From the Cases of Dick Johnson - Football PI

I was bored, and since signing day is over, and there's not much news (at least not football related), I started this. Let me know in the comments if anyone wants the serial to continue.

It was late morning when I heard her walking up the stairs to my door. I could tell by the sound of her heels that she was a problem I didn't want to have, but it'd been a month since my last job and the half-empty bottle of bourbon in my desk wasnt going to re-fill itself. She stopped outside my door, and I watched her silhouette take a breath before pushing inside.

As soon as I saw her face, I knew this dame was trouble. She was the type of woman who'd bleed a man for every buck she could and drop him as soon as she found another; the kind that would break your arm as quick as she'd break your heart. She carried herself like she had money, but I knew shed hang out with a convicted Ponzi-schemer if thats what it took to get a buck.

I watched her under the brim of my hat as she coolly looked around the room and took a long drag on her cigarette, making a show of blowing the smoke into the air. The slow turning fan on the ceiling whipped the smoke into shapes like ghosts clawing at the air.
"You can stand there all day if you want, but you should know I charge by the hour," I said finally. She eyed me coldly, and after another drag spoke.
"I need somebody to look into something for me. I was told you were the man to talk to."
"Yeah, maybe, but I don't make it a habit of working for dames whose names I don't even know." She stuck out her hand.
"Name's Donna." I eyed her hand wearily and all noir-like. She pulled it back. "Somethings happening to quarterbacks around the league. Somebodies doing something to them, and I need to know what."
"I'm not a doctor, lady. How am I supposed to-"
"I'll give you five-hundred now. Another five when you tell me whats happening to them. Plus expenses." I paused. It was more than Id made in a long time. I might finally be able to move out of my Mom's place. But why was she so desperate? I could tell this was going to be a tough case, but then, you don't hire a PI for the easy ones.
"Somebody do something to your quarterback? What's your angle, lady?"
"Not ours, no." She glanced at the shaded window nervously. "But there's something out there taking them out, and Im worried somethings gonna happen to ours."
I looked at her as she stood there. She was serious, and something had her spooked. "You got any names?"
"Gunner Kiel. He plays for Cincinnati. Or well-" She paused and glanced at the window again. Who was she afraid of? "He did."
"How do you know somebody did something to him? Whats wrong with him?" She shifted uneasily.
"He's all messed up. Something he saw, and I need you to tell me what it was."
"You tried asking him?" She glared at me and took another long drag.
"Look, you want the job, or what?" The question hung in the air like the smoke circling the fan. Did I want this job? The dame clearly knew more than she was letting on, but when a woman with money asks you dont say no.
"Where can I find Gunner?"
"He's checked into the Arkham Neurological Institute." She turned and started to leave.
"The madhouse? Christ lady, what the hell happened to him?"
"Thats what Im paying you to find out."

I knew Donna wasnt going to tell me anything more than she had to about the case - the dame was a case herself. But a PI doesnt get to choose his clients, so I set out for Arkham Sanitarium. Kiel was the only lead I had.
Arkham Sanitarium was a massive collection of brick buildings just on the outskirts of town. It was the kind of place people would send problems they didnt want to deal with anymore. I'd had a couple of problems like that myself, but they didnt admit empty wallets or flasks. The gal at the front desk was a nose-deep in a book. She sold me Kiel's room number and the name of the doc without even looking up from the page.

They had Gunner strapped down to a gurney when I got there. Either they were rehearsing for the world's worst stage performance of the Exorcist, or Kiel took at least three orderlies to hold down. Doc said Gunner was being treated for Acute Post-Traumatic Hysteria, but I knew fear when I saw it. Something had scared Gunner bad.

The only thing I could get out of him was the name "Clarke," and some screams that would impress the gals on the silver screen. I stayed long enough to see he wouldn't be coming around any time soon, before I excused myself.
When I left the asylum, the rain was coming down like bullets - heavy, cold slugs that stung when they hit you. I stepped out into the street and the questions poured down on me even harder. Who was Clarke? What had he done to Kiel? Who had Donna scared? I had a hunch that by the end of this, Id regret asking.
I pulled up my collar and trudged back to my office. I needed a stiff drink and a lead on this Clarke character. I knew where to find one of those.