T Ruth Dugger

I looked between both of them in confusion, then back down at my paper. Was it possible I had misstepped in my investigation, been chased down the wrong avenue? Good Luck wiped a tear of mirth from his eye and leant back on his stool to regard me with a grin.\n\n"Your reasoning is fairly sound, Ms Dugger. You are correct in your observations of my password. But our shared father's name is King."\n\nHis presence under our combined spotlight of accusation momentarily forgotten, Great finished laughing and looked at his brother with a degree of fondness. \n\n"The name Charles belongs to my brother-in-law, Ms Dugger. Good's husband. Though you are correct it was easy to guess."\n\nHe smiled at my confusion before bowing his head in defeat. He let out a long groan and looked up to stare Good in the eye.\n\n"[[The game is up, I see. My apologies, Brother. I will ensure you are paid back promptly, of course.|TwentyNine]]"

Elisabet pushed her chair over to a tall cabinet behind her, and started leafing through the drawers. I took the opportunity to lean over and look at her desk from the other side. Several stacks of chaotic paper were lined up against one end, and post-it notes were stuck haphazardly on all surfaces with memos, names, numbers.\n\n"Here ya go, lady."\n\nI nonchalantly looked up and took the paperwork from the receptionist's outstretched hand, getting a fresh whiff of clove smoke from her. I smiled and thanked her, leafing through the official forms.\n\nAfter a moment, Mr Good Luck snapped his phone shut and walked back across the room.\n\n"Apologies, Ms Dugger. Some calls are necessary to take in any company."\n\nI let a smug smile creep across my face, and gently placed the paperwork back on the desk.\n\n"Don't worry about it, Mr Good Luck. In fact, don't put your phone away just yet."\n\n"What do you mean?"\n\nI always had a flair for the dramatic. I turned and took in the whole room with a gesture, humming to myself for a second, before pointing wiggling a knowing finger at Mr Good Luck's confused expression.\n\n"[[I believe I've solved your case. But first, I need you to make a call.|TwentyOne]]"

"Come in!"\n\nThe door pushed open gently with a creak. I had never oiled the hinges in fourteen years and wasn't about to start now.\n\nIn stepped an artist's model. The sort whose form seemed so perfectly chiseled, that it was only natural to create a statue in marble to reflect them, a rock sculpture that could never hope to capture the sheer geological presence of the original flesh-and-blood version.\n\n"Ms. T. Ruth Dugger?"\n\nOhhhh, there it was, that voice. I cleared my throat.\n\n"That's me. The one and only. Your name, mister?"\n\nHe nodded and stepped forward to close the door behind him, slowly, carefully, inevitably. He turned back to me before replying with a slight nod of his head.\n\n"[[Mr Good Luck.|Seven]]"

I rolled my eyes and deleted the email. I'd seen enough spam emails in my time to recognise them by spelling and smell before I'd even had my first coffee of the day. A click and it was gone.\n\nI scrolled through the rest of my inbox whilst sipping the hot, black liquid that passed for coffee here in New London.\n\nDeleted. Deleted. Deleted. None of you are interesting enough.\n\nLife as a discerning private detective was tough, sometimes. I had bills to pay, but I couldn't just be taking on any old case. No troubling myself with the petty squabbles of the city, the lost cats, the husband's infidelities. I wanted something with a bit of chewiness.\n\n[[The Phone Rings|Three]]

I swore mentally. Tracy Ruth Dugger, what the fuck are you saying to a client.\n\nMr Good Luck sat frozen in his chair for an uncomfortably long moment, before he let out a roaring laugh. Deep, unctuous, the exact tone of a kindly uncle who you only ever saw at christmas but would tell bawdy jokes by the fire whilst swilling brandy and dropping crumbs down his smoking jacket.\n\n"Yes! Very good, Ms Dugger. You are quite right."\n\nHe sighed and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. As the fabric lifted up with the motion, I saw the outline of an old pistol tucked into his waistband, the wooden handle worn and dark with age. When his hand came back out, the fabric dropped to cover it again, and I was left staring at his crotch.\n\n"[[Shall we talk payment, Ms Dugger?|Twelve]]"\n\n

