The Ballad of Mr. Katan

Birds circle in clouds over the darkening Boreal valley as the sun hides behind the mountains. The small valley is illuminated by the raging bonfires of the joyous mining town of Fools Canyon, which gets its name from the large crack in the earth in the center of town, paved centuries ago by a raging river.  Grass pastures lie around the town, where herds of sheep graze. Many quickly built wooden houses stand around the canyon, with the only other buildings in town being a general store, blacksmith, doctors office, jail, various saloons, the stables, bakery, and a few odd carts that pull into town to set up mobile shops. A few fisheries are stationed at the bottom of the canyon, where a small but mighty river flows, the same one that carved this crack in the earth. This is a usually dismal and chaotic place, ruled by rich businessmen and expert gunmen. Tonight for the first time, this town gathers together in celebration of striking the first mother load of gold. The party is hosted by Mr. Van Daan, owner of Stillwind mine. His group was the one that hit the mother load, but this will benefit the whole town because of all the new people swarming in to mine for gold. A great cheer is let out from the town square as Mr. Van Daan stands atop a small balcony to give a speech. 

“I would like to propose a toast,” he exclaims, holding a glass of whiskey in his hand, “to all the people of this land. Each and every one of you has done your part in lifting this small boom town to the top! From the miners, to the merchants, to the builders and police force, you’ve all done more for Fools Canyon than I ever could by finding this mother load.”

Another cheer rings out from the crowd as men begin downing their glasses. A group of vultures flies overhead as Mr. Van Daan continues. 

“Thank you, thank you. In a matter of a few short weeks, we will have this vein of gold extracted, and thousands of people will pour into this town, making us known worldwide as the gold capital of America. We will go down in history as leg-” 

A gunshot cuts his speech short as a bullet strikes deep into Mr. Van Daan's chest. He stumbles, clutching his bloodstained suit, and falls off the boulder. At first there was silence, then chaos. The crowd erupts into screams. People run down the streets and Sheriff Bulregard and his deputies try to calm the masses. Meanwhile around the same time in the town, awoken by the sound of an uproar, a middle-aged Japanese man rises slowly out of his dusty bed in a small inn on the west side of town. Confused as to why his sleep has been interrupted, he puts on a white buttoned up shirt and long tan pants. The man puts on a heavy brown detective's coat, with a gold badge. The text on the badge says “Justice, Liberty, Peace”, with a picture of two crossed blades in the background. He grabs a heavy black suitcase as a voice calls from outside the thin wooden door. 

“Mr. Katan, “ an older woman yells, opening the door, “are you alright up there?”

“Yes Mrs. Taylor, I’m fine.” Mr. Katan replies. 

“Just checking, I heard an awful noise just now from the town square. What happened?” 

“That’s what I aim to find out.”

Mr. Katan leaves his room and heads down a flight of stairs into the smoky bar floor of the Inn. A few patrons lay passed out at the booth. He leaves the bar and begins making his way to the town square, navigating through the frenzied crowds. A lot of the stores on the way to the town square are closed for the night, and as Mr. Katan approaches the town square, only a few people remain. Sheriff Bulregard and a few of his deputies are examining Mr. Van Daan’s body, as Doc Allen, the town's doctor, begins scribbling notes onto a crumpled piece of paper. Mr. Katan walks to the group and begins talking to the doctor. 

“How long has he been dead?” Mr. Katan asks.

“Oh not too long,” Doc Allen replies, “he was shot a few minutes ago. A shame too, he just found his first mother load.”

“Do you have the time of death?” he asks

Just then Sheriff Bulregard joins the conversation, while his deputies cart the body away. 

“Sorry sir, this is a crime scene now. Please head back to your home and we’ll have this all sorted out as soon as we can.”

Mr. Katan shows the Sheriff his gold badge, glinting off the still burning bonfire. 

“My name’s Mr. Katan, I’m a detective, and I have stopped in this town to rest for a minute. It seems I’ve arrived at the perfect time.”

“I suppose you have,” Bulregard says, “feel free to investigate all you want. Come get me or any of my deputies if you need any help. You carry iron Mr. Katan?” 

“I prefer steel.” He says

After a few moments of silence Mr. Katan chuckles and says “I joke, I don’t carry guns.”

“Hmm, “ Bulregard remarks, “well be careful. We got some dangerous gunmen in this town.”

“I understand. I would like to question some of the witnesses in the morning, to cast some light on this mystery.”

“I can do that,” Bulregard replies, “meet me at the jail around 7:30 and we’ll get to work.”

The men exchange nods and begin to walk off to their respective dwellings. 

“Mr. Katan, “ Doc Allen calls, “I have the time of death you requested. Friday, 11:37 PM.”

“Thank you, and take care.” he replies and begins walking off back to the Inn. 

