Grit
03-06-2013, 05:12 PM
I wrote this after being inspired by palindrome's story the other day. It's a silly take on detective/mystery stories. Hope you enjoy!
* * *
Ray rested against the solid wall behind him, the scent of crime stanking up his nostrils. The crime had a sound. Lonely saxophones wailing away on a rainy alley. Ray took off his black glasses revealing eyes white as pearls beneath, and yet, he saw.
A small room decorated with the victim’s blood. Brutally beaten by a dynamic object, she’d collapsed covered with scratches. Her screams echoed off these walls, unaccessible to the uninitiated.
“What do you think?” The voice of Officer Grady.
“Tweet. Tweet.”
“What?” Officer Grady said again.
“This little birdie wanted to sing. Someone didn’t like the sound.” Ray knelt next to the wall and ran his hand along the hardwood floor. “Just as I thought.” Crooked grooves in the wood.
“What is it?” Grady asked anxiously. The smell of incompetence was heavy on him, like burnt pancakes.
“Did this birdie have a cat?” Ray became very still. The smell of fresh hairballs and stale urine. Mewling and meowing. There was no doubt in his mind. Things got hairy.
“Not that we can tell -“
“Find the pussycat and find the snake.” Ray said and stood up. “Help me around will you?”
Grady’s hand supported Ray as they walked out the room and down the hall. Several doors down, Ray stopped. Running his hands over the lettering, Ray coughed. Door Four-C. It was too coincidental to be a coincidence.
“Four C. Four, a number. Not three, not two. Four. Four legs. Not a table. A c. Not a couch, a cat.”
Ray felt shock roll over him like a static-charged burrito. This was where pure evil made it’s domain. Apartment Four C. Fourth Floor.
“Ready your gun Grady. We’re about to lock horns with the devil.”
“What? Are you su-“
“Yes godammit I’m sure! Reinforce your soul and lock it down.”
Ray gestured towards the door with his head, and there was a pause. Then a timid knock. “This is th-“
“Fool!” Giving warning to a madman, he should expect such idiocy from the police by now. Ray ran wildly towards the door leading with the shoulder when he hit face first and fell to the ground. “Quick,” he wheezed, “before they ready their violence.”
There was a loud bang as the door was cracked open and Ray stood. Feeling his way into the apartment he heard an unexpected sound. A running refrigerator.
“Well? Where’s the culprit.” Grady asked as he looked around the tidy apartment.
Ray walked surely through the apartment and into the kitchen. “The smell is all wrong. Well-marinated chicken. You hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Refrigerator door open, Ray leant forward and took a probing sniff. “Nothing. It’s too quiet. Too neat.”
Officer Grady approached Ray and watched in dismay as he pulled a pudding from the fridge and peeled off the lid. “What are you doing?”
Ray smelt deeply into the pudding. “Butterscotch. Seems innocent.” Feeling his way away from the fridge, he began to eat the pudding.
“Well? Is this our man?”
“No, the creature we chase is a wily devil.”
After leaving an apology note, Ray and Officer Grady found themselves in the hallway once again.
A wave of cold air entered the building through an open window and carried an odour, faint as it was, undetected until it reached Ray’s quivering nose hairs. “Holy Mackinaw.” Ray exclaimed, dropping the pudding onto the grey carpet below.
Ray broke into a run, until he ran headlong into a wall, and then stood waiting patiently for Officer Grady. With Grady’s hand as support, Ray made his way swiftly down the hallway until they reached the final door. Apartment FourH.
“What makes you think the culprit is in here?” Officer Grady asked with wonder in his voice.
“Let’s call it blind faith.”
The door was removed from it’s hinges with a booming kick and the two men stumbled inside. The air assaulted Ray’s senses, a conglomerate of scared kitty, and another strangely similar and yet foreign odour. There was the clicking of claws on wood flooring and then a hiss as claws dug into Ray’s cheeks.
“Jumping Junipers.” Ray called out as he collapsed onto his back, struggling with the oblong mess of fur and claws on his chest. It was no cat, the smell was primal and sneaky like a furry pirate. “Help me.” Ray shouted. There was scuffling coming from across the room. Another sharp claw scraped Ray’s chest.
Finally grabbing the writhing, hissing tube in his hands, he grit his teeth as the claws raked his arms, drawing blood no doubt. Ray mustered up his strength and threw his attacker hard. There was the shattering of glass.
“Winnie! No!” A scream came from an unknown source. Ray stood, his forearms slick with blood.
“Where’d you hide the cat, or should I say, the murder weapon.”
There was the clacking of footsteps on wood and then a thump as something heavy hit the floor. “I took him out.” Officer Grady said.
A quiet meow came from below and Ray knelt down, feeling the small, soft body of a kitty. “There you are and not a minute too late. Put him in cuffs and bring him over to the murder scene.”
