The dame that walked in through my office door looked to be a tall glass of water filled with nothing but trouble. Wait, no, maybe not. The dame that walked in through my office door looked to be a big juicy hamburger covered in a special sauce of secrets. Or not. Damnit, it was hard to tell.
“Would you say you’re a tall glass of water filled with nothing but trouble or a big juicy hamburger covered in a special sauce of secrets?” I asked her.
“I’m more of a harsh kick in the nuts,” she replied.
“Well, that’s weird,” I said. Then she kicked me harshly in the nuts.
“Listen up, dipshit,” I heard through the ringing sound and horrific tunnel vision. “Rent’s due.”
***
The first thing I did after the gasping, moaning, and crying was – wait, I guess that made it the fourth thing I did.
So the fourth thing I did after the gasping, moaning, and crying was phone up my best friend and best partner, ‘Johnny’ Doesmurders. He’s been with me through thick and thin; even forgave me after I falsely accused him of being the Murderkiller, on account of all the murdering and the killing that he loves to does. Now that’s a pal and a half and half again.
“Hey,” said ‘Johnny,’ as he picked up the phone. His voice was rough, tough, and gruff, like the noises badgers make when they’re fucking, or the sound of rocks falling downhill into a big pile, or like, some kind of big burly guy working out and maybe spraining his arm a little but trying not to make a big deal about it because his friends’ll think he’s a wuss or something.
“Boss?”
“Huh?”
“Boss, you’ve just been sitting there on the line breathing heavy for like six minutes. You stuck on similes again?”
“No,” I said, truthfully. I was just considering them thoughtfully. “I was just considering them, thoughtfully. Now getcher ass over here, Doesmurders. We’ve got some cases to solve.”
“What cases?”
“I’ll let you know when I find them.”
***
“Damnit,” I said. “I can’t find a single case in here.”
“That’s the crossword, boss. And you’re holding it upside down.”
I flipped it on its side. “I KNEW something was off here. We’ve got a case. Let’s head over the crossword offices and find out who paid them off to print this thing upside down and sideways.”
“You think there’s someone behind it?”
“Could be, ‘Johnny,’ could be. Maybe a Mr. Big involved here. Or even a Mr. Huge. Or…” I swallowed, the world tightened across my chest. “…maybe even a Mr. Colossal.”
“Sounds heavy.”
“The heaviest.” My heart palpitated inside my chest like an octopus playing the bongos with badminton rackets. “Now drive me over. You know I’m not allowed to anymore, not since the… incident.”
“I don’t know that, boss. Because every time I ask about it you just say ‘the…incident’ or occasionally ‘…the incident’ instead of informing me as to what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I ran over sixteen people in my car in pursuit of a suspect and only fifteen of them were poor.”
“Ah, I gotcha. Who was the rich guy?”
“The suspect. Now let’s get driving – and be sure to stop by Bob’s Burgers on the way. I’ve gotta craving.”
***
“Okay, you can come in now, boss,” said ‘Johnny’ from inside.
I took two steps into the newspaper office and froze like a spider monkey trapped in maple syrup.
God, what a mess. Bodies strewn across the floor. Someone’s head thrust through their computer monitor. A man had been force-fed his own notebook.
“Mass suicide,” I said to myself. “A terrible site.”
“That’s ‘sight,’ boss,” said ‘Johnny.’
“I said what I said and I meant what I said,” I snapped at him. “Now help me search their pockets for evidence.”
Just as I’d suspected, they’d all had money in their wallets. We confiscated the motives, but we were still coming up emptier on clues than a pregnant wallaby’s pouch on mother’s day. Or a bird’s nest in late December. Or a lumbermill in a desert.
I squinted manfully at the nearest monitor, then jabbed my finger at it. “There!”
“Where?”
“Right there, clearly legible. But it’s written in that damn stupid text I can’t read.”
“Cursive, boss?”
“No, Arial. Times New Roman or nothing, ‘Johnny.’ Now translate the thing.”
“Looks like they were typing up a headline. Says here that the night-shift smuggling at the docks was getting out of hand, called on the cops to do something about it.”
“The cops,” I muttered. The wheels in my head were greased up and spinning faster than ballerinas on hot tin roofs coated in butter and a bit of salt and pepper.
“’Johnny,’” I said, seriously, “we need to go and get breakfast.”
***
The eggs slid across my plate like a swimming snake, aiming straight for my heart by way of my arteries.
