Pineapples in Paris

From: Jonathan Pendleton (jpendleton@pendletoninvestigations.com)
To: dford123@gmail.com
Subject: Active Investigation

The following is a rough summation of the information I've managed to dig up regarding Azra Devič, with special attention on activities that might pique your interest. I must stress that I am not certain that Ms. Devič is the person you're looking for, however I do believe that she is the best bet. Information will be provided in a linear order, to the best of my current knowledge. Please note that I have censored some names, at the request of those involved. Their identities are not relevant to the investigation. Please do not ask for their names. Please do not attempt to contact them. I know why this is so important to you, and you have my deepest condolences for your loss (though I do have to question why you chose to involve me in this and not law enforcement), but it's my professional reputation on the line. Not yours.

IOWA:

Public records indicate that Ms. Devič was not born in the United States. The prevailing theory is that the Devič family (consisting of her, her father █████, her elder brother █████, and her uncle █████), entered the country as refugees escaping the Bosnian War. There is no evidence that her mother ever left the country; more likely than not she was killed before the family could leave.

An interesting conversation I had with one of Ms. Devič's grade school teachers revealed that she had a habit of drawing macabre images. After a session with the school's counselor, however, she appeared to be 'cured' of whatever was ailing her. No other items worth from educators, though, she seemed to have kept her head down after that incident. One report of her winding up in a physical altercation in high school surfaced, though only through secondhand sources. I could not find someone to corroborate that story.

Outside of the Oskaloosa city limits (yes, Oskaloosa - not Eddyville like you told me) around that time period there are a collection of intriguing incidents that may have ties to Ms. Devič. No major scams, just small short-change cons at small town grocery stores and gas stations. One such incident was relayed to me by the now owner and proprietor of Smith's Grocery Store in Delta. When he was still just a cashier, a teenage girl had taken him for a couple hundred dollars. As he put it, he'd realized what had happened just after she left, but was afraid to contact authorities because the pair had been flirting (he was 23 at the time, and by his own admission she looked to be no older than 14).

After graduating high school, Ms. Devič enrolled at the Des Moines Area Community College's Boone Campus, in the Civil Engineering Technology program. This did not last long, however; she dropped out halfway through the first semester. This is, interestingly enough, where the trail runs dead for Azra Devič - at least for the time being.

This is where Erin Fausse enters the picture, though it is not the first time she's mentioned.

I apologize: I know I said that I'd keep this in linear order to the best of my ability, but I had to wait until Erin Fausse to become relevant, otherwise this piece of information would make little to no sense.

Ms. Devič's father was killed when she was 17. Shot to death in an alleyway behind his place of employment: an Oscar-Meyer factory in what was thought to be a mugging gone bad. The murder weapon was left at the scene of the crime: a Smith and Wesson 500 that belonged to Ms. Devič's father. The victim. Those with knowledge of the elder Devič's less-than-sterling reputation quickly worked out the most prevalent theory regarding what happened that night: Mr. Devič lured or coerced the killer into the alleyway to keep them away from potential eyewitnesses (why he'd do this in the middle of the night, in January, is a little odd but he was reported to be more than a little paranoid), the killer reached for the gun once in the alley, and during the struggle the gun went off. The killer, terrified, ran; leaving the gun and its owner behind.

A prostitute named Erin (no last name given) supposedly discovered the body. This is entirely hearsay - the local PD have no records of anyone named Erin contacting them in regards to the case - however, this could've been the inspiration for the name change going forward. Alternatively, I was able to dig up another instance of the name Erin being relevant to the Devič family: apparently it's the name of a close friend/potential lover of Ms. Devič's brother, who disappeared from her home in █████. Police suspected the brother for a short while, but nothing came of that and he was never charged. Knowing what you tell me is true about Ms. Devič from your experience with her, it does seem possible she chose the name Erin as a reference to one of these two events.

ILLINOIS:

Erin Fausse suddenly appeared in southern Illinois about two months after Azra Devič dropped out of college. There are no records of how she got to the city of Belleville, or why she chose there of all places to pop back up for air again. In effect, it was as if she just appeared out of thin air.

