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More from algusunderdunk
So... I'd made a comment on one of Theyton's pieces and it wound up spawning an entire story in a Phillip Marlowe style, noir, pulpy, detectivey... thingy. I hope to finish this up in three parts. Ruby and Miss Kittens are from Theyton
Splitsville
They walked into my office, evenly matched on mugs and jugs. They said they needed help and God did I want to give it to them. They had curves like a dangerous freeway and a permanent permit for the carpool lane. Smoke drifted over my desk as they shared a seat and everything else.
"We need a detective, we found a body in a back alley!"
"Ladies, take it from me you don't need an extra."
"No you clawed clod, it's murder!"
It was murder all right, these dames came in sans pants, and it was killing me.
“Fun’s fun kitties, but before I decide to take you two on I need you to tell me what hand either one of you had in this.”
They looked taken aback. It was subtle, and on one face you might not even notice, but the same look on two faces, no doubt.
“What makes you think we-“
“Because I’m not the cops.” I leaned back in my chair, and slid open a drawer to noodle out a bottle of whisky.
“The cops didn’t believe us,” started one of them.
“See that’s the thing, cops might be cynical but usually a dead body in a back alley gets their attention. So either you two have some previous problem with the cops, or you personally had something to do with the process. Either way, you really don’t want to be part of the festival of questions that are going to come up, but you felt this dead person was important enough that you couldn’t just cut and run without telling someone. So spill.”
I filled a trio of shot-glasses and sent two of them sashaying across my desk to the pair. One of them indignantly slid her drink back, while the other downed it without a second thought. This got her a sourpuss face from her ‘sister’, if that was their arrangement. Couldn’t be too sure these days.
“We knew him, alright? Jimmy Skitter. Rat-faced, but a good kid. Soft touch, good to his mother, all that.”
“Sounds like a swell obituary. This kid a client of yours?”
“What in the hell makes you thi-“
I gestured again to their lack of pants.
“Fine. You know what? Jimmy was a regular. In fact, he had preferred patron status.”
“Either of you see it happen?”
“No.”
“We just found…”
“…he’s not just dead. He was… divided.”
I gave them the old shaggy raised eyebrow. That sort of detail begged for more questions but I had all I needed. Whatever shock had carried them this far was about to run out and then I’d have two cats both looking for a shoulder to cry on, and I wasn’t looking for matching stains on a new suit. They wrote an IOU, it would have to do for now, as I gave them directions to get to a hotel that didn’t ask questions. Told them not to get any practice in while they were there, it’s hard to find a good hotel that doesn’t ask questions and isn’t already selected for their sort of business.
Watching them exit in an attempt to do the old hourglass swing with two hands on the steering wheel didn’t put me at ease. A hell of a way to start a weekend.
By the time I got there the fuzz had already been notified through their own channels. The normal festivities were underway with the black and yellow festooning, and red and blue party-lights.
“Bartlett!”
I pitched a slow turn, seeing one of the faces I expected. Hart. Rookie officer, used to be your standard flatfoot, then Clobb came onto the scene in a shakedown, and suddenly Hart had no feet. Clobb, a scaly chameleon rookie fresh out of the academy, had decided to be a big man and hero up when things went down. Now Hart, an optimistic little chimp, had kept herself on the up and up, while Clobb worked to keep his mind out of the gutter. Except for days when they switched positions.
“Hart. Clobb. You two see what’s going on in the shadows?”
“It ain’t pretty,” came a voice from crotch-height. Clobb sounded rattled. “Guy looks like he tried to go North and South at the same time.”
“You know this guy, Bartlett?” As always, Hart got straight to the… center of matters.
“Pair who knew the kid found his body. They’re spooked and I’ve got them tucked away for now.”
I hefted around them and made my way under the tape before any more questions could pop out. They seemed reluctant to follow me into the alley, didn’t want to get their hands dirty. It sure as hell wasn’t a cozy sight. Right as I came around the corner, I found half of a rat. I don’t know why, but when those kitties had said divided, I’d immediately thought Jimmy Skitter had been part of a pair or more. But this was just sad. Kid was going solo and was reduced into some sick fraction. The rest of Jimmy Skitter was nearby, arm outstretched towards a shattered mason jar. Around the shards was an ominously glittering goop.
