Re: The Savage Brawl [Round 4: Small 50s Town]
05-20-2011, 02:24 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Not The Author.
“They came in through here…”
A man in a fedora skirted the newly-renovated storefront, taking care not to step on any rubble.
“Looks like they drove their car through the wall, or they probably woulda just picked the lock.”
The store bell jingled as he made his way through the miraculously unharmed door.
“And they weren’t just vandals or they’da broken all the windows.”
His gaze passed over the empty shelves, coming to rest on his elderly companion.
“They took everything?”
The old man scraped away a few more flakes of dander.
“‘S very odd… The cash is all accounted for, but my wares…”
“Hrm.”
The hatted man’s pencil flitted across his notepad as he drifted back to the gaping hole in the wall.
“And then there’s the, um…”
“…Yeah. The… That.”
They both stared at the curious trail leading from the scene; were both interrupted by an approaching siren.
“Well, that was fast.”
“Fast? They should’ve been here five minutes ago. Town’s not that big.”
“Hey, I know how this world works, okay? And it don’t work all that great for people who're different. People like me.”
The siren’s aging electronics sputtered and died as the car ground to a halt short of the curb. A click and a clack and a crunch and the driver’s side door reluctantly popped open.
“Looks like your luck isn’t getting any better…”
A rotund figure jostled free of the cockpit, beady eyes locked on the man and his notepad.
“How inna hell‘djew get here ‘fore me?”
“Detective Simmons! Fancy meeting y-”
“Get th’ hell outta my crime scene! This’s’n official police investigation, an’ I won’ have your sland’rous filth muckin’ things up!”
“Well, technically it’s libel, but-“
“Get. Out.”
The newsman shot the shopkeeper a sympathetic look as he sprinted to his car.
“An’ don’t come back, or I’ll make y’ regret it!”
The detective’s glare followed the reporter’s much nicer automobile as it sped off down the street.
“Ugh. Damn press. Always sticking ’eir nose in ev’rybody’s business…”
Then he saw the street itself.
“…The hell?”
***
He’d been that kid who’d asked all the wrong questions. Like why two and two was four, or why blue was blue, and not some other color, how did you know it wasn’t? He got into trouble a lot, because people didn’t know how to deal with him.
He’d grown up and not lost that inquisitive drive. He wanted to know why – why people did the things they did, why the world was the way it was, why things never seemed to match in explanation and execution, why why why why why. When he got a job as an investigative reporter, nobody was surprised. Jimmy Chase had always been a newsman.
He had a nose for the news, an eye for the details. He still got in trouble for it, but this time with the mob, monopoly owners, politicians; the type who’d ruin your life given half the chance and never once look back. That’s why he was in this backwater town – taking a well-earned vacation from all the people who wanted his head on a pike.
He didn’t like Jedesburg, in large part because Jedesburg didn’t like him. He was an outsider, fast-talker, city-slicker. If there had been anything to do in this town he was sure people would find a reason to keep him from doing it. He was restless but kept being told no, he couldn’t come back yet, the situation hadn’t cooled off enough, now stop calling us before someone catches on.
He hadn’t expected anything newsworthy from Jedesburg. That he’d happened upon New Leaf Produce at six in the morning while driving around to relieve boredom had been sheer coincidence. The scene was just too bizarre to be natural. The hole in the storefront had something like dried blood all along its rim; only the food had been taken, everything of value had been left untouched… Oh, and the giant, bloody groove leading from the scene that to all appearance had been melted into the asphalt.
Something smelled fishy.
Or… come to think of it, more like... beef.
Why did it smell like beef?
“They came in through here…”
A man in a fedora skirted the newly-renovated storefront, taking care not to step on any rubble.
“Looks like they drove their car through the wall, or they probably woulda just picked the lock.”
The store bell jingled as he made his way through the miraculously unharmed door.
“And they weren’t just vandals or they’da broken all the windows.”
His gaze passed over the empty shelves, coming to rest on his elderly companion.
“They took everything?”
The old man scraped away a few more flakes of dander.
“‘S very odd… The cash is all accounted for, but my wares…”
“Hrm.”
The hatted man’s pencil flitted across his notepad as he drifted back to the gaping hole in the wall.
“And then there’s the, um…”
“…Yeah. The… That.”
They both stared at the curious trail leading from the scene; were both interrupted by an approaching siren.
“Well, that was fast.”
“Fast? They should’ve been here five minutes ago. Town’s not that big.”
“Hey, I know how this world works, okay? And it don’t work all that great for people who're different. People like me.”
The siren’s aging electronics sputtered and died as the car ground to a halt short of the curb. A click and a clack and a crunch and the driver’s side door reluctantly popped open.
“Looks like your luck isn’t getting any better…”
A rotund figure jostled free of the cockpit, beady eyes locked on the man and his notepad.
“How inna hell‘djew get here ‘fore me?”
“Detective Simmons! Fancy meeting y-”
“Get th’ hell outta my crime scene! This’s’n official police investigation, an’ I won’ have your sland’rous filth muckin’ things up!”
“Well, technically it’s libel, but-“
“Get. Out.”
The newsman shot the shopkeeper a sympathetic look as he sprinted to his car.
“An’ don’t come back, or I’ll make y’ regret it!”
The detective’s glare followed the reporter’s much nicer automobile as it sped off down the street.
“Ugh. Damn press. Always sticking ’eir nose in ev’rybody’s business…”
Then he saw the street itself.
“…The hell?”
***
He’d been that kid who’d asked all the wrong questions. Like why two and two was four, or why blue was blue, and not some other color, how did you know it wasn’t? He got into trouble a lot, because people didn’t know how to deal with him.
He’d grown up and not lost that inquisitive drive. He wanted to know why – why people did the things they did, why the world was the way it was, why things never seemed to match in explanation and execution, why why why why why. When he got a job as an investigative reporter, nobody was surprised. Jimmy Chase had always been a newsman.
He had a nose for the news, an eye for the details. He still got in trouble for it, but this time with the mob, monopoly owners, politicians; the type who’d ruin your life given half the chance and never once look back. That’s why he was in this backwater town – taking a well-earned vacation from all the people who wanted his head on a pike.
He didn’t like Jedesburg, in large part because Jedesburg didn’t like him. He was an outsider, fast-talker, city-slicker. If there had been anything to do in this town he was sure people would find a reason to keep him from doing it. He was restless but kept being told no, he couldn’t come back yet, the situation hadn’t cooled off enough, now stop calling us before someone catches on.
He hadn’t expected anything newsworthy from Jedesburg. That he’d happened upon New Leaf Produce at six in the morning while driving around to relieve boredom had been sheer coincidence. The scene was just too bizarre to be natural. The hole in the storefront had something like dried blood all along its rim; only the food had been taken, everything of value had been left untouched… Oh, and the giant, bloody groove leading from the scene that to all appearance had been melted into the asphalt.
Something smelled fishy.
Or… come to think of it, more like... beef.
Why did it smell like beef?