An old acquaintance and former roommate of Fausse's at the time of her stay in Belleville recounted her odd behavior. Fausse had a habit of coming and going at all hours of the night and seemed to not sleep. The roommate (hereinafter Jill) was certain that Fausse had no steady employment - sure enough, there are no records of employment to contradict her - though Fausse always had enough to money pay her share of the rent. Jill also noted Fausse's peculiar dietary habits. Though at the time she chalked it up to being ignorant of other cultures*, she found her roommate's fondness for raw cranberry juice and habit of spreading a spicy red relish on just about everything she ate more than a little offputting. Fausse also exhibited several signs of mental instability during this period, though Jill would not disclose precisely what was wrong with her.

* This fact is important in and of itself, as it implies something of a transitionary period wherein Fausse retained most elements of her ethnic background. Indeed, Jill even stated that Fausse introduced herself as "Erin Devič" (before quickly correcting herself) and spoke with a slight accent that she couldn't place. Later iterations of the Erin Fausse alter-ego stifle these identifiers; most notably in regards to her accent, which developed into a General American accent reflective of her upbringing in Iowa.

Jill learned quickly how Fausse made a living; an altercation that erupted after Fausse attempted to sneak into their apartment at two in the morning following a week-long absence led to Jill demanding her to explain just how a deadbeat like her could afford $650 a month. Fausse explained that she concocted a scheme to commit burglaries (according to Jill, Fausse said "it's amazing how quickly people let you into their home if you tell them you're studying architecture"). Fausse was, however, tight-lipped on the specifics of the operation. Jill contemplated going to police but ultimately chose not to, citing that her luck with finding roommates led her to a thief already; testing that luck could've resulted in worse.

The apartment's manager alleged that the two were in a committed relationship at the time, which Jill denied. She deflected a follow-up question regarding whether the two ever gave others reason to believe that was true, however.

Both Jill and Fausse moved on when the lease ran out (interestingly enough, Jill's name was the only one on the lease in the first place - this is not an anomaly). Reportedly, Fausse hung around Belleville for up to six weeks after, though that has neither been confirmed or denied. Once again, Erin Fausse was in the wind. I have a few theories regarding alternate names she might have been using in the interim, though none whose connection to Ms. Devič I am as sure of.

MISSOURI:

I apologize, this is where things start to get muddy.


The inherent problem with self-mythologizing is that nigh-everyone who partakes in it falls into one of two categories: either they lack confidence in themselves so much that they feel compelled to latch onto something bigger like a parasite, or they're so overconfident that they feel they embody the spirit of whatever greater force they're pledging allegiance to. Of course, that leads to the question of which category is more aggravating to witness. At first glance, I'd almost be swayed to say it's the latter, considering their arrogance is never-quite-so well-placed. Though, the more I think about it, the more and more frustrated I get with the former group. See, they're obviously at least a little self-aware, but instead of attempting to do something constructive with that metacognition, they seek to cover it up.

Right, I'm rambling again. I'm sure that without context, it sounds like I'm spouting a bunch of gibberish. I haven't even gotten around to addressing who this is meant for, have I? Sorry about that Ray, sometimes I just get in a rhythm and everything I say needs to be said right this instant. What a terrible first impression I must've made. Though, I assume you realize that you must have realized that little outburst was about you by now, right? Of course it is; I don't like to introduce superfluous elements into these little fireside chats, as it were. Now I'm sure the cogs in your head are racing, fast as they can, to decipher what I had said and connect it to yourself. Don't worry, you don't have to think that hard. Let me explain.

I'll try to make as few references to the life you left behind as possible; heaven knows hearing about how you're a gangbanger and a thug must be so passé at this point. It's an easy target; it's low-hanging fruit but it misses the bigger picture. I don't even know if you've caught this yet, Ray, but you have a habit. No, no, not like that. You do this thing where you're almost unable to look at a wrestling match as just that. There has to be some bigger conflict you're serving. Your one-sided affair with Petrov was America v. Russia; your tango with Alex Richards was Alcohol v. Drugs. So on, so forth. You see the pattern here, don't you?

