Given your singular androgyny and a certain individual on the police force not shy to good old fashioned transsexual fetishism, you’re able to secure information about the peculiar radio and the frequencies on that strip of paper.
“Two afternoon trysts and three nightshift breaks for a hot lunch at the hour of the wolf, but I got it,” you pat yourself on the back before opening the coveted filing cabinet marked simply in Bic ink on the label, “Lost Dakota”. It doesn’t say much of anything about the dead guy with the strawberry mustache, only that he was a former maintenance worker at Boulder Laboratories in Boulder, CO. There’s a lot more on the radio, though, including in-depth diagrams and sub-sections to rival a patent submission for the Large Hadron Collider.
Many of the files are useless to you until you happen upon a more mundane Roto-Rooter half-sheet with an obviously significant meeting time and location, both heavily underlined and circled.
The particular night comes soon enough and you find yourself somewhere on the north side of Holt County in Nebraska. You tailed them here to the edge of a cornfield and now you’re parked out of sight from the three vehicles they took, one of them belonging to the investigator.
“Maybe they’ve come to shake hands with Shoeless Joe,” you kid yourself to help soften your nerves before stepping into the cornfield in front of their vehicles. However, as soon as you walk but six feet in, you come to a bit of an opening, a hallway of cornstalks with one path making a corner to your right and one path going on a ways to your left.
If you take a turn to the left, turn to page 40.
If it’s right, turn to page 15.
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