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I had never invited a client to my office before I had even finished my first cup of coffee of the day.\n\nBut then I had never heard a voice quite like this one.\n\n...\n\nI'd put a fresh pot of coffee on half an hour later. The New London rain kept pouring outside, colder and meaner than the old city but not significantly wetter. With little else to do, I had spent the time perusing the newspapers (The Daily Male, and The Thymes), dwelling on my imminent guest. They hadn't said anything about their case - hadn't even said their name!\n\nHopefully it wouldn't be a lost cat.\n\nBecause I was good at finding cats, and I wanted to draw this one out.\n\n[[There came a knock on the door.|Six]]

Good Luck leant forward and steepled his fingers, pursing his lips with a quiet breath like the 16:41 train to Exposition City.\n\n"Six days ago, Elisabet received a call from the IT company you outsource to. At least, she was under that impression; in reality, it was Great, here.\n\n"I imagine he told some story about the database needing checking, something along those lines. Elisabet provided a list of all the active email addresses belonging to the embassy, unintentionally letting him know that yours was still active."\n\nGood Luck frowned whilst Great necked the rest of his glass in silence. "How did you determine that?"\n\n"[[She had them written out on her notepad.|TwentySix]]"\n\n

"You still use FAXES?"\n\nMr Good looked at the screen, then back at me with confusion.\n\n"Yes. Is something wrong?"\n\nI rubbed my face in anguish. Here, in the year of 20XX, on a computer that belonged in a museum in a smokey room that smelt vaguely of cinnamon, dust and a delightful whiff of man's perfume, there were people using faxes.\n\n"I'm surprised you haven't moved on completely to digital."\n\nHe cocked his head to one side as he thought of his response, the end of his nose twitching slightly.\n\n"But you are here today because of an insecurity in my own email account, Ms Dugger. It is precisely that aspect which has prevented my other colleagues from moving on."\n\nI opened my mouth and closed it again. "You're quite right, Mr Good. Let us see the recent faxes."\n\nThere was nothing of interest from the last few weeks. A few petty cash invoices, written in Bosin script; a few memos regarding dinner events, and the procedures for bringing plus ones and family. I let him close the faxes document with a tired wave.\n\n<<if not visited("Emails")>><<print "[[Emails|Emails]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the Emails.<<endif>>\n<<if not visited("Logins")>><<print "[[User Logins|Logins]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the User Logins.<<endif>>\n<<if not visited("Calls")>><<print "[[Call Log|Calls]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the Calls Log.<<endif>>\n\n[[I'd seen enough.|Eighteen]]

Mr Good Luck turned to face me and looked, for all my surprise, apologetic.\n\n"I am sorry to drag you into this, Ms Dugger. Though I am glad the matter stayed within family, it is clear there is no threat to further use of my emails by one with... unsavoury motives."\n\nHe glanced at Great, who shrugged in defeat and grimaced. "Of course not, brother."\n\nI looked between the two of them, confused by the nonchalance at which Mr Good Luck had responded to it all. The two of them looked so blase, posing together as if in an advert for a relaxing gentleman's club and not an accusatory meeting.\n\n"I don't understand, Mr Good. How can you be so blase about so many Bosin Dollars?"\n\nGood laughed. "Did you not look up the exchange rate, Ms Dugger? [[It#s merely 20,000 Bosin Dollars to the Pound.|ThirtyOne]]"