Time to go.
I got back out of the alley, fast. I had all I needed. Other details crowded for my attention, like a tattoo on Jimmy’s chest for someone with the initials M.M. There’d been the number 710, painted onto the dumpster against which half of Jimmy had been found. No time for that. None of that mattered right now. As far as I was concerned, this place was so hot it was radioactive. Goddamn Joiny-Gel.
I sat in my car, pulled out a honeycomb, and bit into the damn thing like it was a life preserver. Joiny-Gel. This city had gone to hell, and that stuff had lubed up the doorway to make sure everyone could slide right in. Hart and Clobb had seen it as I spat at them to clean up their damned crime scene. Didn’t matter to them, they’d already been dosed.
Years and years ago, there’d been this new big industry. Joiny-Gel. Get close to your partner. Walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. See things from the other guy’s point of view. It promised a fun weekend, then you slathered yourself down with the solvent and the two of you went about your business. Until some gang got the bright idea to improve on the recipe by making it permanent. That’s when it really hit the fan. You had gangs ambushing each other for a sudden power consolidation. Goons keeping cops out of court by forming a lasting partnership with them. Witnesses getting put into situations they couldn’t get out of. The lawyers couldn’t keep up with the slew of new loopholes that popped up with suddenly having accuser and accused all wrapped up in one.
You get hit with this stuff once, and the next person you get close to gets too close for comfort. Hell, you time it right and it might get to be more than just a private party. A few weeks ago they’d brought down a criminal syndicate and only had to use one pair of handcuffs. But the worst were the kids. The big families had decided that to prevent warring, there was now a more permanent method than just marrying off their precious little bundle of joy to some other precious little bundle of joy. Of course every other bigshot got the same idea at the same time, and suddenly you’d get gel-slathered lunatics running at daddy’s little girl, the don’s wife, some were ambitious enough to run for the don themselves. Bodyguards suddenly found themselves having to sacrifice a lot more to keep their positions.
Upshot was, once you’d been dosed once by what we called ‘Type A’, the permanent fix, that was it. It stopped working on you after that. Of course that provided that you wound up part of a pair. Some enthusiastic mom thought she’d keep her sweetie-pie son safe by coating him with the stuff and leaving him in his room for a week for the effect to ‘wear off’. A week later she lets him out, gives him a hug, and that’s that. A real mama’s boy through and through.
Jimmy got himself split like the bill, and no amount of Joiny-Gel was going to put him back together again. This thought ran through my head again and again as I turned down the boulevard. What the hell had those two cats gotten me stuck in?
“We didn’t know Jimmy was into that kinda stuff,” said half of a stereophonic cat.
“Never did get a name on you two,” I said, glowering at the pair as they reclined on a hotel bed.
“Miss Kittens,” said one of them, giving me the look. They sure sprang back fast.
“Ruby,” said the other, doubling down on the look. I hoped to God her full name was Ruby Kittens, but I had a feeling that wasn’t the case.
“Jimmy got cut in half carrying a jar of Joiny-Gel in a back alley. You two found him, which makes me think he was on his way to see you with it.”
“Look, detective, we already told you, we didn’t know he-“
“You’re talkin’ out of both sides of your faces is what you’re doing. Last thing I need is a stereophonic cat. Jimmy roll with any gangs that specialized in full-body warfare?”
They exchanged a glance with each other. Took a hell of a lot of work given how close together their heads were. For a second they were one cat with an extra-wide face, and then they were back, deciding to gamble on me.
“Jimmy rolled with Shackles’ gang.”
“Well you girls are makin’ this more worth it with every word. Slithering Shackles?”
They nodded out of unison. I felt slightly sea-sick.
