Part I: Who the hell is Aroukar? Walton exited the taxi cab and walked onto the city sidewalks bustling with people. Though it was night, sweat rolled down his forehead. The humidity from all the activity going on was taking its toll. Orienting himself to his surroundings, he located the jazz lounge called Fritzl and proceeded to enter. He was relieved when he entered the lobby and was fanned by an air-conditioning system. A maître d’hôtel noted his presence and waved to him. "Do you have a reservation, sir?" the man asked in a highly effeminate voice which contrasted sharply with his ebony skin. "No, but I am looking for someone." Walton asked. "For what reason, sir?" "Legal reasons, that's all I can say." "Very well, who are you looking for?" "Miss Minty." A flash of understanding came over the man's face, and he grinned with gap-toothed mouth. He turned around and walked through a rich purple velvet curtain which presumably lead to the main area of the establishment. What kind of jazz lounge is this? Walton thought to himself. The black man returned promptly, "Ms. Minty would rather stay where she is. She's invited you in." "Lead the way." The lounge was quite atypical, decorated in shades of gray and purple. Music by heavy metal bands was played at sluggish speed and lower volume. The walls were decorated with scenes from famous snuff films. The tables were being cleaned by nude men greased in soap rubbing themselves all over the tables and chairs. Though these details were bizarre, the overall effect was only slighty annoying. Walton looked around and noticed that there were almost no people around, save a booth occupied by a young woman. The black man pointed this particular booth out, and followed Waton closely the rest of the way. The woman wore a long green dress, and was eying Walton as he approached. Her hands motioned to the space opposite her, and Walton wasted no time sitting there. The maître d’hôtel stood very close to the table, smiling but saying nothing. "So?" she said demurely. Reacting quickly, Walton reached inside his coat and pulled out a manila envelope. Remembering manners, he introduced himself after placing this manila jacket in front of him. "I am Sherringford Abigail Walton, a lawyer. I am pleased to meet you Ms. Minty." "The pleasure is all mine. What brings you down to my cozy estabishment?" "You own this place?" Walton asked, curious. "Yes, now before you start asking more questions please answer mine." she said soberly. Pleasantly surprised by her directness, Walton cut to the chase. "It seems your relative, Mr. Aroukar, has left some property to you in his will." "I don't know this person." "I am just following my instructions." "What exactly are we talking about here? Is it substantial?" "Possibly the whole of his estate including Enumclaw Mansion, and 47 million dollars, among other things." "I am definitely interested, what happens if I agree?" "You must attend the reading of his will at Enumclaw Mansion. Transportations costs will be covered. Additional information is inside this folder," Walton finished by sliding the folder over to her. As he stood up to leave Minty asked with curiosity: "By the way, what's with your middle name?" The question brought up uncomfortable memories of his father. I am not a girl, dad! Nonsense! You are a splendid girl. Clearing his head quickly, Walton answered quietly. "My father always wanted a girl." The black maître d’hôtel overheard this, and started laughing loudly. Walton ran out of the lounge to dry his tears, and to prepare to catch his plane. Next stop; Lord Scumhook's Residence.