Byrd Man — Roleplayer Guild

C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T   P R O P O S A LSARGE STEEL


♦   SARGENT STEEL  ♦   PRIVATE DETECTIVE  ♦   WASHINGTON, D.C.  ♦ FREE AGENT  ♦
C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T:

"Ain't nobody born bad/It takes a whole lotta hurt/Therein lies one of life's biggest lessons/Ain't got nothin' to do with deserve/ Just pray to the Saint of Lost Causes." 
-- Justin Townes Earle


Five years ago Sarge Steel returned home to D.C. after a fifteen year career in the armed forces, missing his left hand and in need of a purpose in life. He took odd jobs as a bouncer in some area nightclubs and gained a reputation as a guy who could find things when he helped an up and coming DC rapper recover a stolen gold chain. As a show of thanks the rapper hooked Steel up with his defense attorney for work. 

It didn't take long but Sarge realized he'd found his calling as a private investigator. His skill set from the army easily translated to the work and he thrived. He now works for several prominent law firms and Washingtonians as both a PI and a finder of sorts. If you need it retrieved he can and will get it for you. For a price.


C H A R A C T E R   M O T I V A T I O N S   &   G O A L S:
I want to get back into the PI game and I think Steel gives me a fresh spin on it. I really love DC Noir, George Pelecanos is one of my favorite writers, so I'm taking a page out of his book by showing the juxtaposition of crime and mayhem within our nation's capitol.


C H A R A C T E R   N O T E S:
CAST

Tom Holley -- Washington criminal lawyer, Steel's main client
Little Big Roy -- Drug dealer and informant for Steel
Captain Derek Robinson -- Metro PD detective and Steel's MPD contact.
Colonel Rick Flag -- CLASSIFIED
Daisy Johnson -- CLASSIFIED
King Farady -- CLASSIFIED


P O S T   C A T A L O G:
"You Should've Seen The Other Guy"
1.

C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T   P R O P O S A LSARGE STEEL

♦   SARGENT STEEL  ♦   PRIVATE DETECTIVE  ♦   WASHINGTON, D.C.  ♦ FREE AGENT  ♦
C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T:

"Ain't nobody born bad/It takes a whole lotta hurt/Therein lies one of life's biggest lessons/Ain't got nothin' to do with deserve/ Just pray to the Saint of Lost Causes." 
-- Justin Townes Earle

Five years ago Sarge Steel returned home to D.C. after a fifteen year career in the armed forces, missing his left hand and in need of a purpose in life. He took odd jobs as a bouncer in some area nightclubs and gained a reputation as a guy who could find things when he helped an up and coming DC rapper recover a stolen gold chain. As a show of thanks the rapper hooked Steel up with his defense attorney for work. 

It didn't take long but Sarge realized he'd found his calling as a private investigator. His skill set from the army easily translated to the work and he thrived. He now works for several prominent law firms and Washingtonians as both a PI and a finder of sorts. If you need it retrieved he can and will get it for you. For a price.

C H A R A C T E R   M O T I V A T I O N S   &   G O A L S:
I want to get back into the PI game and I think Steel gives me a fresh spin on it. I really love DC Noir, George Pelecanos is one of my favorite writers, so I'm taking a page out of his book by showing the juxtaposition of crime and mayhem within our nation's capitol.

C H A R A C T E R   N O T E S:
CAST

Tom Holley -- Washington criminal lawyer, Steel's main client
Little Big Roy -- Drug dealer and informant for Steel
Captain Derek Robinson -- Metro PD detective and Steel's MPD contact.
Colonel Rick Flag -- CLASSIFIED
Daisy Johnson -- CLASSIFIED
King Farady -- CLASSIFIED

S A M P L E   P O S T:

Not in canon, but one of my favorite scenes to writer over the last few years.