You're projecting. Creating these scenarios where it isn't just you against another wrestler: it's one ideology versus another. It's bigger, it's grander, isn't it? It isn't. It's desperation. It's a vain search for validation. It's a warm safe place where you're not Ray Burnett the wrestler: you're Ray Burnett the idea. Or maybe I'm overthinking it, I do tend to do that a bit. Maybe you're simply projecting the us against them mentality instilled in you during a past life (hey, I said I wasn't going to focus on it, but I sure as hell can't ignore the elephant in the room). Maybe everything is a duality because that's what you've been taught. That's why everything: from your countries of origin, to genders, to vices, are in constant, perpetual warfare. War is all you know and all you've ever known, perhaps?

I have to admit, though the latter interpretation makes more sense, I hope it isn't the truth. It just seems so… basic. Of course that's why you are the way you are, why you behave the way you do. All roads lead out from the center as it were, and as much as you try to escape the past, it never quite leaves you.

I understand; I've been shoved into a box like that too. Poor little refugee girl, wound up what felt like a universe away from home. Hell, maybe you already knew that. Maybe that's the play for this match: USA v. Serbia (you all still think I'm Serbian, right?) v. USA again but don't mind Bolas. For now at least.

Let's strip away the layers for a second, Ray. Let's focus on what's happened and what will happen. You're slipping, aren't you? Started out strong, but then you tripped and you haven't quite regained your balance. I have to say, you're not going to get back on your feet this week, not even if your buddy DeMarcus comes in to try and save you. By the way, how does that relapse into the thug mentality you've been trying to escape taste? I know, I know, I said I wouldn't focus on this, but come on, man. Preach with conviction.

How does it feel, knowing your buddy has a warm-up match against the cut-loose anchor of the Brotherhood while you haven't been able to make good on any of the opportunities you've been afforded? Does that noose around your neck feel tight? Is it getting hard to breathe knowing you're the weak link on a team that includes DeMarcus Jordan: a man who people honestly forget exist when they're not in the same room as him?

Shhh, just close your eyes, Ray.

This nightmare will end soon, and maybe next week you can see about regaining whatever momentum you had before you washed that down the drain with your pipe dreams of going straight.

PS: Fausse is French and I'm going to hit you from behind. Is it a cheapshot if I warn you in advance?

Jill claimed that the last she heard, Fausse was in St. Louis under a different alias, playing guitar in a local folk-punk band named █████. Attempts at contacting the band's other members proved futile: two died in a car crash in █████ while the other is currently serving a five-year bid for assault. The only person who could provide any information regarding that stretch of time was a man by the name of Lenny (not his real name, of course): a former member who left the band due to differences between himself and a woman named Victoria Sinclair (who I believe to Fausse/Devič).

Lenny was immediately suspicious of Sinclair. "She was a decent enough musician - no virtuoso or nothin', but it's pretty damn hard to fuck up three chords. There was somethin' off about her, though. She just didn't act right."

He went on to explain that Sinclair claimed to be straight-edge (something that put her immediately at odds with both himself and the others, who were all heavy drinkers and occasionally dabbled with opioids - his words, not mine). He wasn't so sure she was being honest, however. "I guess lookin' back, she might've had some kind of anxiety disorder or something, but she always seemed one wrong word away from a meltdown, y'know? Didn't strike me as the behavior of someone as sober as she claimed to be, at the very least. I figured she was a cokehead, but everyone just kinda took her at her word."

Nevertheless, the rest of the group accepted her quickly, Lenny excluded. "It was weird. Like an overnight thing; one minute we're all a bit skeptical of this girl who talked like a fuckin' newscaster, the next she's palling around with everyone aside from me. Guess she saw I didn't like her and decided to return the favor. She seemed to have everyone's ears pretty quick, especially Mike (founding member Michael Shapiro, currently serving five years for assault). They can say it was differences between me and her all they want - that part's true. Victoria and I did have issues, but the rest of them took her side on shit. Of course I left. Shit, probably for the best. She ripped them off and vanished*, Mike's in jail, Jack and Mickey are in the ground. Dodged a bullet."

* Before she left the band (and presumably the city of St. Louis), she supposedly stole what little the band made, as well as her so-called friends' instruments. Bear in mind that Lenny only heard this secondhand, and has his own issues with Sinclair. I cannot confirm this with certainty, however this does sound in-line with what else we know about Sinclair, assuming she is the woman we're looking for.


