine. But Blaire noticed someone going through his wine. A woman, thin and beautiful, clad in black winter clothing. Likely around 29, if one were to look at her.

He knew exactly who it was, even before she turned to face him. Rose Sharpe, or at least that was one of her many names. Evie Johnson, Megan Silvre, Carrie Anderson, Belle Moss. Those were just the ones he could think of off the top of his head. She was a thief, and a good one at that. She stole mostly historical artifacts, and sold them for large amounts of money to wealthy people. The two were fond of each other a bit, with Blaire being too coy to admit that, and Rose constantly teasing him. Blaire reached to draw his pistol from his holster. A Glock-19, issued to him by the department he worked for. But she was faster. Hers was a Walther P99, smaller than his, but faster to draw for someone like her. “Tsk-tsk-tsk,” she said, “Now it’s not very nice to draw a gun on a woman as beautiful as me.” Blaire knew there was nothing he could do, so he took his hand away from his sidearm. “Put your gun down, slowly. No funny moves, Lance.” Blaire did what she told her, and set his sidearm on the floor in front of him. “Now kick it away.” His left foot kicked the gun towards her. “Your phone, too, honey.” Blaire did the same with his phone. “Oh, and the gun isn’t loaded,” said Rose with a smirk. “You know how I feel about guns.” Rose put the gun in her purse and paced slowly around Blaire’s apartment, the sound of high heels walking on the wooden floor.

“Well then. I missed you,” Rose said. Blaire sighed again, and paced towards his living room chair with a limp. He was too tired to put up a fight, let alone against Rose at that. He knew she’d win. So he just kept limp-walking towards the chair. “What do you want?” asked Blaire, in his usually stern tone. Rose chuckled a bit. “Admit it, you missed me. I too enjoy this little cat and mouse game we’ve had over the years. But that’s not why I’m here. There’s something serious we need to talk about.” Blaire sat down, letting out a slight groan due to the pain in his right foot. “Does it hurt?” Rose inquired. Blaire replied with, “All the time. Stings a lot when I’m chasing you for stealing some important artifact.” Rose let out another chuckle. “I wouldn’t call it stealing. More like… finding a better place for it.” “Letting it go into the hands of greedy investors is a better place?” Blaire asked. “Well, no, but it does earn me a hefty amount of money. It certainly puts me in a better place, though,” Rose replied. “Well then, are we going to discuss what you’re here for? Or are you going to waste your time hopelessly flirting with me?” Blaire snapped. “Jeez, so rude. But you do make a good point. Lance, I’ve come to tell you a big hint about your new case. The one leaving civilian blood spilled. You might think that I only indulge in the thrill of stealing famous paintings, but it hurts me a little too when innocent people are involved,” Rose said with a gleam of regret in her eyes.

Blaire noticed this but said nothing, instead slightly widening his eyes in interest. He knew people, knew when they were lying. But she wasn’t, as much as he didn't want to believe that. As Rose walked around with a bottle of wine in her hand, she noticed Blaire’s violin on a table. “Oh, I didn’t know you played the violin,” she inquired. As she got closer to touch it, Blaire shot up from his chair and sternly glared at her, a hint of enmity in his eyes. Rose suddenly recoiled, a little shocked. Blaire saw what he had done, startling himself. “I’m… I’m sorry, it’s just… that violin was from someone very dear to me,” Blaire asked. Rose’s eyes spiked flirtatiously. “Oh, a girl you’re interested in?” Blaire chuckled. “Heh. Bold of you to assume I’m looking for someone to settle down with. They’d just get hurt while I'm in the middle of a case,” Blaire replied. “Parents?” she asked. Blaire’s fists clenched at the mention of his parents. A scowl crossed his face, and Rose knew not to pry any further.