The list of user logins took a minute to open, which was surprising, because it was basically empty. On closer analysis, the reason became clear.\n\n"Mr Good, please can you explain how this list works?"\n\nHe cleared his throat. "When someone here logs in to the computer, they open up this spreadsheet and record their name, the time and date, and a reason for access."\n\n"Like a visitor book?"\n\n"Exactly."\n\nI restrained myself from beating my head against the CRT screen's thick glass. As if that system would work.\n\n"Oh, I suppose I better log this."\n\nMr Good Luck typed up his own details into the spreadsheet and clicked save with a satisfied expression on his face. His determined honesty in recording his login was bemusing. Perhaps it was a culturally Bosin thing. Glancing at the list, it was all Mr G Luck.\n\nBut after a second I frowned.\n\n"This login, four days ago. Was that you?"\n\nHe frowned back, his brows furrowing together, the ridge they formed rivalling the grand canyon for sheer, inscrutable geological motions.\n\n"No," he replied. "This appears to have been an impostor."\n\nI made a note of it and he closed the spreadsheet after a brief nod.\n\n<<if not visited("Emails")>><<print "[[Emails|Emails]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the Emails.<<endif>>\n<<if not visited("Calls")>><<print "[[Call Log|Calls]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the Calls Log.<<endif>>\n<<if not visited("Faxes")>><<print "[[Fax Log|Faxes]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the Fax Log.<<endif>>\n\n[[I'd seen enough.|Eighteen]]

The Bosin Embassy was a squat, grey building just like every other embassy in New London - that is, it was fucking awful to look at, an embarassment to nature. Nothing built with right angles should look anything but right, but this was the wrong angles however you looked at it. The flag fluttered from a pole jutting out above the door, the cloth desperately trying to escape for a prettier place.\n\n"The embassy, Ms Dugger."\n\nI sighed, dropped my cigarette to the floor, and ground it out under the toe of my left boot. Mr Good Luck sniffed.\n\n"Show the way, boss", I said. He stepped towards the door and pressed the buzzer.\n\n"Bosin Embassy", drawled a tired sounding voice in heavily-accented english. \n\n"It's Good Luck."\n\nThere came a brief silence before the intercom buzzed, and my client pushed the door open, stepping back to allow me past.\n\n[[I let my shoulder brush against his on the way.|Fifteen]]

The inspiration for this game came directly from my spam inbox: the characters jumped out at me from two seperate emails, names fully-formed and calling out for a hardboiled story.\n\nWith this, several hours before the deadline, comes the last of my games for Variety Megajam 2018. Seven in less than two weeks, phew.\n\nWritten by Freya C.\n\n[[Back to Start|Start]]\n\n<a target="_self" href="../index.html">Home</a>

As we stepped out of the car and I popped out my umbrella, another figure emerged from the car parked up already. As they crossed the street to us I felt my heart thump louder, suddenly surrounded by not one but two renaissance sculptures of men, similar but subtly different; where Mr Good Luck formed by himself a whole geological event dressed in fine sartorial excess, the new man was more olympian, toned and defined, his cheap and crumpled suit only emphasising his build.\n\n"Brother!" he called, and greeted Good with a resonating hug, ignorant to the rain threatening to drench us all. He stepped back after a moment and stuck out a hand to me.\n\n"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance, ma'am."\n\nI stuck out my own and he gripped it, his hand smooth, evidently not a man ignorant of moisturiser and self-care. \n\n"Ms T. Ruth Dugger, Private Investigator."\n\nHe hesitated a moment, eyes glanced away at his brother before returning to mine. He gave one quick shake and retrieved his hand to his side.\n\n[["Mr Great Luck, ah, novelist by trade."|TwentyThree]]

Shit. I probably deleted it.\n\n"I like to hear it from the client directly," I lied, "it reveals things that text alone cannot."\n\nPlus I wanted to hear him talk more. I didn't tell him that. But he was totally convinced by what I said, and leant forward on two steepled hands, pursing his lips with a quiet breath like the 10:14 Steam Train to Libido City.\n\n"As I mentioned in my email, I was formerly the american ambassador for the Republic of Bosin. It appears my old email account was not deleted on my departure two months ago."\n\n"Sounds like a lax IT team," I replied. He shrugged.\n\n"Perhaps. There are not many staff at the embassy, and we outsource anything too technical. But its existence is moot, because it is not normally used for sending emails."\n\nI leant forward, copying his steepling gesture. My fingers smelt like old tobacco and coffee grounds.\n\n"[[So I'm guessing it was.|Nine]]"

