It was a dark and stormy morning. Rain pitter-pattered down the windows and off the leather trenchcoat of the mysterious and shadowy figure who’d barged into my office, eyes glittering beneath a crooked, battered fedora.
“Whozhat?” I mumbled, alertly.
“The most important and dramatic case of your career,” he intoned in a voice like funeral bells filled with grinding tombstones falling into an ocean trench full of bass drums.
“Whuzzat?” I questioned him, eagerly.
“I need you to find the identity of… THE MURDERKILLER.”
“Ugh,” I said, pulling myself fully halfway upright. “Really? Do I have to?”
“He’s your nemesis!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t catch him last time. I don’t wanna.”
“I DEMAND you unmask your nemesis!”
“Fiiiiiiine,” I sighed.
“Good,” said the mysterious stranger. Then he gurgled and fell over, an enormous knife sticking out of his back. ‘Johnny’ Doesmurders, my trusty sidekick and sidey trustkick, had helpfully already seized hold of it and tugged it free smoothly.
“Looks like the Murderkiller did this, boss,” he said helpfully.
“How can you tell?”
“Has his name engraved on the side in neon.”
“Wow. Sounds like evidence. You mind holding onto that for me, ‘Johnny’?”
“Sure thing,” he said, slipping into the very conveniently empty leather knife sheath on his belt. That was ‘Johnny’ for you. Always prepared for anything. “Where we headed?”
“To the first place any private eye goes on a case, dumbass,” I politely informed him. “To the bar.”
***
“I need another clue I mean drink I mean clue please, shithead,” I told the bartender.
“He’s emotionally distraught, see,” ‘Johnny’ told him. “His dear old mother died recently or his favourite aunt or his beloved nephew.”
“Uh,” said the bartender, and he served me another glass of warm milk.
“Thanks,” I said, and downed it, washing away all my innumerable troubles in a soft tide of lactose. Like the time I’d gotten bad takeout and suffered gastrointestinal distress in front of the court; or the time I falsely accused my good friend ‘Johnny’ Doesmurders of being the Murderkiller; or the time I forgot my own birthday; or the time the bartender had collapsed on the counter in front of me and spilled my warm milk all down my pants.
“Hey, watch it!” I snapped at him.
“Here’s the problem, boss,” said ‘Johnny’, flipping him over expertly. “Someone’s gone and shot him in the forehead.”
“Another clue, or an evidence, or whatever,” I said as I rifled through his pocket. “Looks like he only had fifty clues in his wallet though, damnit. Any witnesses?”
“He shot him!” screamed a man cowering in the corner, pointing at ‘Johnny’.
“No I didn’t,” said ‘Johnny’.
“Well, I’m out of ideas,” I said, scratching my brow and furrowing my brow and wincing at the sudden pain in my brow. “Any thoughts on what we do next?”
BANG.
“Pardon?” I asked, looking up.
“Let’s go to the hardware store for supplies,” suggested ‘Johnny’. “Here, hold onto this gun and rub your fingerprints all over it; seems like a clue to me.”
I caught it and burnt my palm rubbing my fingers all over the barrel. This job was hell.
***
“Shovels,” said ‘Johnny’.
“Check.”
“Tarps.”
“Check.”
“Gallons and gallons and gallons of acid.”
I sneezed violently and dropped everything.
“Aw no, boss.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m allergic to acid. That’s why I never clean the office.”
“Tactical thinking,” said ‘Johnny’ thoughtfully. “Boss, do you have your card on you? I’m temporarily unflush with cash.”
“No.”
“Cash?”
“No.”
“Boss, you got your wallet on you at all?”
“I left it behind when I was investigating at the bar, ‘Johnny’,” I said severely. “Stop questioning my methods. I definitely did that on purpose for good reasons which I’ll make up later when I’ve got more time to think and aren’t as sloshed on milk.”
“Ah,” said ‘Johnny’. “Good thinkin’, boss.”
“I think he bought it,” I said. “Listen, you’re a pretty convincing guy. Can you ask the cashier to give us a loan?”
