Ivan Dwoak - a Detective Story
"Mr. Dwoak?"

"Yes, Bonny?" Mr. Dwoak spoke back into the small device on his desk.

"Mr. Fexiral, from J & H Enterprises, is here to see you." The intercom buzzed to a halt.

"Send him in, please." His index finger pulled from the call switch, and the room once more became extremely quiet. The highly decorated and heavy oak doors began to swing. A man appeared from behind the wooden panel. He was dressed in a polished black leather jacket, spiked studs of some chrome material protruding from the chest, shoulders, and sleeves. His dark brown hair was actually not too long, the style pushing an executive appeal around after his punk look. The shredded knees on the faded blue jeans didn't help any. He wore some heavy clod stomping army boots, polished to a mirroring black, and sun glasses stopped anyone from viewing his eyes.

"Ya through lookin me over, dude?" The deep, raspy voice split the eternity of silence.

"Yes, Mr. Fexiral. Now tell me, what seems to be the trouble?"

"Alastorn, head honcho of Den Adleren gang, von Deutschland, wants the Biz. Seems to think He's got somethin' over ma head. Don't believe though. I want to know what it is, man."

"Slowly, please," Ivan asked, praying for clarification.

"Ain't much more to spit out, guy. 'Cept that I DO have lots of experience workin' with al kinds of doodads. I worked for a gang before becoming Pres of J & H. Learned to be m' own body guard. I could swear he was gonna pull somethin'."

"O.K. You, Mr. Fexiral, have had a few clashes with this German gang, correct?"

"Yeah, man. That's what I told you," Fexiral spat out in retort to what he thought was a purely stupid question.

"They also want this enterprise of yours?"


"And they are supposedly ready to do dastardly deeds to gain this buisness?" Ivan asked, beginning to see the whole picture.

"That's what I think. Say, what can you do?"

"It's teamwork that will get us what we need in this world, Mr. Fexiral."

"I know. Usually takes two to assasinate a freak," Fexy spoke his formerly used answer to problems.

"We're not murdering any jackass, Mr. Fexiral!"

"Call me Fexy. By the way, why not? Could solve all our probs, man."

"Can you use a weapon?" asked Ivan, a serious expression riding the creases of his face.

"'Course! Didn't call me Death for no reason. Ya gotta think! That's what I'm gonna be payin' ya for, bud!"

"Give me a few days to come up with the background..."

"Today, Jerk!"

"I need time and help," Ivan Dwoak finally said, ending a moment of conversational lull.

"Ya got the help! Just take the time!"

"Help? Don's gone off on vacation. His people are all on leave. Same with William and Scott."

"Me!" Fexy shouted out, his face red with frustration.

"Are you absolutely serious?"

"Do I look like a two year old veteran of LIFE?" his red face exploded into fierce expressions.

"Yes..." said Ivan, trying to find Fexy's anger threshold.

"Then go to..."

"Wait. How much do you know about high technological security systems? I've been having a few problems with..."

"Crashed 'em every time, Ivy. Banks, computers, you get the idea," Fexy bragged.

"Very well. Let's head to the conference room." He rose from his desk, and for the first time, Fexy got a good glance at him. He was very muscular, even for a short man. He looked to be about five feet in height, a head shorter than fexy. He wore a long sleeved dress shirt, emerald green in colour, bulging slightly near the end of the sleeves. No jacket was in sight, and his white levi's gave a slight impression nearing the experience of Fexy. They were pure white, except for a few dark spots, which could have been anything, such as grease, chemicals, or blood. He wore white leather boots, with a soft heal, and his hair was pulled back into a pony tail. He wore silver rimmed glasses, with a tinted lense, although they seemed to be prescription glasses. A single chain dangled around his neck. A silver sword hung from it, barely precievable above the undone collar of his shirt, and his sandy blonde hair bobbed when he strode, issuing a rythmic pace.

Fexy fell in behind the man, suddenly carrying an impression of awe for the gentleman. Ivy held a perfect walk, except for a minute pause in his gate when his left leg was at the extreme back position, probably because of some former injury. From the back, Fexy noticed a long scarr, proceding from the base of Ivy's right ear and disappearing into his collar. Ivy led the way through the hall. The walls were originally painted white, but some artist had decided to pull a few practice doodle pictures and sketches. The colour of the walls provided a strange overbearance of something niether of them could place a finger on. Ivy moved to a door. An armed guard stood at attention.