I finished my drink and set the glass back on the bar. Mr Good Luck gestured with the decanter but I held up a hand to stay the alcohol; too much too quick never settled quite right on my stomach.\n\n"Your password, Good, was obvious. Easy to guess. I noticed it from the way the letters peeled back, from your typing speed, and from a little social deduction." And Elisabet had it written down on a post-it note, I thought privately.\n\nI stood carefully and picked my pen from my coat pocket, along with my notebook. With careful script I wrote out the password to Mr Good Luck's email account, known by all three of us at the table.\n\n"You told me when we first met how fond of your family you are. Mr Luck was your Father's name, I believe. But his first name, I assume, was Charles."\n\nI pointed to the seven letters I'd written on my notebook and stepped back triumphantly. The two brothers looked down at the paper, silent for a long moment.\n\n[[In unison, the two of them broke into deep, resonant laughter.|TwentyEight]]

T. Ruth Dugger & The Phishing of Mr Good Luck

Mr Good Luck led me through to a downstairs office. The door squeaked as it opened and I smiled approvingly.\n\nInside, two ancient computers sat on a large wooden desk, a hefty CRT monitor on each one, the cases yellowed with tobacco smoke and finger grease, the screens cleanish but with traces of dust around the corners where a quick wipe with a napkin wouldn't reach. In front of one was a keyboard with large, colourful letters applied to the keys, as one would do for a child just learning to type. Some of the stickers looked more worn than others.\n\nGood walked over to the colourful computer and booted it up. I frowned.\n\n"Interesting choice of keys, mister."\n\nHe turned to face me with an embarassed expression.\n\n"I have trouble with distinguishing the letters. This helps me type. For instance, I know that the vowels are green."\n\nI blinked and looked at the keyboard again, where A, E, I, O and U were, indeed, in various shades of green, from lime to forest to british racing.\n\n"[[You're dyslexic?|Seventeen]]

Inside, the atrium was dimly lit and smelled like stale clove cigarettes. It hadn't been legal to smoke in a business place in years. I was sure the fine, upstanding gentlemen who worked here wouldn't be smoking indoors, so sure, in fact, that my eyes instantly glanced at the full ashtray, and the single clove cigarette between the receptionist's fingers. She smiled, clovily, and lowered a worn paperback she clutched in one hand.\n\n"Smouka~, Good. Ain't seen you more than once a week, then I see you a lot all at once."\n\n"Hello, Elisabet. Please let Ms Dugger here sign into the visitor book."\n\nElisabet glanced across at me and picked up a pair of thick, unfashionable glasses to scrutinise me with, a tiny price label still stuck on one arm. Short-sighted. <<linkreplace "I glanced at the visitor's book on the counter. It had several entries, including two dated two and four days ago.">>I looked closely at the visitor's book on the counter. It had several entries, including two dated two and four days ago: a Mr Good Luck, with the reason for visit as 'meeting', and a Mr G. Luck, with the reason for visit not marked.<</linkreplace>>\n\n"Ah, I'm sure she's ok, old redhead gal like her ain't gonna cause no trouble. Right, lady?"\n\nI bit my tongue and nodded. A small gear started to tick in my investigator's brain whilst the receptionist returned to reading her novel.\n\n"[[Show us your computer then, Mr Good.|Sixteen]]"

Mr Good Luck opened up the creaky old version of Outlook that ran on this machine. The cursor turned into an hourglass and froze.\n\n"Excuse me," he said, "Sasha takes a little time to load, sometimes."\n\n"Sasha?"\n\nHe coughed. "Ah, it's a Bosin joke. A nickname for email clients. It would take a long evening and a drink to properly explain."\n\nI'm down for that, I thought. Job first, Tracey.\n\n'Sasha' finished loading up and showed a list of the most recent emails. It wasn't many; if Mr Good Luck had left his post around two months ago, he had managed to inform most people who would've sent him any more emails since. Only three sat in there. \n\nOne, a web brochure from a stationary company. Two, a embassy-wide email reminding staff about the milk in the fridge.\n\nThe third was an irritated reply from one of the spam email's targets. They wanted to know when they would get their 400,000 Bosin Dollars back, pointing out that Mr Good luck had not, in fact, left the country, as there were no planes to Bosin scheduled until next week. After a moment, Mr Good Luck closed it without a word.\n\n<<if not visited("Faxes")>><<print "[[Fax Log|Faxes]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the Fax Log.<<endif>>\n<<if not visited("Logins")>><<print "[[User Logins|Logins]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the User Logins.<<endif>>\n<<if not visited("Calls")>><<print "[[Call Log|Calls]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the Calls Log.<<endif>>\n\n[[I'd seen enough.|Eighteen]]