Don't think I forgot about you, Bolas. I wouldn't dare. Though I do have to admit that anything I'll say to you will feel a tad tepid. You don't inspire the same level of curiosity that Ray Burnett does. Not even close. You're much more straight-forward, aren't you? Something of a blunt instrument. Dissection would be pointless - any attempts at carving through that thick skull of yours would just result in cranial trauma and learning nothing that we didn't already know. No, I can look into your eyes (figure of speech, mask and all - though we are the same height so I won't even need to tilt my head to look at where your eyes should be), and see you exactly for what you are. You lay all your cards on the table. Nothing to hide. You're a jokester. A comedian. The one the fans laugh with, not at (as far as you know, anyway). And you're a hero, or at least you want to be.

I'll admit, I feel the same way about you that I do Mikey Carson: you're both truly heroic. Much more so than those sanctimonious self-proclaimed heroes in name only The Guardians. It should be you and Mikey that the fans cheer for. That the audience stands so firmly behind. It should be you defending their honor. Not them. But that isn't the case, is it? It is them, and you're scattered to the wind because you aren't them. The fans look at you and they see a novelty. A curiosity. Here one moment, and gone the next. And then nothing. Silence. Blackness. They have no faith in you, and you haven't exactly done a whole lot to give them a reason to have faith.

You're good for a laugh, but that's about it.

I'll give you the same spiel I gave Mikey, though Mikey really should've heeded my advice regarding his partners. Though, to be fair even I couldn't predict that Andre Holmes would be so direct in his handling of a perceived slight. Guess I should've known better, huh - after all, he was the guy who threatened to end my wrestling career because I said mean things about him on the internet. Regardless.

I don't want to do what I will do to you, Bolas. There's no dull sensation in the back of my head that compels me to maim you, or batter you, or twist your fucking arm behind your back until your shoulder pops out of place. Don't get me wrong, I'll do all of those things and more if I have to, but I have no burning desire to put you through any undue pain. This is me calling my shot: 7-ball, corner pocket. My boot, Bolas de Arana's testicles. Of course, this blasé attitude may very well anger you more than if I said I wanted to hurt you. After all, that would imply that on some level, you managed to penetrate my thoughts long enough for me to exert energy thinking about what I want to do to you, rather than what I feel I must do to you.

I'm sorry, that's just not the case. I am not a sadist, Bolas. I don't get off on the things I do, I promise. For what it's worth, I have more respect for you than I do for any member of the Guardians. Fuck them: you're a real hero. You ought to offer classes, they could learn a lot of things from you.

Unfortunately, I can't let you win. Nothing personal.

No hard feelings? Yeah, you're reasonable man. No hard feelings.

The rest is a complete mess that I haven't been able to sort through, yet. A bunch of conflicting, half-remembered reports from across the midwest (and, if a couple of leads pan out, the whole country) that I can't for the life of me place in any kind of order that makes sense. I said Missouri was where it got muddy, but now I'm lost in the bog and don't know which way is up. I'll keep at it, trying to make sense and fact-check along the way, but I'll need more money. I have other, simpler investigations that I could be working on, and the sheer amount of travel I'll have to do to confirm just a few of these leads will leave me losing money on this investigation.

I understand why you're so desperate to find this woman (at least, I think I am), but I can't keep at this forever. Not at our current rate, at least.

Regards,
Jonathan Pendleton

PS: Just had an interesting run-in with a woman at this St. Louis Starbucks I'm leeching Wi-Fi from. Said she was reading over my shoulder and knew of Victoria Sinclair. Didn't realize St. Louis had a large Bosnian community - could be why Devič chose it in the first place if she is in fact Sinclair. Thought the woman might've been Devič/Sinclair at first, though I doubt she'd try and inject herself in this investigation. She seems the type to avoid that shit. Will try to get a statement from her before I head back to Des Moines.

From: dford123@gmail.com
To: Jonathan Pendleton (jpendleton@pendletoninvestigations.com)
Subject: RE: Active Investigation

When's a good time and what's a good place to meet face-to-face? We need to discuss how much more you'll need. I'll pay whatever.

PS: That thing with the woman seems a little too convenient though, doesn't it? Guess I'll find out when we meet.