Snakes. Why did everything have to be snakes? I could understand wanting to stick with a theme. I could even appreciate the triple-headed snake serving drinks across a delicately scale-patterned bar. It was a nice touch. But the lavatories were a step too far. The Encoiled Club was well known as the place to be seen with someone interesting attached to your arm on a hot Summer night, and the establishment of one Saltana “Slithering” Shackles. She ran her gang as tightly as her craps table. You could play against them for a while and keep above water, but in the end the house always won. Then suddenly the whole snake motif falls away as a thousand-pound hippo in a nice suit personally escorts you face-first into the street. I’d always eyed that hippo and wondered if he’d already been hit by Joiny-Gel at some point. It’d take hours to search for another face in that mass.
I leaned against the bar, and slowly lit a cigarette. Had to keep an eye out for who was keeping an eye out for me. A bear in a trench-coat didn’t exactly give off ninja-like stealth, but I wasn’t going for subtlety. With a tumbler of scotch in paw I let my vices do the talking as I wedged my way around the roulette tables. She knew I was here, I was certain of it. Saltana had herself a little waiting game she liked to play, make people sweat as they waited for the fickle finger to beckon them to the back room. Of course that didn’t mean you shouldn’t have a good time while you waited and I made sure that I had my turn on the wheel before getting called in.
A totem pole of otters rounded me up and escorted me through a pair of curtains to the back office. I looked the three of them up and down while I lit another cigarette.
“I hope your boss pays extra for sticking to a theme.”
The two faces that stuck out along the ‘body’ of this serpentine otter scowled at me. Third one was up too high to see, but I assumed anger, like heat, traveled upwards.
“Kyle, always nice to see you.”
A voice slithered out of the shadows, and a moment later the mother of all banana pythons eyeballed me over a mahogany desk. Really should’ve said the father of all banana pythons. Joey had been on the force and a good cop until he went rogue, trying to do something about Saltana’s gang all by his lonesome.
“Good to see you too, Joe. Boss in?”
“Always.”
He opened his mouth and where you’d expect a tongue, came a great deal of ermine. Had to give Saltana this, she was a fighter. Joey had been on the verge of eating her when she smashed a bottle of gel over herself. Now she had herself some built in muscle, and a permanent snakeskin seat.
“I hope you boys had fun catching up,” she said, tracing her claws along the jaws of her vehicle, “Kyle, you lurking around my club makes me think you’re hard up for work.”
“Work is what it is. Workin’ a case right now. Fresh young face got done in, you know anything about it?”
“Ah, the Rue Fontaine case,” she purred at me, peeling a grape. A moment later and she dropped it into her lap with a smile.
“Can’t say I do.”
“Rue? I’m talking about Jimmy Skitter. Last I heard the kid worked for your gang before someone decided to make him part of a half-off sale.”
“Jimmy’s dead?!” Joey almost gagged on his boss as he tried to speak with his mouth full of mink.
“Found earlier in a back alley. You send the kid off on something serious?”
“No,” growled Saltana, smoothing her fur back out and prying Joey’s jaws open further. “Jimmy was just a runner around here. Helped load and unload.”
“Really. Don’t suppose it’d change your opinion to find out he died with a jar of Joiny-Gel clutched in his hands.”
“Kyle Bartlett,” Saltana tried to pull the innocent face. Never trust an innocent face surrounded by fangs and saliva, “you know us too well to think we’re the kind of gang that uses Joiny-Gel to get what we want. After all, that stuff can lead to complications.”
“I don’t doubt it. So you’re saying Jimmy was just out on his own. Tell me, any new deals gone sour? Someone looking for a chance to send you a message? Who’s this Rue Fontaine?”
“Doesn’t matter, you said you weren’t looking into him.”
“Should I be?”
I felt Joey’s tail suddenly come up over my shoulders. Saltana smiled.
“Kyle, we like you. You’re smart, you don’t make trouble, and you smell like honey and scotch. Let us convince you with this friendly information. Jimmy Skitter did odd jobs around here. Maybe he was looking into some other gang and they did him in. Not our concern.”
“I think it is your concern,” I said as I struck a match off of Joey’s tail and lit up my third ciggy of the day. “I know the way folks operate around here, and I can’t think of anyone whose signature is to cut and shuffle someone like a damn deck of cards. I know you sure as hell don’t, and if you’ve gotten into bed with someone who has then you’re in even more trouble than I am.”
I finished my scotch and went for the door with all the urgency of a sloth. The totem-pole trio tried to make a move for me, but Saltana waved them off.