Good set down three glasses in front of us, taking up a stool next to me. I felt his presence almost via static electricity, the lush aura of a consummate diplomat seeping out of his pores. If he could manually control that suaveness and careful, convincing accent of his, he was switching it on to max power.\n\n"So. What is it you New Londoners say? Zuprost?"\n\n"Something like that," I replied. We touched glasses and I looked Great directly in the eye. He struggled to keep my gaze, and as his eyes flicked to Good, he swore under his breath.\n\n"Awh, you smug couple know, don't you."\n\nI took a sip of my drink. The whisky tasted like old smoke and dirt, like a boot tip I'd licked in an excited moment of boudoir activity. It was excellent, and clearly stung Great's throat too as he drunk in unison.\n\n"[[Mr Good Luck. Allow me to describe how your brother, Great Luck, has come into possession of 1.2 million Bosin Dollars. Afterwards you may speculate on motive.|TwentyFive]]"

As the computer wheezed and groaned in opening the Call Log, a thought came to my head.\n\n"How is the call log made? It can't be routed through this piece of junk."\n\nMr Good Luck shook his head. "The receptionist makes a note of them and types them up at the end of the week."\n\nI tried to imagine what it would be like to call the receptionist and listen to her voice on the end of the phone instead. I wondered if during his tenure here, Mr Good Luck had a direct line.\n\n"It's Thursday today," I said. "Then I guess she hasn't typed them up yet?"\n\n"No, that is a Friday job."\n\nRight. I looked at the list anyway. From the week before were a few calls from other diplomats, an call from an IT company, and several calls from a plumbing company regarding a leaky sink; the latter a common problem in many properties in this terrace. \n\n"I'd like to ask Elizabeth about this week's calls, in that case."\n\n"Elisabet," he replied. "But yes, of course, Ms Dugger. Whatever I can do to help in your investigation."\n\nHe closed the document with a satisfied click.\n\n<<if not visited("Emails")>><<print "[[Emails|Emails]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the Emails.<<endif>>\n<<if not visited("Logins")>><<print "[[User Logins|Logins]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the User Logins.<<endif>>\n<<if not visited("Faxes")>><<print "[[Fax Log|Faxes]]">><<else>>I'd already seen the Fax Log.<<endif>>\n\n[[I'd seen enough.|Eighteen]]

...\n\n...\n\nMr Good Luck dropped me off at my office. With a wave, he climbed back into his car and sped off. I watched him go with a sigh - I thought it would be the last time I would get to stare at his wonderful physique, or listen to his beguiling voice. Even his brother was taken, too, married with a child lucky to have such relatives.\n\nLittle did I know, it was not the last I would hear from either...\n\n\n\nTHE END \n\n[[Credits|Credits]]

Mr Good Luck nodded and I continued. "Next step; four days ago, Great drops by the embassy and pretends to be you, Good. Despite leaving two months ago, the visitor log shows you still make regular trips, so it wasn't unexpected. When did Elisabet change her glasses?"\n\nMr Good Luck looked into the distance for a moment. After a second his voice rumbled into existence, calling up a memory.\n\n"She mentioned they were new when I went in for a meeting, two days ago."\n\nI looked between the two brothers, their expressions the only thing differet. I squinted for illustrative effect.\n\n"The two of you are remarkably similar for brothers. Nearly the same build, and the same accent." The same gorgeous, candlewax-melting-down-a-wine-bottle voice.\n\nGreat piped up unexpectedly. "She's right, you know. Sometimes I have been mistaken for you on the phone."\n\nGood peered at his brother with a wry smile. He let his hands drop to the table and leant forward, clutching his glass in a delicate grip whilst pouring another inch of whiskey.\n\n"[[So. How did they access my account? There is still a password.|TwentySeven]]"

