“It took me some time to track down everyone after the chaos of Ring of Dreams. Couple of leads, few bribes, asking the right people the right questions.”
Lights and the sounds of conversation outside of the room that Kane was in were down low, dim to keep the ambience at a right level. As much as she hated coming to competition, her leads had led her this way. Straight to Vino.
“Despite being champs, our common foes don’t exactly have a lot to go on outside of what we did know. Backstage brought me nothing, nor did divin into the records. When it came to it, I had to hit the one thing everyone’s got: family.”
She lays a series of photos out on the table like a hand of cards, revealing scenes of carnage, wreckage, and tragedy.
“Foley’s was easy enough to follow the breadcrumbs. He’d been on his own little search into his family. Instead of answers, he just dug out years of hurt and secrets. While Tombstone may have taught him a lesson, he’s still the only one that saw the death of his own brother. Even tried his mother, who was tighter than a clam on any info.”
She shuffles the pictures around, switching from the burnt ruins and crime scene pictures of Lamplight Antiques to ruined hallways and blurred pictures of a misshapen giant blurred in an alleyway.
“Stubbins was also slippier than a fish. Creator of the monstrous Victor Doom, he didn’t see any need to create a bond of family. We all saw how it went down with that, but his creation seems to have taken the hint and become scarce. No justice for being discarded, no revenge sweetly gained for his love being slaughtered. And none of it falls back on the killer himself.”
Leaning back from the pictures, she lights the cigarette and takes a puff. Images always did speak better than words for sure.
“Two cases full of death, destruction, and misery bundled up and swept under the rug. Hide the truth from the world and with time they’ll forget. Foley will continue on, free from the weight of the truth that his brother’s death is his own fault. Stubbins too, with the death being conveniently forgotten. Blood washed from the iron gloves, and any family he had forgotten.”
A sigh leaves her lips, and she locks eye with her contact: Gino Carelli.
“The only other lead I got is here. That galoot that is Ducky had the word that these two had a little “tea party,” and asking the right folks got me in with you. I’m looking to make these fellas come forth, see justice for their tragic family lives. That even if they try, the blood on their hands will come back to bite them. So that the truth comes to light for good. ”
Another drag of the cigarette comes, as she locks eye with her new “partner” for this case.
“So what do you say?”