2019-07-05 - The Maltese Millennium

Even after his discussion with Bennie the other day, Kevin is likely to blame crazy dreams on bad pizza too late at night. And so when he finds himself outside a smoked glass door with the words 'Sneakers Investigations' painted onto it, he frowns. Sure, he'd looked up Magnolia after running into her at the paper, but he hadn't decided to drop by. Far from it, actually. And yet, he pushes open the door, only then noticing that he's wearing a fedora, a tightly-tailored gray pinstripe suit, and polished black shoes. Not only that, but there's enough overcast that everything is lit in shades of gray, washing out most of the colors in the world around him. As the door swings open, he leans one shoulder against the inside of the door frame, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of the skinny-slacks and crossing his left ankle over his right, the point of the wingtip grounding against the threshold of the PI office, "Why Ms. Jones, I never would've expected you in there doing that." A cheeky grin flashes across his lips at that, more than somewhat ruining the flirtatiousness of the remark. Someone cool could have pulled the line off with ease. Kevin... Kevin does not.

The world is a beautiful wash of monochrome save for the important details-- red-painted lips, the yellow pencil, the green of her sensible pumps. One of those green heels is popped up with her foot, the petite detective screwing in a fresh lightbulb into the flared-out lamp above her desk, balanced on the simple chair. She pivots her head toward the door, pin-curls perfectly keeping golden hair-- just a little flash of color before it mutes back into monochrome-- in place. She smirks a lovely little smirk, and balanced both feet on the chair. She hooks a hand on her hip, and her warm voice gracefully talks in that Chicago cadence, "Why, Mr. Walters... glad to see you got that whole Ms. Jones right this time. The whole Ms. James thing was really gettin' outta hand." She braces a hand against her desk, dropping into a ladylike squat in that pencil skirt so she can pop down onto the ground.

"You know they can actually run for hundreds of thousands of hours before going out, but if the manufacturers made them that well, they'd never sell more of them." It's unnecessary information, prompted without passing by his brain by the noir fashion. "You should get it on your door." Her real door may have it or not, and it may be being added behind him right at this very moment as their views of the reality mesh. "Then people wouldn't forget. This is where I say 'What's a dame like you doin' in a place like this,' right?" Except it's her place. Which Kevin doesn't seem to remember.

"Huh." Magnolia alights on her feet with the little click of heels, and then she turns to lean into her desk-- good, solid. In fact, despite how perfect it fits in this noir world, it is exactly the same in the real. It's just messier and occupied by her laptop. Here, it's clean and tidy and almost austere. She looks up at him with a little quirk of her chin. "Except this is my place and you're in it, so I should be asking... what's a fella like you doin' in a place like this?" There's a quick little flash of a grin at her lips.

Kevin glances back to the door when she mentions its her place, his eyes going wide behind his glasses, "Oh. Right." MOVING ON. He pushes off the door frame, crossing to one of the chairs in front of the desk. It's not the femme-fatale slink that it should be for his role, but that would really confuse him if it was. As it is, there's a furrow gathering beneath the rakishly-angled brim of his fedora as is. "Years ago, your father helped my father clone some files. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against being flat broke." Is... is he tweaking Princess Leia's hologram speech? "He regrets that he's unable to present his request to you in person, but now he's disappeared, and I'm afraid his mission to bring you to his place has fallen to me. He placed information vital to the task in this folder..." which he takes from an inside pocket of his jacket and offers out to Magnolia, "...he said you'd know how to retrieve the files. This is his most desperate hour. Help me Magnolia-wan Kenobi. You're my only hope."

Magnolia is in her simple, squeaky wooden chair, but she stops immediately to blink up at Kevin with a sudden, almost dramatic incredulity. "Dude, you are not Princess Leia. Do not even." The Chicago accent drops for that line, Magnolia's more bland Pacific Northwest intonation clicking into place. It might even be just slightly Californian. Then she crosses her arms in front of her, pointing him to the chair. Only then does she take the folder with a bit more gusto than necessary, and then she flips it open while leaning back in the chair, which inclines with her. She crosses her ankles on the desk, showing off the seam-accented nylons, the green pumps, and her long (for her height) legs. She flips open the folder. "Jesus Kevin, you're such a nerd." Then she licks the tip of her thumb, and flicks through the first page in the folder. "Alright, darlin', tell me where you saw your father last and we can start from there." She's slipped back into character seamlessly.

"What, a guy can dream, right?" Something about that nags at Kevin's mind, but he shakes it off, settling into the chair carefully and crossing his legs. He gets an eyeful of nylons and long (for Magnolia's height) legs when she puts her feet up on the table, and his brows rise. He resists whistling, however, clearing his throat and adding, "You recognized it." But there's an important question there, "He went to get the files, but he didn't tell me where they were. Just said that they were important, and they were going to save us from losing the house. That was last night." Too soon to call the police, in other words. "I'm pretty sure he's in over his head, but I've got no idea what he's into over his head." Inside the folder are papers about land purchases around town, something about shell companies and conglomerations. But what's important is the silhouette moving against the frosted glass of the door, a silhouette of a man in a fedora with a revolver in his hand.