Dissection of a Crime Scene

Baltimore

Joe Burke watched Terry McNeil as the younger detective stood in the rowhouse living room. They weren’t the only detectives on scene at the moment. Crime techs were upstairs collecting evidence while patrolmen worked on keeping people away and canvassing the scene. The white shirts were here too. The western district nightshift commander was ostensibly the highest ranking on-duty official here, but his boss, the real western commander, and a few majors and colonels from downtown had joined him. 

Seven dead bodies was a redball, and when it came to redballs every member of the BPD command wanted their fingers in the pie. The brass were all collecting in a command tent outside the house, drinking coffee and figuring out who best to pin this on if things went sideways, while Burke and McNeil did the real work.

“I think this was one guy,” McNeil said after minutes of silent thought.

“Explain yourself, son,” grunted Burke. He sounded gruff, but he was doing his best to hide the grin he wanted to show.

McNeil began to point upwards to the second floor where three bodies had been found after finding the first round of four.

“Guys up top were sleeping when they got their tickets punched. No signs of struggle or restraints. Doer probably used a silencer and took them all out without them knowing. He gets down here and all hell breaks loose.”

Burke followed behind McNeil as he walked into the kitchen. A dead man was slouched against the kitchen counter with his neck at a twisted angle.

“The kitchen is the furthest room from the living room and doesn’t have direct line of sight on the door. I bet the doer hid in here while these four guys came into the house and fanned out. Looks like when one of them came in, our guy got the drop on him and smashed his neck against the edge of the counter. Minimal noise and one of them is dead.”

Burke didn’t interrupt as he followed McNeil down the hall into an empty bedroom. Another dead man was on the floor with a pool of blood underneath his neck and face. McNeil crouched and gingerly adjusted the man’s head to show Burke the discreet little slashes on the man’s neck and shoulder.

“The cut to the throat stuns and silences the victim, the one here on the shoulder? That’s the brachial artery. If it’s executed like this, perfectly, the victim bleeds out in less than five minutes. Our guy pulled the move off and pinned him to the floor while he bled out. Two dead.”

Burke stifled a laugh as they moved further down the hall to the bathroom where the bathroom door had been blasted off its hinges. Here was a two-for-one special. A body with a bullet hole in its head rested against the bathroom tiles. Just outside the bathroom was another body, this one with its face blown off and a shotgun on the ground beside it. 

“This one seems obvious enough,” said McNeil. “Our guy pops the guy in the bathroom in the back of the head, not giving a fuck about noise now that the odds are even, and steals his shotgun. He closes the door and sits on the can. As soon as he sees the doorknob move, he lets loose with the shottie and blows number four away. He drops the shotgun to the ground and calmly walks out the house. Minimal noise and gunfire, something nobody in this neighborhood is going to bat an eye at anyway.”

“Brilliant,” Burke said with a smirk. “If it’s all true, that is.”

“A working theory at best,” McNeil said with a shrug.

“That move you mentioned earlier?” Burke asked. “The one with the cut to the throat and shoulder? They call it sticking the bleeders.”

“I know," McNeil said as he looked at his partner. "It’s textbook special forces.” 

They let the implications hang in the air between them. Seven dead bodies. If this was the work of Tresser, which it may very well have been, then were they at least partially responsible? They had the son of a bitch in an interrogation room downtown and let him walk right out. There was no doubt in either detective’s minds that the four men on the first floor, and even those on the second floor, were anything other than criminals and lowlifes who had courted their violent deaths in some fashion. Still… the blood of seven people may have been on their hands because they didn’t just arrest Tresser then and there.

Burke’s cellphone chirping drew their attention away from their potential guilt. He pulled it out and looked at the text message on his screen.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath before looking up at McNeil. “Rick and Dana are over on the east side with the fire department and the arson unit. Someone burnt Jimmy Kappas’ club to the ground. Looks like there's remains of at least three people in the wreckage.”

“Fuck,” said McNeil. He pulled out his own phone and called the BPD communications section. “This is Terry McNeil, BPD Homicide badge number 9819, we need an all points bulletin and BOLO on a Thomas Tresser, white male, approximately thirty years of age. Height and weight….”

P O S T   C A T A L O G:
TBA

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