“You hear anything about whoever went after Jimmy, you let me know.”
“You’re all heart.”
Splitsville
They walked into my office, evenly matched on mugs and jugs. They said they needed help and God did I want to give it to them. They had curves like a dangerous freeway and a permanent permit for the carpool lane. Smoke drifted over my desk as they shared a seat and everything else.
"We need a detective, we found a body in a back alley!"
"Ladies, take it from me you don't need an extra."
"No you clawed clod, it's murder!"
It was murder all right, these dames came in sans pants, and it was killing me.
“Fun’s fun kitties, but before I decide to take you two on I need you to tell me what hand either one of you had in this.”
They looked taken aback. It was subtle, and on one face you might not even notice, but the same look on two faces, no doubt.
“What makes you think we-“
“Because I’m not the cops.” I leaned back in my chair, and slid open a drawer to noodle out a bottle of whisky.
“The cops didn’t believe us,” started one of them.
“See that’s the thing, cops might be cynical but usually a dead body in a back alley gets their attention. So either you two have some previous problem with the cops, or you personally had something to do with the process. Either way, you really don’t want to be part of the festival of questions that are going to come up, but you felt this dead person was important enough that you couldn’t just cut and run without telling someone. So spill.”
I filled a trio of shot-glasses and sent two of them sashaying across my desk to the pair. One of them indignantly slid her drink back, while the other downed it without a second thought. This got her a sourpuss face from her ‘sister’, if that was their arrangement. Couldn’t be too sure these days.
“We knew him, alright? Jimmy Skitter. Rat-faced, but a good kid. Soft touch, good to his mother, all that.”
“Sounds like a swell obituary. This kid a client of yours?”
“What in the hell makes you thi-“
I gestured again to their lack of pants.
“Fine. You know what? Jimmy was a regular. In fact, he had preferred patron status.”
“Either of you see it happen?”
“No.”
“We just found…”
“…he’s not just dead. He was… divided.”
I gave them the old shaggy raised eyebrow. That sort of detail begged for more questions but I had all I needed. Whatever shock had carried them this far was about to run out and then I’d have two cats both looking for a shoulder to cry on, and I wasn’t looking for matching stains on a new suit. They wrote an IOU, it would have to do for now, as I gave them directions to get to a hotel that didn’t ask questions. Told them not to get any practice in while they were there, it’s hard to find a good hotel that doesn’t ask questions and isn’t already selected for their sort of business.
Watching them exit in an attempt to do the old hourglass swing with two hands on the steering wheel didn’t put me at ease. A hell of a way to start a weekend.
By the time I got there the fuzz had already been notified through their own channels. The normal festivities were underway with the black and yellow festooning, and red and blue party-lights.
“Bartlett!”
I pitched a slow turn, seeing one of the faces I expected. Hart. Rookie officer, used to be your standard flatfoot, then Clobb came onto the scene in a shakedown, and suddenly Hart had no feet. Clobb, a scaly chameleon rookie fresh out of the academy, had decided to be a big man and hero up when things went down. Now Hart, an optimistic little chimp, had kept herself on the up and up, while Clobb worked to keep his mind out of the gutter. Except for days when they switched positions.
“Hart. Clobb. You two see what’s going on in the shadows?”
“It ain’t pretty,” came a voice from crotch-height. Clobb sounded rattled. “Guy looks like he tried to go North and South at the same time.”
“You know this guy, Bartlett?” As always, Hart got straight to the… center of matters.
“Pair who knew the kid found his body. They’re spooked and I’ve got them tucked away for now.”
I hefted around them and made my way under the tape before any more questions could pop out. They seemed reluctant to follow me into the alley, didn’t want to get their hands dirty. It sure as hell wasn’t a cozy sight. Right as I came around the corner, I found half of a rat. I don’t know why, but when those kitties had said divided, I’d immediately thought Jimmy Skitter had been part of a pair or more. But this was just sad. Kid was going solo and was reduced into some sick fraction. The rest of Jimmy Skitter was nearby, arm outstretched towards a shattered mason jar. Around the shards was an ominously glittering goop.
Time to go.