"Yes," he replied. He crossed the room to drag a spare chair from the corner over to the desk, and gestured for me to sit next to him. I did so and watched the dust rise in a small cloud from the seat.\n\n"Doesn't that make it hard, as an ambassador?"\n\nHe shrugged, and I read as much into the expression as I dared. Agreement, defensiveness, mild shame, embarassment, defiance, intensity, virility...\n\n"In fact, it was somewhat easier as an ambassador. I could request a secretary to type up communications on my behalf. Outside of work, it is... somewhat frustrating."\n\nThe computer finally finished loading, and Mr Good Luck carefully typed in the password, using agonisingly slow hunt-and-peck typing. After gently pressing enter, the screen refreshed to show a desktop that took me back several years. It must've been... I think it was Windows 94, at the latest. Outdated by quite a while.\n\n"What did you want to see, Ms Dugger?"\n\n[[Emails|Emails]]\n[[Recent User Logins|Logins]]\n[[Telephone Call Log|Calls]]\n[[Fax Log|Faxes]]

I glanced at the clock. 9:14AM. Who the hell called at this hour? I took another sip of coffee and winced.\n\nI guessed I should better pick it up. There was nothing in the email inbox after all. And my only other chance of work was to go down the station and ask Detective Farragher if he'd had trouble solving that jewel robbery the week before, the one in the papers. Detective Farragher hated me, and even if I knew who the culprit was - I didn't - he wouldn't let me near it.\n\nThe phone kept ringing and I picked that fucker up.\n\n"[[T. Ruth Dugger's office, Ruth speaking.|Four]]"

The three of us went inside to escape the inclement weather, and I shook my umbrella out in the porch before placing it in a copper bucket filled with two more already. Good Luck led the way through to the kitchen, where I restrained myself from whistling.\n\nIt was a room of excellent taste; dark wood topped with marble counters and brushed aluminium accents, with an assortment of sleek appliances and cast-iron cookware neatly arranged on the side. A glass cupboard offered a window into a drinks collection that must've covered thirty countries of origin, labels new and old, with a pair of crystal decanters half-full of amber spirits.\n\nGood Luck drew out a stool for me, the black leather looking comfortable and inviting. I sat down, and Great Luck sat across the bar from me, whilst his brother fished out a trio of glasses.\n\n"What's your drink of choice, Ms Dugger?"\n\n"I'll have whatever you're having," I responded, hoping Good was drinking the bottle of brandy I recognised as unimaginably rare and expensive. He picked up one of the decanters instead and I restrained myself from sighing.\n\n[[Great Luck glanced around the kitchen silently.|TwentyFour]]\n

"You're quite right, Ms Dugger."\n\n"I am right uncomfortably often. Go on."\n\nHe leant back, resting his hands in his lap, one carefully folded over the other.\n\n"Four days ago an email was sent purporting to be from my account. It was sent to a list of acquaintances of mine, asking to be lent a sum of money for the plane back to Bosin, as I was in a difficult financial situation."\n\n"Were you?"\n\nHe waved a hand. "My current financial situation is not relevant to the story - "\n\nIt bloody is, because I need to get paid, you handsome bastard.\n\n" - but three of my acquaintances found it, hm, believable."\n\nI laughed bitterly. "[[And so they sent money to... someone who isn't you?|Ten]]"