“So, about your case.” Blaire let his fists open and sat back down in his seat. “I know exactly who’s leading the operation behind it. You’re familiar with the name Clark Morgan, yes?” Blaire knew exactly who Morgan was. His best friend in the agency. The two were practically brothers, and he was the only one to show Blaire kindness aside from his uncle, aside from the cold shoulders and harsh stares of his co-workers in the office. “Of course you do. I’m sorry to have to break this to you, but he’s your guy.” Blaire recoiled a bit, and put a hand on his forehead. ‘There’s no way she’s lying… but this can’t be true,’ he thought. Blaire hoped so, but at the same time he believed her. Morgan hadn’t been showing up to work often lately, which concerned Blaire. He had said that he was working on a case out of the city, and Blaire thought nothing more of it. Thinking now, Morgan always worked cases in Spire, but he knew Morgan. Morgan wouldn’t do this kind of thing. “I don’t believe you,” Blaire finally said. Rose sighed. “Really? I’ve done your job for you, practically handed this information to you on a silver platter, and you don’t believe me? I thought you were used to corruption in your department.” “I’ve arrested more than seven corrupt officers in Spire, Rose. And I know for a fact that Morgan would never be one of them. How do you even know this?” Rose looked down a bit, and finally said, “Because I saw him take a bribe the other day. He noticed me, and drew his pistol. He would’ve fired, if I wasn’t in front of the alleyway with people around me. I’m so sorry, Blaire.” Blaire’s head was spinning, even though he hadn’t drank any alcohol in his fridge.

“Lance. You know that the Spire Museum of History brought new artifacts to their storage, ranging from dinosaur bones to European warlord armor, yes?” “What unloading?” Blaire asked. “Exactly. I stole and sold the sword that cut the Gordian Knot. It belonged to Alexander the Great.” Rose told him. “I sold it for more than enough money for me to start a new life. A reformed life. With you.” Blaire’s eyes shot up to look at hers, looking completely dumbfounded. Rose’s eyes looked dead serious. “I, um… uh..” Blaire struggled to find the right words. “Hey, it’s okay, Lance. We both know you like me. Why would I tease you so much if I didn’t like you too?” Blaire smiled a bit. He enjoyed Rose’s company, even though he wouldn’t admit it. But his smile faded, and he realized that this city needed him, even though crime in Spire is endless. “I’m sorry, Rose. I do like you, but… Spire needs me. I can’t let more innocent people die because of my negligence. I've accepted that no matter how many criminals I put behind bars, I can't cut off the head of the snake. But I can try to stop as many as possible. I’m sorry.” Rose walked towards Blaire, and sat on his lap in the chair before Blaire had a chance to get up. “You know, Lance… it’s not just Morgan who’s corrupt. Your boss has been corrupt for some time now, too. And there are so many more cops who’ve turned. You can’t stop them all, you know that, Lance...” Blaire looked her in the eyes and said, “You know I can’t do that, Rose. I’m well aware that I’m a fox in a pack of wolves. And I know very well that I can’t do this all, and I don’t care if I die trying. You have no idea what I’ll do to stop crime here, Rose. If that’s even your real name.” Rose paused, and backed her head up a little bit. Then she spoke.

“I was born in this town under a high social status. My parents never paid any attention to me as a child, and I learned everything from their maids. I went to a private school for most of my life, with no friends, but a lot of money. I never made any friends. Not a single one. But I found thrill through stealing. Stealing anything really… shoes, books, money, pencils. And then I got good at it. Never caught once. I used that to help my coming criminal career, taking jobs as an amateur thief. History was always my strong suit, and my major in college. I targeted historical artifacts that I read about. I started off small, then worked my way up to the more… influential items. And the rest is our history. We met at the museum, both admiring some Impressionist painting. And you remember the rest. Throughout my career, there was always this feeling in my gut, a feeling that told me to stop, because I was ruining others’ lives for the sake of my own. And now, I can help a special someone’s life and start anew. I’ve been a thief most of my life, but never truly myself. But now I know who I am, and what I’m going to do. I’m going to reform, to start anew. And I want you by my side, Lance. I can read you like hieroglyphics, you know. You want to come with me, but this filthy town is pulling you here. You have to go. I don't want to lose you, and I know that they'll catch you too. But we can run. Far away from here, start a new life, somewhere better than this hellhole. So... what'll it be, Lance? Will you come with me?”