Records

## Usage & preview

Type in this:

```
{{FicletMeta
}}

```

to see this:

 Date
 Timing
 Setting
 Arc / track
 Initiating author
 Inspired by
 Notes

Click here to refresh the preview above
</noinclude>

"I need a drink," announces Jamie to no one in particular as he pushes away from his desk. He strides past Eyre's perch. "Hold down the fort, Yellow."

"Afraid it's gonna float away without your—"

Slams on his brakes. "Don't—"

"—lazy ass to weigh it down?"

"—you dare!"

Eyre smiles sweetly.

Jamie huffs, "I'd like to see how /**you** fare dealing with Shatterdome PR flacks. I've gotten interviews with prisoners in solitary confinement with less hassle than it took to get an appointment with Ranger Macrossan."

"Aww. Poor baby."

"You're lucky I didn't start crying." Ponders. "Maybe I'll try that next time."

Eyre rolls her eyes. "Where should I tell anyone nuts enough to be looking you'll be?"

"At this nasty little hole-in-the-wall bar in Tempe interviewing a potential source." Grins. "Don't suppose you want to join me?"

"I think I'll pass," Eyre drawls.

"Your loss," shrugs Jamie. He saunters out the office door and makes tracks for the train station.

He passes the ride reading about Logan Jones' criminal career.

The bar's as god-awful and dark (before sunset!) as Jamie remembers.

Except, maybe, the floor's stickier.

But—

Jamie slides onto a stool next to a familiar face.

The face double-takes him, growls, "Get lost, Walker. I've got nothing for that scandal rag 'a yours."

Jamie grins, pulls out his credentials. "I've moved up in the world since the last time we chatted, Socket. Working for an honest journalistic outlet now."

Socket skips an eye over Jamie's papers, grunts. "So?"

"I want to ask you about a few names from the fight scene back in the day."

"Do I have to answer?"

"'course not."

"Sure."

"'Bubbles'?"

"Blonde chick. Queen of the armbar. Could take anyone within five kilos of her weight. Ran with a pink-haired Asian and a guy. Called him 'Buttercup' of all things." Snorts.

"Seen her lately?"

"Disappeared after she got busted a couple years back. Little princess probably couldn't hack the night in lock-up."

"Any idea what her real name was?"

Socket scoffs. "We go by nicknames." Scowls into his drink. "So nosy types like ye can't find us."

"It's obviously not a foolproof system," Jamie points out.

"Get stuffed, Walker."

Jamie snickers. "What can you tell me about the pink hair?"

"Didn't see her around much, but, pink hair. Hard to miss. Struck fast as a snake."

"She still around?"

"Nope."

"And Buttercup?"

"Best I ever saw. One of Irish's tykes."

"Know where I can find Irish?"

Socket sighs heavily, looks around the bar. "Oi!" Motions someone over.

A scrawny teenager slinks up.

"He's looking for your old Irish guy."

The scrawny teenager glowers at Jamie. "What d'you want with Irish?"

"Looking for an acquaintance of theirs, one 'Buttercup'."

Teenager's eyes get a little bigger. "What's this got to do with him?"

"Some nasty folks may be after him."

Socket says, "Think 'some nasty folks've already nabbed him." Takes a pull of his beer. "Haven't seen Buttercup for months and he's never been one to miss many parties."

"Well, this 'Irish' might have the clue I need to find him." Turns to Scrawny. "So, will you tell me where he is?"

"I don't know the address, but I can find his place."

"I'll pay your train fare and buy you dinner if you take me," tempts Jamie.

"Fine," Scrawny sighs.

Scrawny skulks to the station, puts them on a westbound train after Jamie pays their fares.

Jamie watches Scrawny with his peripheral.

Scrawny watches /**everything**.

"You have a name?" ventures Jamie.

"Not for you."

"Gotcha." Smiles. "Irish have a name?"

"Fitzroy," grumbles Scrawny. "'s the next stop."

Jamie hums.

They dismount and Scrawny leads him down a quiet street to the front door of a nice-ish house.

Jamie steps up, rings the bell.

Scrawny scuffs into the background.

Door swings open on a red-haired, middle-aged powerhouse of a person.

Person sizes Jamie up, marks him 'no physical threat'.

Jamie does his best to reinforce the perception. "Mr Fitzroy?"

"Yea. You are?"

"Jamie Walker." Presents his credentials.

Fitzroy gives them a thorough look-see, hands them back.

"I'm trying to find information on a man nicknamed 'Buttercup'."

"Why d'you ask? You looking for him or something?"

"I'm looking for his brother, actually," says Jamie. "Two babies want their dad back."

Fitzroy sighs. "You best come in, Mx Walker." Looks over Jamie's shoulder. "You, too, Sprite. Beth's got some leftovers that need eating."

Sprite sniffs, squeezes past Jamie and Fitzroy, and disappears into the depths of house.

Fitzroy beckons Jamie in, points him to a cushy chair in what must be the family room.

Jamie sits, takes out his notepad.

Fitzroy sags onto the couch opposite. "Buttercup, ay?"

Jamie nods.

"His brother's missing."

"Mmhmm."

"He's got two kids now?"

"An anklebiter and a babe-in-arms."