A rooster in the distance signals the coming morning, as the sun's rays dance on light mist clouds along the valley. Mr. Katan awakes from his bed again in his small, cozy room. Putting on his full detective uniform, and grabbing his large black briefcase, he heads down into the bar. After grabbing a quick breakfast, Mr. Katan leaves and heads for the Jail. Not many people are on the streets today, and the ones that are walk quickly with their heads down. As he approaches the jail, Mr. Katan can make out the form of Bulregard and a few of his deputies through the mist, standing by the door to an old, but well built jail made of concrete and metal. 

The pair, along with the deputies, go door to door, questioning people who were at the party on what they saw. No one really offers much help, as they were either too drunk or too far away to see anything. The group begins to head off to question people who weren't at the party, when a younger woman with long blonde hair calls out to them. 

“Detective!” the lady shouts, “I think I might have seen who did it.”

Mr. Katan and Sheriff Bulregard both turn, a little surprised, but allow her to continue. 

“Well, I didn’t see who precisely, but I saw where they were.”

“Could you show us Mrs. Green?” Beauregard says.

“Yes, follow me.” 

Mrs. Green leads the group back to the town square, where she sits on one of the wooden chairs near an outdoor bar. 

“I was sitting right here, looking at a flock of vultures overhead, when I saw it. I saw a gunshot come from that building there, in the upper window.”

The building she points to is a mineral storehouse for Silverblood mine, rivals to Mr. Van Daan’s mine and owned by Mr. Smith. It’s on the edge of the party area, and the big window at the top would be a perfect vantage point for a gunman to stand. 

“Well, thank you Mrs. Green,” Bulregard says, “me and my friend here will discuss this further, you’re free to go.”

As she hurries along through the misty street, Bulregard begins talking to Mr. Katan and his deputies. 

“I think I might know who’s committed this crime.”

“Who do you think?” Mr. Katan asks

“Well, the Silverblood storehouse is very well guarded, with a metal padlocked door and guards. It would take either a master sneak to break in, or someone who would be allowed in. Someone like Mr. Smith.”

“That’s a hefty accusation,” Mr. Katan replies, “the possibility still remains he didn’t shoot Mr. Van Daan. Also, maybe one of the guards did it and not him. We can’t know for sure yet.”

“Mr. Smith has a history of this,” one of the deputies remarks, “we caught one of his men trying to break in to Mr. Van Daan’s house in search of his notes on his mine, and other incidents like Mr. Van Daan’s mine collapsing from an “accident” in transporting dynamite for Mr. Smiths mine.”

“I see a lot of theories, but no proof.” Mr. Katan says.

“I suppose you’re right, let’s go talk to Mr. Smith and confirm his location, it’s afternoon so I bet he’s in his house.”

The group trek across town to the Smith Estates. The building is very grand and a lush garden of trees and flowers sit out front. A few servants tend the plants, as the last bit of mist settles on the soft grass. Two armed guards stand in front of the house, each wearing vest and wearing a revolver on their hips. Bulregard shows them his badge and explains the situation, and the guards escort them inside. The house is just as impressive from the inside. A large entrance room greets them, lined with painting and bookshelves. Big stained glass windows hang overhead, casting colored light on the wood floor. After passing through a few more rooms, the guards led them to a small study, where Mr. Smith sits pouring over some books. He speaks as they walk in, but keeps on reading.

“Ah, Bulregard and company. How’s the murder investigation going?” 

“Hello Mr. Smith,” Bulregard says, “me and my friend just wanted to ask you a few questions about last night.”

“Ask away.” Mr. Smith says, still buried in his books.

“Where were you last night, around 11:30 PM?” Mr. Katan asks.

“Well, I was actually going to report this later this afternoon but got distracted.” Mr. Smith puts his books down and pulls a letter out from under his desk.

“Last night I went to my storehouse because I had gotten a call from one of my men that a body was found hidden away in a barrel near the back of the building. Like I said, I was going to report it but something was strange. The body was stripped of it’s uniform, all except the man's underwear. This led me to believe that there was an impostor in my guard force. I was so busy checking my men I forgot to report it, but luckily you gentlemen showed up here. We haven't found him yet but with your help this could be over shortly.” 

Bulregard pause for a moment, thinking it over. 

“So you were at your storehouse at 11:30 PM, is that correct.”

“Yes, but I went home shortly after seeing the body.”

Bulregard scowls, “Mr. Smith, you do know we have an eye witness that saw the gunshot come from your storehouse window, and Mr. Van Daan died around 11:37 PM. This means you were at the store house in perfect time for the murder, and have a clear motive to do so.”

“What are you saying?” Mr. Smith exclaims. 

“Mr. Smith, you’re hereby under arrest for the murder of Mr. Van Daan.”

The deputies begin to cuff Mr. Smith and led him back towards the jail. 

“Bulregard, we still don’t have enough evidence to convict him. If we could just postpone the trial, we can search the warehouse and see what really happened.”