“Sure thing, boss,” said ‘Johnny’, straightening his shirt and unsheathing the evidence knife. “I’ll be right back. In the meantime, take all this stuff to the car: it’s vitally important to finding our next clue out in the middle of the desert, miles away from the nearest road.”
“Sure thing,” I said. “Just give me a minute to pick up all these gallons and gallons and gallons of acid.”
“They got carts, boss.”
“Shut up, ‘Johnny’.”
***
It was a beautiful night. With my neck craned back I could count every star in the sky as they sprinkled cold light down on me like a thousand demon’s blessings, embraced in the grip of the eternal darkness that we all come from and all go back to.
“Boss?”
“Sorry, ‘Johnny’,” I said. “I was busy with my neck craned back so I could count every star in the sky as they sprinkled cold light down on me like a thousand demon’s blessings, embraced in the grip of the eternal darkness that we all come from and all go back to.”
“Seems a bit trite, boss,” said ‘Johnny’.
“Go fuck yourself Doesmurders, what the hell you know about literature?”
“Not much,” ‘Johnny’ admitted. “I’m more of a visual arts guy. But speaking of, mind watching the road a little more closely?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. Christ almighty, where WAS the road? “Christ almighty, where IS the road? I didn’t mean to say that, ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. Shit. Damn. Shoot.”
“It’s near the pillar of smoke back thataways, boss,” said ‘Johnny’. “Or you can just follow the trail of dismembered cacti and flattened roadrunners.”
“I used to love that cartoon,” I said wistfully. “It reminds me of the old times, when I was youthful and innocent.”
“I know what you mean,” said ‘Johnny’. “Actually, don’t bother going back to the road, boss. I know where the crime scene is.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed. “And we weren’t even looking for it!”
“Yeah! It’ll be up ahead behind that big rock in about thirty minutes.”
***
“Is it here yet?”
“No,” said ‘Johnny’.
“Is it here yet?”
“No.”
“Is it here yet?”
“No.”
I pouted. I was really tired; digging holes is a lot of work. You have to bend your back over and over and over and hold a shovel right way up and everything.
“Okay, that’s probably deep enough,” said ‘Johnny’, measuring the pit with a squinted eyeball and some ambiguous hand movements. “I reckon we’re ready for the crime now.”
“Great,” I said. “Good thing we brought all these gallons and gallons and gallons of acid to tidy it up. Help me out of this pit?”
“Nah, just wait in there for a second. It’s the perfect spot.”
“Does fit me real well, doesn’t it?” I marvelled.
“There is something I gotta tell you though, boss,” said ‘Johnny’, carefully unsheathing his knife, unholstering his gun, unholstering his other gun, and clutching all of them in both hands and his teeth.
“‘Johnny’,” I said, wiping my brow with one hand, “we’re true pals. You can tell me anything at all. Get a load off your chest.”
“I, ‘Johnny’ Doesmurders am secretly, unbelievably, mind-bogglingly, unexpectedly… THE MURDERKILLER!”
Thunder rolled dramatically through my mind.
“Oh,” I said. “Wow. Woah. Gosh. Gee. Golly. Damn. Shit. Shoot. Gosh.”
“You said ‘gosh’ already, boss,” said ‘Johnny.’
“Thanks a ton. Well, that explains more than it don’t. Whaddaya want for dinner?”
‘Johnny’ gaped at me like a failed flounder. “But… but… I’m the Murderkiller!” he sputtered. “I’ve lied to you and systemically deceived you for years, boss! I’ve murdered and killed everyone and everything that ever came close to you! I’ve played you like a fiddle, a violin, a viola, and a cello all at once! Don’t you CARE?”
“Well, it hurts a bit I figure,” I said. “But you’re my pal, so I’ll overlook that. And besides, that just explains why you’re always doing murdering and killing, and I like those things. Hell, you sure have given me a lot of excuses to get some of my own done! Now I can get some hot tips from the best.”
‘Johnny’ Doesmurders stared down at me with something bigger than awe. “Gosh, boss,” he said. “I thought it was me playing you for a sap, when all along it was the other way ‘round.”
“It’s no problem at all, ‘Johnny,’” I said. “Now pull me outta this hole and let’s go home and order in! You can murderkill the delivery guy after if you’d like. I’d love to watch.”