"Anything in or out?"

"No, Sir."

"No plants?"

"No, Sir."


"No, Sir. Absolutely nothing."

"Let us in, Paul." The guard pulled a heavy ring of keys from a chain around his neck. Pushing the key into the slot, Ivy pulled somesort of an identification card from his pocket, dropping it into a credit card sized slot. Pulling another key, while the guard pulled another card, the two items were inserted. A quick buzzing sounded, and they pushed the door open.

The room was heavily coated with a sense of talc powder, most likely used for some sort of demonstration. The look of an executive office were every where, the stained woods of oak in the table and the softly stained white wood of the side panelling leading the eye to a pure white leather chair at the end of the table. The table was about five feet by fifteen feet, and was lined with four black executive chairs on each side. A small personel computer sat on a cart near the white seat.

"No windows, man. Why? Scared of heights?" Fexy chuckled at his slight push of this man.

"Safer. No laser listening by rythmic vibratoric audio frequencial pattern reverberation. This room, by the way, is in the middle of the floor. You are not supposed to be in here, but welcome to my council room. Have a seat." Ivy lowered his backside down into the white chair, while he was pointing to an adjacent seat. Pulling the cart closer, a squeaky wheel pierced the silence.

"Where is the supposed information being kept?"

"I dunno, man. Maybe in some filing cabinet somewhere."

"Where can I locate this Mr. Alastorn?"

"Got a modem on the machine?"


"I'll find him." Ivy flipped the power switch and spun the cart to face Fexy. Fexy waited for the hardware to finish booting up, then proceded to punch keys as fast as he could. "Gandalf doesn't.." A slight pause. "King Arthur doesn't..." A hybrid of questions started shooting through Ivy's mind during the profusive period of quiet anxiousness. "Vader has absolutely no idea..." Another period of silence. "Got him. Connection Eagle knows..."

"Connection Eagle? You know who Connection Eagle is?"

"Yeah, I put him in buisness..."


"'Where is this line of questioning leading, your honour?'" Fexy's mock voice still tried humor to liven things up.

"Right into the middle of hell, Mr. Fexiral. Eagle was the most help to me on many of my cases. I would have been able to get nowhere without him. I'm the Eagle, Mr. Fexiral. You have just connected with my lab. Where is he?"

"Downtown New York. A block east of here."

"The Bronx?"

"Yep. This turkey sure doesn't know whom he's tangling with!"

"We don't either, Mr. Fexiral."

"Once again, Ivy Baby, call me Fexy. Not Sexy or Fixed, just Fexy will do. I know who we're dealing with, Ivanhoe. Ya gotta give me more of a chance. I mean, think! I've already peaved the brainless ego's enough. I think I otta know 'em."

"Not really, Fexy. People will almost always provide a front when dealing with enemys. It is not always the case, though. You just might know enough about them.

"In order," he continued, "to accomplish your deadline of today, we must do as much of the planning right now as we can.

"Open the drawer beneath your chair. In it you will find maps of Nei."


"Nei, spelled N E I and pronounced N I E is our little short expression for New York. I want the Nei quadrant six map. It should be of the area in question." Fexy pulled a few sheets out, selected one, and crammed the rest back into place. "Nicely, Fexy. By the way, in this little fiasco, I feel if you are to continue in your buisness world after this, you must don some new identity. Something extremely out of place. Give me a name."


"We'll call you Norman. Please you?"

"Hell no, Ivy."

"Do they know you hate the name?"

"'Course! Went and called me the name a few times. It's why they began to disappear." Fexy grinned an evil chuckle.

"Good. What's your most hated day of the year?"

"The seventh of April."

"Why?" Ivy asked, prying more and more information out of him.

"My best friend was murdered by a drive by shooting."

"Wonderful. Your code name, to protect you, will be Norm Seven. Call me anything you want. Ivy, Ivanhoe, Crazy Ivan, Crimson Skull, Fred Toneit, Don Joe, Hancock, Adler, Eagle, Eye, Master of the Crescent, Last of the Agevin Empire, 3662, E4E, Taun, Saxon..."

"Okay. It might vary with time, Czar."

"Do I really give a..."

"I believe you would want to know when you're being spoken to, Crazy Ivan."

"Fine with me. Where's the map?" Ivy asked, changing the subject.

"Here." Norm Seven slid the sheet of wood pulp across the surface of the table. Ivy spent a second orienting the map, then began tracing a few lines with his fingers.