I got back out of the alley, fast. I had all I needed. Other details crowded for my attention, like a tattoo on Jimmy’s chest for someone with the initials M.M. There’d been the number 710, painted onto the dumpster against which half of Jimmy had been found. No time for that. None of that mattered right now. As far as I was concerned, this place was so hot it was radioactive. Goddamn Joiny-Gel.
I sat in my car, pulled out a honeycomb, and bit into the damn thing like it was a life preserver. Joiny-Gel. This city had gone to hell, and that stuff had lubed up the doorway to make sure everyone could slide right in. Hart and Clobb had seen it as I spat at them to clean up their damned crime scene. Didn’t matter to them, they’d already been dosed.
Years and years ago, there’d been this new big industry. Joiny-Gel. Get close to your partner. Walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. See things from the other guy’s point of view. It promised a fun weekend, then you slathered yourself down with the solvent and the two of you went about your business. Until some gang got the bright idea to improve on the recipe by making it permanent. That’s when it really hit the fan. You had gangs ambushing each other for a sudden power consolidation. Goons keeping cops out of court by forming a lasting partnership with them. Witnesses getting put into situations they couldn’t get out of. The lawyers couldn’t keep up with the slew of new loopholes that popped up with suddenly having accuser and accused all wrapped up in one.
You get hit with this stuff once, and the next person you get close to gets too close for comfort. Hell, you time it right and it might get to be more than just a private party. A few weeks ago they’d brought down a criminal syndicate and only had to use one pair of handcuffs. But the worst were the kids. The big families had decided that to prevent warring, there was now a more permanent method than just marrying off their precious little bundle of joy to some other precious little bundle of joy. Of course every other bigshot got the same idea at the same time, and suddenly you’d get gel-slathered lunatics running at daddy’s little girl, the don’s wife, some were ambitious enough to run for the don themselves. Bodyguards suddenly found themselves having to sacrifice a lot more to keep their positions.
Upshot was, once you’d been dosed once by what we called ‘Type A’, the permanent fix, that was it. It stopped working on you after that. Of course that provided that you wound up part of a pair. Some enthusiastic mom thought she’d keep her sweetie-pie son safe by coating him with the stuff and leaving him in his room for a week for the effect to ‘wear off’. A week later she lets him out, gives him a hug, and that’s that. A real mama’s boy through and through.
Jimmy got himself split like the bill, and no amount of Joiny-Gel was going to put him back together again. This thought ran through my head again and again as I turned down the boulevard. What the hell had those two cats gotten me stuck in?
“We didn’t know Jimmy was into that kinda stuff,” said half of a stereophonic cat.
“Never did get a name on you two,” I said, glowering at the pair as they reclined on a hotel bed.
“Miss Kittens,” said one of them, giving me the look. They sure sprang back fast.
“Ruby,” said the other, doubling down on the look. I hoped to God her full name was Ruby Kittens, but I had a feeling that wasn’t the case.
“Jimmy got cut in half carrying a jar of Joiny-Gel in a back alley. You two found him, which makes me think he was on his way to see you with it.”
“Look, detective, we already told you, we didn’t know he-“
“You’re talkin’ out of both sides of your faces is what you’re doing. Last thing I need is a stereophonic cat. Jimmy roll with any gangs that specialized in full-body warfare?”
They exchanged a glance with each other. Took a hell of a lot of work given how close together their heads were. For a second they were one cat with an extra-wide face, and then they were back, deciding to gamble on me.
“Jimmy rolled with Shackles’ gang.”
“Well you girls are makin’ this more worth it with every word. Slithering Shackles?”
They nodded out of unison. I felt slightly sea-sick.
Snakes. Why did everything have to be snakes? I could understand wanting to stick with a theme. I could even appreciate the triple-headed snake serving drinks across a delicately scale-patterned bar. It was a nice touch. But the lavatories were a step too far. The Encoiled Club was well known as the place to be seen with someone interesting attached to your arm on a hot Summer night, and the establishment of one Saltana “Slithering” Shackles. She ran her gang as tightly as her craps table. You could play against them for a while and keep above water, but in the end the house always won. Then suddenly the whole snake motif falls away as a thousand-pound hippo in a nice suit personally escorts you face-first into the street. I’d always eyed that hippo and wondered if he’d already been hit by Joiny-Gel at some point. It’d take hours to search for another face in that mass.
