L.A. Noire Preview

“Knock-knock.”

It took the girls a second to understand what was going on, but soon enough the older of the two figured it out. “Who’s there?”, she questioned.
“Not mommy ever again!” The kids stayed quiet, both of them confused. It seems they didn’t quite understand what I meant. As I sat there pondering how to break it to these simple little creatures, there was a knock on the door. I got up to open it, finding two well-dressed men in suits. One of them had been in the news recently, some young prodigy or whatever. The other one was a fat old man that wreaked of booze; I liked the cut of his jiff right off the bat.

“Hello? Yes?” I said, staying cool as ice if I may say so myself.

The young one responded, “Detectives Phelps and Galloway. Is your wife home sir?”

Shit... They already found me?! Damn, if those kids weren’t here I would just make a break for it. Sure, most people end up getting caught, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got what it takes to outrun them. Actually, no, that’s too suspicious. Crap, I can’t think on my feet. Quick, lie!

“My wife went out last night and she hasn’t come home.”

Nice! That shit is fucking bulletproof you magnificent bastard you!

The detective paused slightly, then asked “Can you describe your wife and what she was wearing?”

Oh, he’s good. This is gonna take everything I’ve got. “We were at a friends place, Bobby Ross’, for a party, she was kinda dolled up. She had a green silk dress, open-toed white shoes. Those are her favorite shoes.” I immediately realized I should not have included Bobby in my alibi after what I did to his dog.

“Can we come in Mr. Taraldson? I’m afraid we have some rather bad news.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I am so boned. No, no, harness these feelings! Don’t let them know they’ve riled your feathers. You can do this. You acted in that one play in high school, remember? Mom said you did great. Just act surprised.

The detectives walked in, and they saw my daughters sitting on the couch. Upon the sight of them the young one asked, “Do you have someone who can look after your children, Mr. Taraldsen?”

Sure, just lemme go get my wi- riiiight, can’t do that anymore. Umm, “I’ve been trying to arrange a sitter. Look, tell me what’s happened!” Now it looks like I give a shit about my kids and I’m concerned about my wife. Aces! Just keep up the drama my friend!

“I’m afraid your wife was murdered last night. Her body was found this morning. We’re very sorry for your loss.”

Crap, how would a person normally react to this. Fear? Sadness? How much sadness is too much? Uhh, I need to think. Turn around like you’re really sad, and sit on the couch with your face in your hands. That’ll buy you a minute.

Phelps wouldn’t give me the time I wanted, the time I needed to make this work. “I know this is a difficult time, Mr. Taraldsen, but we are going to need you to answer some questions. First we’re gonna take a look around.”

“WHAT FOR?! You don’t think that-”

I was interrupted by the fat one. “It’s procedure. You see to your girls.” He stated reassuringly. Well played, fat man, well played... Just relax. You have nothing to fear. I’m pretty sure I got rid of the rope. Wait, did I? Where? Crap, I’m pretty sure my clothes are still in the laundry room too. Keep your poker face on Taraldsen! Do what they say and take care of the girls.

I stood up and the girls followed suit. I led them both into the kitchen and sat them down at the table. “Stay here till daddy’s done talking to these men.”

The little one asked, “Where’s mommy?”

What the fuck?! They're usually pretty good about not talking back to me. Jesus, how much more savage must the beatings become before they finally learn? Just comfort them or something, I guess. Don’t want to leave a bad impression on the cops.

“Everything’s going to be alright, sweetheart.”

And then, Christ, the other one started mouthing off too. “We would like mommy to come home now, daddy.” I could not believe the lip on this one. You do NOT order me around like this. Goddammit, I don’t need this shit from you right now. I could feel the rage swelling up, excessive and unprovoked, and I blurted out something I immediately regretted afterwards.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll kill you like I killed your mother!”

I froze. Did I really just say that? Really?! I slowly turned towards the living room, where both of the detectives were staring right back at me, silent and dumbfounded. I’ll be honest, it was not my best moment. Was there anything at all I could do to fix this? And then, a flash of genius!

“Heeeeey... did you, uh... Did you hear that?”

Phelps looked irritated, and the fat one smiled smugly. Okay, so you botched this up right good. You’ll have to think back to your lawschool days to get out of the rest. Do the juries still like the ‘Bitch had it coming” defense?

--Fin--

So none of that really ever happens in L.A. Noire, the 1940s detective crime drama developed by Bondi Studios and published by Rockstar. I have noting original or unique to say as to the actual quality of the game, other than I really like it so far. There are lots of opinions, good and bad, about the game, and I sincerely doubt that the other guy who reads this site doesn’t already know what I have to say. So instead I wrote down what Jun and I imagined as being a funny alternative ending to this case in the game (9:48-11:15).