...\n\n...\n\nMr Good Luck drove me home afterwards. His brother had solemnly apologised and promised to return the money once paid; he described his present to Li-Wen, a gorgeous blue dress she'd had her eye on for months. Good Luck seemed genuinely glad for her to receive it as a gift, and wished the best to his brother on our leaving.\n\nIn the car afterwards, he talked. I listened, silently appreciating every last sentence of his voice before he returned to his husband and spoke to me no more. \n\n"Who would I be to deny my niece such a lovely gift? My brother's method leaves something to be desired, but such is family. I will take the blow and apologise to my acquaintances."\n\n"Will you tell them the truth?"\n\nHe shook his head. "I will tell them a truth. Someone hacked into my account."\n\nI smiled. "Let's hope it encourages you to put in a little more security at the embassy."\n\nA feline smile crept across his face, and he watched the road for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was tainted with amusement.\n\n"Maybe my successor will be better. It will be a nice project for them. [[Not much else happens at the Bosin embassy.|ThirtyTwo]]"

I dragged my eyes up from his wad to his wad of cash.\n\n"Hold up, Mr Good. I haven't said I'd do it yet."\n\nHis hand hung in the air, a folded stash of dark maroon notes gripped between two carefully trimmed fingernails. I held up a palm to stall.\n\n"Let's talk terms. I want it clear from the beginning what you're asking of me so we're both clear when the job's done. And let me discuss rates, too. I don't know what the exchange with Bosin - "\n\n"The embassy can pay American Sterling, Cash, £300 up front as a retainer."\n\nMy tongue became limp in my mouth and refused to say anything else from my standard client spiel. Fucking sold.\n\n"Deal. Let's shake, Mr Good Luck."\n\nI took the wad of maroon notes from his hand, and replaced them with my own hand. Under my palm I felt the calluses of a man who wasn't afraid to work with his hands, and [[his strong but careful grip as we shook was excellent|Thirteen]].

I frowned. The name seemed vaguely familiar. But also totally, unreasonably out of the ordinary.\n\n"You must love your parents for that name."\n\n"Very much so," he said without a trace of irony. "Let us get down to business."\n\n"You're a fast operator, Mr Luck."\n\nHe smiled, lush lips parting to reveal two straight, clean rows of white playing-card teeth, punctuated only by a single gold crown on the upper left. It shone in the dim office light.\n\n"Please, Mr Luck was my father. Call me Good."\n\nOh, you're good alright, I thought. But a good PI doesn't let themselves get carried away with a client.\n\n"Alright, Mr Good. What's your story? Everyone comes to me with a story and a crime. Usually one informs on the other."\n\nHis brows wrinkled in a deep frown, affecting the tides on another planet, probably.\n\n"[[But I sent you an email, Ms Dugger?|Eight]]"

Good leant back and stared at him for a moment. He looked far less angry, or even surprised, than I had expected him to be. The whole time since I had told him my suspicions he had been calm and cool as a quiet country lake, utterly unshakeable by my accusation of his own family.\n\n"Why, brother? You could have just asked me if times are bad."\n\nGreat rubbed his neck with a hand. "It is Li-Wen's birthday tomorrow, and payday is next week. I had thought, my brother has many rich acquaintances. If I secure a loan and pay it back, no-one need be the wiser."\n\nHe shrugged in zen-like innocence. "Truth be told, more people replied than I had anticipated. Brother, you count many generous friends in your list of contacts. Between three of them I had enough for Li-Wen's gift, and I thought all was going to plan. She would have been so happy."\n\nMr Good Luck sighed and poured a third inch of whiskey for himself. To my surprise, he offered some to his brother with a good-natured smile. Great picked up the glass and necked it in one.\n\n"[[Do not worry, brother. Li-Wen will still have her birthday present.|Thirty]]"

Mr Good Luck seemed genuinely embarassed. It was a marvel to see his eyes dart away, only to come back to face mine again, deep brown and magnificant.\n\n"Yes. To the sum of 1.2 million Bosin Dollars."\n\nI whistled. I had no idea what the exchange rate with Bosin Dollars to American Pound Sterling was - I had no idea where the hell Bosin even was, made a mental note to look it up on the map later - but the amount sounded suitably impressive.\n\n"So you're looking to get that back, I take it."\n\nHe cocked his head to one side as the correct reply assembled itself, lips twitching pre-forming words.\n\n"Retrieving the amount is not the primary motivation. What is more important, to me and the embassy, is ascertaining the culprit, and how they have gained access to the professional email account of a diplomatic ambassador."\n\n"[[What, you afraid they'll send your acquaintances an advert for dick pills next?|Eleven]]"

