Diary of Samsneed, Part 2

By Moleare Kragnar
Old Forest Times

This is part II of the ongoing series of publications by detective Samsneed, ranger at large. In part I, Samsneed took on a job investigating the ongoing murder scandal of SGCBL players and managers. We last left our brilliant detective having just encountered Brandelion, owner of the Moira Miners and mourner over the death of her team's manager, BranMorda

BREE - When you live in a city like Bree, you've already seen it all a million times. Me, I've had my share of dames breaking down in tears over the death of some loved one, and I knew one thing right away: Brandelion may have wanted me to investigate BranMorda's death, but tears or not she wasn't sad to see her go. I took a slug of rum and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"You gotta pull yourself together," I said, sitting down on my desk. "I'll help ya, but I need the facts, and I don't mean the popular opinion, I mean the facts of the case! Why don't you tell me what happened, doll."

Brandelion had already composed herself by the time I got through my speil, although that rosey-red flush was still as gone as a deadbeat dad who owes child support.

"I hired BranMorda to run my team," she said. "She was really able to get the players behind her, even the unruly ones."

"Was she good," I asked.

"I would dare say she would've led us to the pennant! Then two days ago she was found dead in Balin's tomb." She began sobbing again. "Our team is heartbroken and we don't know who did it! All I know is she was found with Bree cheese lodged in her throat!"

Cheese. Back to the cheese. Yeah, I had read about the death. I have to admit, I found the whole situation about as interesting as an orc performing a river dance, which is to say that I had more than my share of notes. And something smelled fishy, like a troll with a bathing phobia. Something wasn't right. I wasn't getting the whole truth.

"Tell me something, sweetheart," I said as I threw back a shot of vodka. "Is that really all you have for me? Did you see anyone suspisious in the area? Any strange noises?"

"They found a foot imprint outside the tomb," she replied, composed again. "It doesn't match that of anyone in Moira." I sat forward.

"Describe it!" I said, standing up. I was immediately hit by a wave of intoxicated dizziness and sat back down, but Bran didn't seem to notice my momentary slip.

"It has a strange logo on the bottom, sort of a square with holes drawn in it. Must be a certain brand of shoe that I'm not aware of."

A logo? A square with holes? Wait a second! Cheese!

"And Deephelm, he said something about a conspiracy between owners... involving Old Forest, Bywater, Mo-er, and uh, Misty Mountain." She didn't think I caught her little slip, but I'm like a 500 pound goalie in orc-hide, nothing gets past me. And who the heck is DeepHelm? Why do I keep hearing that name? The alarms it set off in my head couldn't have been louder if someone had just tried to bust into ... well, Helm's Deep! I had to find DeepHelm!

"You know where I can find him, sweethart?"

"No, I'm sorry. He just appears and disappears, as if out of the shadows..."

The shadows. It was a good start. I took a shot of Irish Cream.

"Keep in touch with me, dame. I'll get back to ya."

We left my office and I began to drunkenly roam the streets. I lit a cigarette and thought some more. There was too much swirling around in my mind, like a tornado in a china-shop. And it was all bad news. "Bad News" was my other middle name. A cheese-logoed bootprint. A murderous owner. Was he filled with rage, perhaps, because his team is about as good in the playoffs as a blind man in a shooting range? Because they play baseball like a boxer gifted with a crushing right hook but burdened with a glass jaw? And what was up with Bran? She was some broad, I'll give her that, but she's hiding something. I wonder if she's an elf?

It all took me back to The Case. Intrigue, mystery, a rising body-count, and a dame to kill for. My broken heart shuddered a little, and I moved on. Bree is a dangerous place at night, but not to a guy like me. I live for the darkness, for the thrill. A place like Bree is a pouder keg ready to go off, and I was the match, baby.

After about an hour, I began to sober up a little and headed for a bar. That was when I spotted the shadow, moving away from me in the alleyway. He was short, and he was running fast. I took off after him, bow drawn, arrow unquiverred. He moved well for a little guy, but no one knows the streets of Bree like I do. Well, except for Aragorn. And Demathorn. And uh, most of the rangers, but I had him this time! He cut left while I hopped a fence, and before you could say "ungodly morning hangover" I had him in a dead alley!

"No!" he shouted. "Dat ain't how it's s'posed to go!"

"Let me guess, I said slyly. "DeepHelm himself." I shoved him harshly against the wall. "You may not have good English skills, my little compadre, but you better talk, and you better make it fast because I think I'm sobering up!"

Would he talk? Would I get my answers? Would he turn on me and kill me dead as a doornail right there in that hidden alley in Bree?* Find out in the next chapter!

*I hope not, because if so, who the hell is writing this!?

Posted at October 22, 2004 08:03 AM | more from Old Forest