Dylan stepped out of his car in front of the Velvet Viper Club, the towering neon sign casting a blood-red glow on his face.
Two burly bouncers stood at the entrance, their muscular arms crossed as they eyed Dylan viciously, even though this was their first time crossing paths.
'I can see they were expecting me.' Dylan couldn't help but feel nervous.
He was used to standing behind Nate and letting him do all the talking.
"Here goes nothing…" Dylan muttered under his breath.
He adjusted his tie and straightened his posture, maintaining an air of confidence as he approached the entrance, and as expected, his path was blocked.
"I'm here to ask some questions about a murder investigation," Dylan said, his voice firm.
The taller of the two bouncers, a bald man with a jagged scar cutting across his temple, smirked.
"We're not a police station. No one here's got answers for you." The man yelled, his reddened eyes fixated on Dylan's small figure as he took slow but heavy steps forward.
Dylan's heart skipped, his heart racing as he instinctively stepped back. Clenching his fists, he mustered up the courage to stand his ground, refusing to leave unless physically removed.
The second bouncer noticed the original plan wasn't walking, so he stepped in. While he was smaller than the first bouncer, he was bulkier, and his forearms were covered with tattoos.
"Look, you kid, I know this is your job, but sometimes it's advisable to leave before you get yourself hurt." He said in a much friendlier manner, but his words were heavy.
"Threats? That's an interesting response to someone investigating a murder case." Dylan chuckled as he pulled out his phone from his breast pocket, revealing he was on a call with Clara, and the call was being recorded.
"Even if you don't let me in and this gets to court, I wonder how the judge will react," Dylan said, a mischievous smile spreading across his face while his violet eyes released a faint glow.
{This is exactly why you were chosen… You lack everything else, except what is needed to succeed.} The voice sounded pleased.
This explained why he only had stat points in intelligence when he first got the system.
However, Dylan's response wasn't welcomed by the bouncers.
"Hand that shit over!." The scarred bouncer stepped closer, his hands reaching for Dylan's phone.
Dylan hopped back, his finger pointing at the car behind him, where Clara was seated with a phone placed on her ear.
"It doesn't matter if you take this away from me because I'm not the only one recording the call. But let's say you succeed. Can you get to the car and snatch hers before she drives away?" Dylan asked, his eyes dancing between the bouncer, who looked nervous now.
Only now did they realize they had been played by a scrawny-looking lawyer.
The two bouncers exchanged a look. After a tense moment, the scarred one grunted and stepped aside, pushing the club door open.
"Fine. Go ahead, lawyer man. But don't expect anyone to be happy to see you." His voice was filled with disdain.
—
The interior of the Velvet Viper was dimly lit with red and gold lights, the room decorated with strictly black furniture. The faint smell of alcohol and smoke lingered in the air, even though it was still too early for the night crowd to arrive.
'Damn… that was intense.' Dylan's confidence faded as soon as he entered the club. He needed a second or two to catch his breath before approaching the bar.
At the bar was a middle-aged man polishing glasses, and behind him was the door to the security room. The man had a clean buzz cut, his facial features mid at best, and his only redeeming factor was a star tattoo under his left eye.
"I need to see your security footage from last night ago," Dylan said, his tone authoritative.
The bartender raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by Dylan's attempt to sound tough.
"That's restricted. No access without the owner's permission." He responded dryly, his focus pinned on his work.
"I don't think you understand. This isn't a request. If you don't let me in, you'll be obstructing a murder investigation." Dylan said, hoping this would be enough to terrify the bartender.
"Take it up with management. I just work here." The bartender shrugged, his expression indifferent.
Dylan exhaled sharply through his nose, wondering why the bartender was tougher than the bouncers.
"Where can I find the manager?" He asked, his voice a bit more polite.
"Not here," the bartender replied flatly, turning back to his glasses.
Dylan clenched his fist but forced himself to remain calm. He turned his attention to a group of servers chatting by the wall and approached them.
"I'm looking into the incident involving Ramon Carter. Do any of you remember anything unusual that night?" He asked, desperate to get any information he could.
The servers glanced at each other before shaking their heads in unison.
"Are you sure?" Dylan pressed. "Any detail could be helpful."
The group collectively shook their heads again, avoiding eye contact.
"We're busy," a purple-haired server said curtly before walking off.
The others quickly dispersed, leaving Dylan standing alone.
—
By the time Dylan stepped outside, the sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the street. He walked to his car with heavy steps, his briefcase feeling like a dead weight in his hand.
Once inside, he slumped back in the driver's seat, staring blankly ahead. The bouncers' intimidation, the bartender's indifference, the staff's stonewalling, it all felt like a coordinated effort to keep him in the dark.
Dylan rubbed his temples, the frustration bubbling under his skin. He had expected resistance, but the complete lack of cooperation was suffocating.
"How did it go?" Clara asked timidly, her voice barely a whisper.
"It could've gone better," he muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm.
He glanced at his phone, the time reading 4:45 p.m. Time was slipping away, and he was no closer to uncovering the truth.
The first hearing has been scheduled for tomorrow, and he has yet to gather any substantial evidence.
"Well played, Nate… well played." Dylan sighed heavily, physically and mentally worn out.