"About being Princess Leia?" Magnolia snorts-- cute, upturn nose and all. "Sure, Kev. Dream away." Then she is back to flipping through the file folder, frowning slightly. "So, he's gone missing while going to get the files." Then she frowns slightly at the files, turning the pages over slowly. "Yeah... shell companies." Something itches the back of her mind. "Conglomerations." She is only half-distracted, because the ghost of movement near the door causes her to slowly open the drawer just beside her, her legs swinging down off the desk. Then she has her own revolver in hand. "Get down!"

"Hey, she's awesome," Kevin protests, then settles into the subject, leaning forward to rest his forearms on top of his crossed knees, "Yes, and I'm worried now. That someone -- " might be trying to kill them, apparently, as the shadow rounds on the doorway, turning inward. At the shout, Kevin does not get down. Instead, he freezes, his eyes going wide behind his glasses, "Wha -- ?" There's a gunshot from behind the door, the glass shatters, and Kevin's fedora goes flying off his head a heartbeat before the bullet buries itself in the far wall of Magnolia's office. Only then does Kevin throw himself to the floor, sprawling out and rolling to put his back to the front of the desk and face the doorway, "Holy shit!"

Magnolia does not refute whether or not Princess Leia is awesome-- okay, she almost manages to not refute. "Sorry, babe, I'm all about General Organa." She says this whole thing while pushing out from her desk and standing in that dramatic stance. The gunshots only get close enough to be dangerous, but not actually threatening. She is firing back in rapid trigger work before she ducks down behind the desk. "Were you followed? Is this one of the goons after your pops?"

The frosted glass shatters under the hail of bullets going in both directions, and Kevin rolls onto his back, facing the door and shouting, "Same thing!" He brings up both hands, pointing finger-guns at the door and gritting his teeth like he's covering the portal of shattered glass with a pair of pistols. "How should I know? I'm not the detective." His finger-guns flick back and forth across the gaping door, looking for a target. "I didn't know there were goons after my dad. How do I know he wasn't after you?" Getting slowly and carefully to his feet and looking over his shoulder to make sure that Magnolia isn't pointing her gun at him, he frowns, "You're the hard-boiled gumshoe. I'm sure you've made plenty of enemies yourself. How do I know I'm not just collateral damage?"

"Ugh!" Magnolia's word is harsh, but not really directed back at him. Instead she is popping up over the desk and firing two shots at whoever is at the portal of her office. She narrows her eyes into fierce slits, the gray gaze looking more blue in that moment. She continues to fire-- rattling off bullets well passed her revolver's quantity. Then she is back behind her desk. "Damnit, Kevin... that glass is expensive!" Then she glances toward him and his finger-guns. "None of my enemies are stupid enough to come to my office!" Then she pulls open her drawer above her head to blindly retrieve six more bullets to load into the chamber. "I'm going to distract him, you make it for the door. Take the file and run! I'll meet you at the diner down the street, okay?"

Standing there in front of the desk, while Magnolia is in cover behind it, Kevin feels abruptly foolish -- and exposed. He ducks around behind the desk too, crouching alongside Magnolia and peeking over the top of the desk, "Wait, what? You want me to leave you here while that guy might be right outside waiting to shoot one or both of us?" Oh, right, she said grab the file. He pops up just enough to snag it off the top of the desk, tucking it close to his chest with his left arm, "Got the file. You want me to go out the door? The fire escape?" There's a pause, and he glances over to her, his eyes wide behind his glasses, but not the helplessly terrified of a moment earlier, "If I can find those files, I'm pretty sure I can replace that glass no problem."

Magnolia stays leaning against the desk, out of sight again. She flinches slightly at the next gunshots, and then she flicks a glance toward him. "Kevin. Fire escape. Go. I'll hold them off. I will meet you at the diner." Her words are terse, sharp. "Go." Then she is getting up and into plain sight now that her gun is loaded. She starts firing, quick and precise shots at the open glass, forcing the assailant behind cover. "Go, go, go!"

Kevin's eyes widen a little more at the repeated instructions, but this time in exasperation alongside his mild panic. Flicking a brief salute with his non-file-holding finger, he waits until she pops up, then runs toward the window, ducked down, doing a pretty good roady-shuffle across the room. A revolver peeks around the corner, firing off three quick and mostly-random shots into the room, and then Kevin is at the window, grabbing the file in his teeth, unlocking the window, and pulling it open. He half-lunges, half-tumbles out, grabs the file in one hand again, "I'm out!" There's a pause as he goes down two steps, then grumps to himself, "Shit, my hat." Oh well, down he goes, heading quickly for the bottom of the fire escape and then down to the alley where he glances up to the window in worry, but keeps moving toward the street.

Now that Kevin is out of danger, Magnolia rests her head back against the desk. She takes a deep breath, settling herself against the hardwood. Her eyes start to close, and she holds the revolver against her chest, feeling the heat of the gun. Then she takes another break, and it relaxes her. "Good!" Then she whispers to herself. "This is a dream... this is a dream... wake up, Mags... wake up..."

When the fusillade stills from inside the office, the man in the fedora steps around the edge of the door, leveling his pistol. Stepping inside the office, his hat shadowing his face and leaving it just the suggestion of a lighted nose and chin in front of deep shadows, he tilts his head to one side, a nasty smile audible in his voice, "Are you sure, young Ms. Jones?" The explosion of the bullet firing is the last thing that Magnolia hears before she leaves the Dream.