"Christ." Scrubs a hand down his face, takes a deep breath. "Know what happened?"

"Someone kicked in his front door, carried him off, left the kids sleeping alone upstairs." Shrugs. "At least, that's the story his wife told the police."

"When?" Fitzroy croaks.

"End of June."

"That's about the same time we lost Lo—Buttercup."

"Buttercup and Logan Jones are the same person?"

Fitzroy grunts an affirmative.

Jamie makes a note.

Fitzroy studies a spot over Jamie's right shoulder.

"Guy who pointed me your way said Jones was one of your 'tykes'."

"Yea, guess he was." Ducks his head. "I'm a bit of a soft touch when it comes to kids."

"How many 'Sprite's over the years?"

"A few dozen? We've got a couch in the garage and leftovers, so."

"That how you met Jones?"

"Sorta?" Chuckles. "Was actually at the fights. Some knucklehead thought it'd be funny to set the oldest and youngest guys against each other. He was sixteen and nothing but bones." Shakes his head. "Still nearly took my block off."

"What was a minor doing on the scene?"

"No clue how he found his way in, but he was a natural. Best I—any of us—have ever seen. Alone or paired off."

"Why's he stand out?"

"Fights smart. Doesn't hit all that hard, but hits /**well**. Efficient. Takes more punishment than anyone has a right to and keeps fighting. And he /**never** gets tired."

"You said 'paired off'?"

"Organizers asked him to fight as a team with two rookies—Blossom and Bubbles. Sorta took them under his wing." Chuckles. "More like they latched onto him and wouldn't let go."

"Where are they now?"

"Moved on," grunts Fitzroy.

Jamie makes a note. "When's the last time you saw Jones?"

Fitzroy bristles. "You think Logan has something to do with his brother disappearing?"

"I think their disappearances are related."

"Listen. Logan's no angel, but he doesn't run with or cross /**anyone** who would hurt a family. He's too smart for that."

Jamie nods. "His record's full of pretty petty stuff."

Fitzroy grunts.

Jamie doodles.

"Last saw him at the beginning of June. Stopped by after the fights. Stayed a few minutes, said 'goodnight', headed out."

"What happened next?"

"He got busted at a raid middle of June and no one's seen him since."

Jamie frowns, fishes out his mobile. "Middle of June? You're sure?"

"Yea. Nineteenth or twentieth. About half the crew were hauled down to the station with him."

"There's no entry for that in his record."

"Maybe you've got an old copy?"

"Pulled from the police archives two days ago by their own librarian."

Fitzroy shifts, mumbles, "It's Bubbles all over again."

"Quinn Macrossan?"

Fitzroy grunts. "Same deal as this, but two years ago. Club got raided, Bubbles got arrested, no charge in the record." Deep breath. "Weird thing is, she turned up six months later as a Jaeger pilot—" Fitzroy goes still.

Jamie says cautiously, "What would you say if I told you Jones's the newest Ranger?"

"Until a minute ago, I'd say you're lying. Now ...."

Jamie offers his mobile, blow up of the launch photo displayed.

A bunch of emotions flicker across Fitzroy's face.

"That him?" asks Jamie.

Fitzroy sits back heavily. "Well, I'll be damned," he says softly.

Jamie quietly makes a note.

Fitzroy scrubs his face.

Jamie doodles.

Fitzroy shifts in that way people do when they have a revelation.

After a moment, Jamie asks, "What is it?"

"My niece, Ames—Amelia." Deep breath. "Smart kid, good head on her shoulders, only one of the kids could hold her own against Logan—he babysat her a few times, actually—not that he has anything to do with this." Doesn't continue.

Jamie looks up.

Fitzroy needs him to understand that.

Jamie nods.

"She enlisted with the Corps a few years back. Seemed to think she was god's gift, put her on track to be a Ranger. Halfway through the semester, we get word she had a breakdown."

"I hear it's a pretty hard cut."

Fitzroy shakes his head. "She wasn't like that."

"Some people aren't."

Fitzroy nods absently.

Jamie doodles.

"That's what we thought, anyway, that the programme was too tough for even her and she just ... snapped."

Jamie nods.

"Thing is, though, a few days later we get recruiters by asking for Claire—she's my daughter. Kid tells 'em to sod off, they leave, and a few months later they ship Ames home."

Jamie waits.

"They shipped her home in a casket." Voice's thick. "She killed herself."

Jamie waits.

"Autopsy said she overdosed on something. Don't really remember and I still can't bring myself to finish the report."

"May I see it?"

"Yea." Fitzroy pushes to his feet. "I'll make you a copy." He retreats down the hallway.

Jamie scribbles a summary, a few questions for follow-up back at the office.

"Here."

Jamie stands.

Fitzroy hands him a CD and a folder. "Tossed in the emails she wrote to Claire, the Academy report they sent, the official letters, stuff like that."

"Thank you very much," Jamie says softly.

"Yea." Fitzroy sighs. "Gimme a call if you need anything."

"I will." Jamie squeezes his arm. "This is amazing, thank you."

Fitzroy nods. "Stay safe, will you?"

"Do my best."

"If you're ever worried your best isn't enough while you're working on this, call me." A deep breath. "Or if you find anything about Ames, ay?"

"Of course. Thank you."