I leaned against the bar, and slowly lit a cigarette. Had to keep an eye out for who was keeping an eye out for me. A bear in a trench-coat didn’t exactly give off ninja-like stealth, but I wasn’t going for subtlety. With a tumbler of scotch in paw I let my vices do the talking as I wedged my way around the roulette tables. She knew I was here, I was certain of it. Saltana had herself a little waiting game she liked to play, make people sweat as they waited for the fickle finger to beckon them to the back room. Of course that didn’t mean you shouldn’t have a good time while you waited and I made sure that I had my turn on the wheel before getting called in.
A totem pole of otters rounded me up and escorted me through a pair of curtains to the back office. I looked the three of them up and down while I lit another cigarette.
“I hope your boss pays extra for sticking to a theme.”
The two faces that stuck out along the ‘body’ of this serpentine otter scowled at me. Third one was up too high to see, but I assumed anger, like heat, traveled upwards.
“Kyle, always nice to see you.”
A voice slithered out of the shadows, and a moment later the mother of all banana pythons eyeballed me over a mahogany desk. Really should’ve said the father of all banana pythons. Joey had been on the force and a good cop until he went rogue, trying to do something about Saltana’s gang all by his lonesome.
“Good to see you too, Joe. Boss in?”
“Always.”
He opened his mouth and where you’d expect a tongue, came a great deal of ermine. Had to give Saltana this, she was a fighter. Joey had been on the verge of eating her when she smashed a bottle of gel over herself. Now she had herself some built in muscle, and a permanent snakeskin seat.
“I hope you boys had fun catching up,” she said, tracing her claws along the jaws of her vehicle, “Kyle, you lurking around my club makes me think you’re hard up for work.”
“Work is what it is. Workin’ a case right now. Fresh young face got done in, you know anything about it?”
“Ah, the Rue Fontaine case,” she purred at me, peeling a grape. A moment later and she dropped it into her lap with a smile.
“Can’t say I do.”
“Rue? I’m talking about Jimmy Skitter. Last I heard the kid worked for your gang before someone decided to make him part of a half-off sale.”
“Jimmy’s dead?!” Joey almost gagged on his boss as he tried to speak with his mouth full of mink.
“Found earlier in a back alley. You send the kid off on something serious?”
“No,” growled Saltana, smoothing her fur back out and prying Joey’s jaws open further. “Jimmy was just a runner around here. Helped load and unload.”
“Really. Don’t suppose it’d change your opinion to find out he died with a jar of Joiny-Gel clutched in his hands.”
“Kyle Bartlett,” Saltana tried to pull the innocent face. Never trust an innocent face surrounded by fangs and saliva, “you know us too well to think we’re the kind of gang that uses Joiny-Gel to get what we want. After all, that stuff can lead to complications.”
“I don’t doubt it. So you’re saying Jimmy was just out on his own. Tell me, any new deals gone sour? Someone looking for a chance to send you a message? Who’s this Rue Fontaine?”
“Doesn’t matter, you said you weren’t looking into him.”
“Should I be?”
I felt Joey’s tail suddenly come up over my shoulders. Saltana smiled.
“Kyle, we like you. You’re smart, you don’t make trouble, and you smell like honey and scotch. Let us convince you with this friendly information. Jimmy Skitter did odd jobs around here. Maybe he was looking into some other gang and they did him in. Not our concern.”
“I think it is your concern,” I said as I struck a match off of Joey’s tail and lit up my third ciggy of the day. “I know the way folks operate around here, and I can’t think of anyone whose signature is to cut and shuffle someone like a damn deck of cards. I know you sure as hell don’t, and if you’ve gotten into bed with someone who has then you’re in even more trouble than I am.”
I finished my scotch and went for the door with all the urgency of a sloth. The totem-pole trio tried to make a move for me, but Saltana waved them off.
“You hear anything about whoever went after Jimmy, you let me know.”
“You’re all heart.”
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