“Use your fork, boss,” said ‘Johnny.’ “Or at least your fingers.”
“Shut up, ‘Johnny,’” I said carelessly, like a man trying to eat a fried egg with his teeth and nothing else, which I was. “And turn off that TV, will you? I’m sick of hearing about how the newspaper crew was wiped out by unknown criminals. Puts me off my breakfast.”
“Me too,” said ‘Johnny.’ “I hear tell they were going to write a big expose about the docks where some of my coworkers hang around for legitimate reasons. A crying shame.”
“Me too,” chimed in a mysterious man swathed in a giant trenchcoat and enormous fedora in the booth next to me. “But for other reasons. Hey, did you know that the mayor’s life is in danger?”
I blinked like a turtle being asked for an autograph by Britney Spears or whoever it is the kids like these days. “Huh. No?”
“Oh yeah. Within the hour. If you hurry, you can stop it. I’d help myself but I can’t move because of this giant fedora.”
It all added up.
“’Johnny,’” I said, “grab the silverware and follow me. We’ve got a nuclear missile to stop.”
“That’s the mayor’s assassination, boss,” said ‘Johnny,’ retrieving his butter knife from the stranger’s throat, where it had mysteriously appeared.
“Whatever.”
***
I kicked in the door like a grown man knocking over a child’s sandcastle only to find the sandcastle was actually a cementcastle and then swore a lot as my foot hurt like crazy so I fired my gun a few times to take the edge off the stress.
“Okay, nobody move!” I shouted in a friendly way.
The mayor coughed and wheezed and fell over with a damp thud. I shot him a few times to show I hadn’t been kidding.
“Aw man, the mayor’s been assassinated,” called someone hiding under a desk.
“Shit, we’re too late,” I muttered. “’Johnny,’ question the suspects for clues.”
“They don’t know anything, boss,” he said. “They’re all unpaid interns.”
Damnit, this workplace was too topical to be relevant. The trail had gone cold, colder than a box of fish sticks inside a refrigerator inside a freezer on Antarctica, if Antarctica were on Pluto, the exoplanetary object located at a phenomenal distance from the sun.
“You okay, boss?”
“Huh? Oh yeah, I was doing similes again.”
“It’s okay. By the way, the radio says there’s a hostage situation down at the bank.”
“What!? When?”
“Oh, in about ten minutes.”
“Good thing it’s only ten minutes away,” I said. “We’re on the case. Or next to it. Or under it. I don’t care where the hell we are relative to it as long as it’s close, but not too close, or too far.”
***
The bank was crammed full and bustling. Clearly the hostage-takers had instructed the poor bastards to act naturally. There was only one way to handle THAT.
“NOBODY MOVE OR I’LL FUCKING SHOOT EVERYONE AND ANYONE I’M NOT AFRAID TO DO ANYTHING EVER,” I said calmly and authoritatively. I fired a few rounds into the air and the bank manager to emphasize my point.
“I’ve already searched the vault, boss,” said ‘Johnny,’ appearing at my elbow with some giant sacks of money. “There was nothing in there but all this money that the crooks left behind. It’s probably covered in poison or ants or something.”
“Good evidence-gathering, ‘Johnny,’ I said. I fired a few more rounds into the air and also accidentally my elbow in my excitement. “Ah, fuck. Let’s go home now. It’s been a tough day.”
***
A tough day calls for a tough drink. I like my drinks tough, like jerky beaten with a brick. I like my drinks mean, like a rabid dog chained up in a home for angry people. I like my drinks nasty, like your mother telling me I’m a disappointment that won’t amount to anything ever when I was twelve which hurt my feelings a lot.
“I’m not crying,” I told ‘Johnny.’ “I’m just leaking tears from my eyes.”
“It’s okay, boss,” he told me. “But it’s not all bad. Sure we failed to stop the smuggling, the mayor’s assassination, or the bank robbery, but my business associates just came into some cash, the mayor’s gonna stop hassling us, and we have all this criminal money from the bank. So your rent’s not a problem anymore!”
“’Johnny’ Doesmurders, you are the truest, bluest friend I’ve ever had,” I said. “And that ain’t no lie.”
“It’s no problem, boss,” he said, and slapped me on the back. “Also, someone’s put a ‘kick me’ sign on you, so I’m gonna need you to turn around and bend over.”
“Aw heck.”
Third time this week, but rules are rules.