#Lore24 – Entry #278 – Sentinel City by Night #4 – Into the Spider’s Den
From the Journal of Sheba O’Rourke, Private Investigator
“Heard the club before I saw it; not unexpected. Nothing special on the outside, just a neon sign in greens and blues and reds, similar in design to the hand stamp, and some steps leading down to the entrance. Could have been any other vice den for all I knew, except I knew better; could see the bouncer’s aura, unquestionably a ghoul. Had to keep my senses in check once I was inside; far too many details were blasting me. Sex, blood, and leather were the dominant aromas even in the entryway and had been for a long time. Had to work to get the guys at the entryway to understand what I wanted, dumb ghoul muscle, but soon enough I was given the express tour.
Main part of the club had a bit of a retro vibe to it, kind of like 80s shopping mall vibes, the kind that were already being phased out in the late 90s when I was still a mall rat, mixed with modern flat screens and sound systems, probably fueled by alcohol and drugs of all kinds, the music serving to mix it all into some kind of techno-euphoria. Leather and latex composed the most common outfits in the place, and I was noticeably underdressed since I wore only my leather duster and none of the other fashionable accessories common in a place like this. Would have been plenty of eyes on me were I not so adept at blending in.
I was ushered into the “dungeons” below the club proper then, heard plenty of things I’ll refrain from mentioning on the way when I extended my perception, but before long I was on what I can assume was the lowest level I’d ever be allowed into, given the nature of the club’s owner. Was expecting a private playroom of some kind, not the extensive server room I found myself in. Was almost as cold in there as it was outside, but only my ghoulish guide showed any signs of being cold. For a moment I was envious of the cable management, knowing I’d never managed anything close even on my home setup, but then it was back to business when the club owner introduced herself. Though I could appreciate her tech setup being a computer nerd myself, I didn’t let myself get too distracted.
Rebecca Dodgers was dressed much the same as any of the others upstairs: latex and leather-clad raver girl outfit, cyber-goth style, mix of black and neon highlights, big dreadlocks in two thick tails on her head, leather cuffs and buckles galore on her platform boots. Couldn’t see her face behind that gas mask, not even her eyes, but didn’t take me long to discern she was a Nosferatu, what with the misshaped proportions beneath the outfit and the fact that her hair wasn’t natural; seemed like they tended to be drawn to BDSM clubs more often than not, at least in my experience growing up on the west coast; easier to hide amongst the humans when you could hide your misshapen self amongst them, after all. What caught me off guard was the thick Texan accent that came from behind that mask when she finally spoke; I was expecting valley girl or something more refined, not that heavy southern twang.
Didn’t let my surprise show, though. She already knew why I was there, had known of my arrival in town before I had even met Sokolova. No surprise there; her kind always knew. She correctly guessed the latest victim had previously visited her club, so I gave her the details I’d picked up. Given that he was a human, she had little to go on without a face to look for on her impressive security setup; the multitude of well-concealed cameras hadn’t been unnoticed on my way down. She did at least offer to run through some of her footage from the main floor from a few nights previous to see if we could spot our victim, though he hadn’t exactly been dressed distinctively given the regular clientele.
Nothing came of the search, but we did at least exchange contact info and some small talk about the latest hardware, and she offered further help in tracking the victim once I had more info to share. Though I already planned on visiting Walsh at the PD HQ, she suggested I check up on their files as well, since they’ve been keeping the records of this particular string of killings off the digital record for now as a favor to Sokolova. I asked her what all the help would cost me but told me she was just being neighborly, some southern charm thing, I suppose. Nothing’s for free, so I’m sure I’ll find out the real cost soon enough.
Once I’d left the club, I let the few details I had about the case percolate in my head for a while and instead focused on finding an apartment somewhere; couldn’t keep all my notes in a hotel room or my car, after all. I’d seen the crime statistics for Sentinel City already, and they weren’t great. I’d visit Walsh at his precinct tomorrow night, give the PD time to process the body, fill in more details.”