“And let him flee town. Yeah, not on my watch. We have a motive, a means, and he was there at the time of the murder, what more evidence do you need. Mr. Smith will be tried and hung tonight.”

The group leaves the estate, with Mr. Katan grudgingly following. A sinking feeling overtakes him. This isn’t enough, he needs to search that warehouse. Maybe something there will provide concrete evidence. 

The sun begins to slip behind the mountains as Mr. Katan approaches the Smith family warehouse. A guard stands by the door, but moves away as Mr. Katan flashes his badge. Inside it’s dusty and cold. Boxes and boxes of mineral samples and mining supplies line the walls. A few guards patrol inside, but most have gone to see the trial. Mr. Katan checks his watch. It’s 8:12 PM. In a few hours, Mr. Smith will be dead. Maybe, Mr. Katan hopes, he can find something here to definitively say that Mr. Smith is guilty or innocent. Assuming he’s guilty without hard evidence isn’t what Mr. Katan signed up for. After searching the main room for a few minutes, Mr. Katan makes his way to a small back door. The door opens up to revel a small cleaning closet. Shining his light over the small room he sees a few mops, brooms, and various bleach mixes. He’s about to leave when a glint of metal catches his eye. Hidden under a few boxes, a metal ladder reflects in the dark, leading into a small hole. Why would a tunnel be in a cleaning closet, Mr. Katan thinks. He pushes aside the boxes and begins to descend. The tunnel is rough, and the walls crumble as his briefcase brushes up against them. It appears this was all built very quickly. He walks for about thirty minutes before reaching another ladder with a hatch at the top. Covered in dirt, Mr. Katan pushes it open and climbs inside. The stone room is illuminated by a few candles on the wall. Strangely enough, there’s no door in this room. Several tables lie in the room, each covered in various notes and paper. The papers seem to detail plans to build the tunnel. Mr. Katan picks up a small leather book from one of the tables. It reads “Property of Augustus Van Daan.” That’s Mr. Van Daan’s son, Mr. Katan remembers. As he reads, the book details Augustus plan to murder his father, in order to inherit all the money from the mother load. It talks about his men digging the tunnel to the storehouse and assassinating Mr. Van Daan. 

“You sure are persistent, Mr. Katan.” a voice calls from behind him. 

Mr. Katan turns to see a small door opened in the wall, so well blended in he never saw it. Four men walk from it and surround him, one wearing a pistol on his hip. 

“Yep,” the man with the gun says, “Augustus thought you might get this far. Too bad your friends were eager to blame Mr. Smith, or they’d be here with you know. It’s a shame, well enough staling, I got things to do. Any last words?” The gunman says as he reaches for his pistol.

“Do you know why they call me Mr. Katan?”

“Please don’t bore us with a story, old man.”

Mr. Katan chuckles, “It’s more of a demonstration”

With lightning fast reflexes, Mr. Katan clicks a button on his briefcase. A gleaming Katana shoots out, and with precision Mr. Katan grabs it from the air and expertly slices the gunman's hand clean off. His pistol falls to the ground as he recoils in pain. Mr. Katan slices the gunman's throat with ease, and turns to face the last three. One flips out a knife and rushes him. Mr. Katan knocks the knife away and swings his katana at the man's legs, knocking him to the ground, his head making an audible crack and the man goes limp. Another man from behind Mr. Katan tackles him to the floor and tries to pry the blade away. Mr. Katan elbows him in the stomach, then stands up and plunges the blade into his heart. The last man, the youngest of them, shakily grabs the fallen knife. Mr. Katan pauses for a moment, then hilts him in the face, knocking him out cold. The room becomes quiet. Mr. Katan stretches a little, then gathers the journals and a few papers from the room and descends down the hatch again. 

“Mr. Smith, you’ve been found guilty to the murder of Mr. Van Daan.”

The town has been gathered in the town square around a big oak tree for the trial, all angry and ready for him to die. 

“Wait!” Mr. Katan yells from the dark, “Mr. Smith isn’t the murderer. It’s Augustus Van Daan. I have all the evidence right here.”

The crowd erupts in confusion as Bulregard reads the book. 

“Wow, it’s all here. Everything, from this tunnel thing being built, to the breaking, to the murder. Where’s Augustus?”

A few deputies around the tree seized the young man as he was running away. Bulregard cuts down Mr. Smith, apologizing profusely for the accusation. 

“I think I’ve figured out who killed that guard at the Smith’s warehouse too. If you recall, Mrs. Green said she saw vultures flying away, then she heard a gunshot. My guess is the vultures were eating the body, which was killed right before the murder. I believe Augustus killed him to get the uniform and blend in.”

“That would make sense,” Bulregard says,” and now I feel foolish, accusing Mr. Smith without first investigating the warehouse.”

“At least we cleared his case up.” Mr. Katan says,” You know, I think I might just stay here. The town will continue to grow, and you’ll need a good detective.”

The town lets out a cheer, and another murder has been convicted by the legendary Mr. Katan.