\n\n\n\nT. Ruth Dugger & The Phishing of Mr Good Luck\n\n[[Start|One]]\n\n<a target="_self" href="../index.html">Home</a>

We returned down the hall to the reception desk, where Elisabet was sat behind the desk, reclining with her book held up close to her face. She looked up at the sound of our footsteps and hunted around for her glasses again.\n\n"Good, and, uh, lady. How goes your investigating?"\n\nI leant on the edge of the desk and leafed through the visitor book. "Can I see the call log for this week?"\n\nElisabet glanced at Mr Good Luck, who nodded. She picked up a sheet of paper from a stack in the corner and passed it to me. Each entry was written with tiny, jittery handwriting in a black pen, barely legible to me as I squinted at it. Next to me, Mr Good Luck's phone buzzed inside his coat pocket.\n\n"Excuse me," he said, and stepped away to answer it. I passed the call log back to the receptionist and thought to myself for a moment.\n\n"Mr Good Luck's niece, who cleans here sometimes. You have the right paperwork for her?"\n\nElisabet rolled her eyes. "And ain't it a headache to complete. All disclaimers and signatures."\n\n"[[May I see it?|Twenty]]"

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The voice that replied cut through the background noise, the rain and the hum of the ceiling fan, like a hot knife through my heart, not known for its butteriness. It was a baritone matched only by the darkest of 95% chocolate, the depth of a blue whale sunken by a torpedo, the weight of two ton of solid oak. It sounded like the muffled groan of an expensive sports car as it drove on a road of silk, on silk tyres, fuelled only by the finest new zealand honey. It sent a shiver down my spine, fractured once and bruised many times more, and I felt the twitch of my ears responding to the voice, drawn towards the telephone handset to beg the speaker to speak directly into my ear in person.\n\nIt was a good voice, is what I am trying to say.\n\n"[[Hello, Ms. Dugger. I would like to hire your expertise. Can I come by your office?|Five]]"

I told him to close the computer down. I'd seen all I needed to see to let an idea start to gestate in my head, curdling together from liquid info, or something like that. \n\n"Are there any other staff here regularly?"\n\nMr Good Luck counted a few off on his fingers, his jacket sleeve rustling with the sound of expensive fabric as he moved his arm.\n\n"Elisabet you've met, then there's Mr John Hope, Col. Tom Victory, Mr Prince Walton. My niece comes in sometimes, to clean."\n\n"And what's your niece's name?"\n\n"Li-wen Luck. Her mother is from Taiwan. She'll be fourteen tomorrow."\n\nI was noticing a trend in the names here. Unfamiliar though I was with Bosin cultural attitudes to naming their children, they all had a certain... aspirational quality. \n\nAs the computer screen blinked off, we left the room for the reception. On the way out, Mr Good Luck raised a small hand and [[quietly bade farewell to the computer|Nineteen]].

The look on Mr Good Luck's face was impeccable. Surprise, mild confusion, admiration, and vague intimidation. Exactly how I liked all my men to look, wrapped around my private investigator's finger.\n\nWhen I explained what I wanted, Mr Good Luck's eyes widened and a smirk crossed his face, adding to the cocktail of expressions jostling for space on that landscape. \n\nAnd so he set up a meeting, for that afternoon. I did like to see a case come together at the end, and I especially liked that I had successfully invited myself to Mr Good Luck's house.\n\nHe tapped the steering wheel as he drove, whilst I explained my reasoning. The midday drizzle turned to heavier New London rain, and as we pulled up outside his home terrace, [[I spotted a battered-looking car parked up already|TwentyTwo]].

...\n\n...\n\nMy mama always told me I should've been a writer. That the way I wrote prose, the descriptive nature of my messages to her detailing my latest cases in careful anonymised script, it was all so evocative.\n\nBut that's not my area of expertise, particularly. It's not my passion or my work. I don't write things.\n\n[[I solve things.|Fourteen]]

Freya C / @spdrcstl