The unconscious man woke with a gasp and then began to cry. “Winnie.” He sobbed. Ray walked close and took a big sniff. The man smelt of stale blood and that strange attacker.
“Winnie the name of your accomplice?”
“Winnie was my friend. Why’d you throw him out the window?”
“He attacked me. It was self defence.”
“He’s a weasel, that’s what weasel’s do.” The man melted into a mess of tears and snot.
“Oh I know he’s a weasel. Only the most degenerate type of man could -“
“No, he’s actually a weasel.”
Ray’s eyes widened. Son of a goose.
“Is that why you beat this poor woman to death with her own pussy? To protect Winnie?”
“Yes.” Came the man’s voice quietly through tears. “How did you know?”
“Nine-parts intuition, seven-parts luck and three-parts common sense.” Ray walked over to the grooves in the floor. “These grooves were not made on a normal day. They stink of lethal conflict. They are deep and yet thin, the exact type of mark a cat would make if it were being swung around as a weapon.”
“From there it was as simple as following the smell, it all came together. You were trying to stop her from squealing on you. A weasel is not a regulated pet. By Zeus’ belly man! You killed a woman for a weasel.”
“Yes and now he’s gone.” The man broke down again.
“Remember kids, crime don’t pay and even when it does, there’s copious quantities of taxes.”
“Who are you talking to?” Officer Grady asked.
“No one really. The world in general, I s’pose.”
“Oh.”
* * *
Ray rested against the solid wall behind him, the scent of crime stanking up his nostrils. The crime had a sound. Lonely saxophones wailing away on a rainy alley. Ray took off his black glasses revealing eyes white as pearls beneath, and yet, he saw.
A small room decorated with the victim’s blood. Brutally beaten by a dynamic object, she’d collapsed covered with scratches. Her screams echoed off these walls, unaccessible to the uninitiated.
“What do you think?” The voice of Officer Grady.
“Tweet. Tweet.”
“What?” Officer Grady said again.
“This little birdie wanted to sing. Someone didn’t like the sound.” Ray knelt next to the wall and ran his hand along the hardwood floor. “Just as I thought.” Crooked grooves in the wood.
“What is it?” Grady asked anxiously. The smell of incompetence was heavy on him, like burnt pancakes.
“Did this birdie have a cat?” Ray became very still. The smell of fresh hairballs and stale urine. Mewling and meowing. There was no doubt in his mind. Things got hairy.
“Not that we can tell -“
“Find the pussycat and find the snake.” Ray said and stood up. “Help me around will you?”
Grady’s hand supported Ray as they walked out the room and down the hall. Several doors down, Ray stopped. Running his hands over the lettering, Ray coughed. Door Four-C. It was too coincidental to be a coincidence.
“Four C. Four, a number. Not three, not two. Four. Four legs. Not a table. A c. Not a couch, a cat.”
Ray felt shock roll over him like a static-charged burrito. This was where pure evil made it’s domain. Apartment Four C. Fourth Floor.
“Ready your gun Grady. We’re about to lock horns with the devil.”
“What? Are you su-“
“Yes godammit I’m sure! Reinforce your soul and lock it down.”
Ray gestured towards the door with his head, and there was a pause. Then a timid knock. “This is th-“
“Fool!” Giving warning to a madman, he should expect such idiocy from the police by now. Ray ran wildly towards the door leading with the shoulder when he hit face first and fell to the ground. “Quick,” he wheezed, “before they ready their violence.”
There was a loud bang as the door was cracked open and Ray stood. Feeling his way into the apartment he heard an unexpected sound. A running refrigerator.
“Well? Where’s the culprit.” Grady asked as he looked around the tidy apartment.
Ray walked surely through the apartment and into the kitchen. “The smell is all wrong. Well-marinated chicken. You hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Refrigerator door open, Ray leant forward and took a probing sniff. “Nothing. It’s too quiet. Too neat.”
Officer Grady approached Ray and watched in dismay as he pulled a pudding from the fridge and peeled off the lid. “What are you doing?”
Ray smelt deeply into the pudding. “Butterscotch. Seems innocent.” Feeling his way away from the fridge, he began to eat the pudding.
“Well? Is this our man?”
“No, the creature we chase is a wily devil.”
After leaving an apology note, Ray and Officer Grady found themselves in the hallway once again.
A wave of cold air entered the building through an open window and carried an odour, faint as it was, undetected until it reached Ray’s quivering nose hairs. “Holy Mackinaw.” Ray exclaimed, dropping the pudding onto the grey carpet below.
Ray broke into a run, until he ran headlong into a wall, and then stood waiting patiently for Officer Grady. With Grady’s hand as support, Ray made his way swiftly down the hallway until they reached the final door. Apartment FourH.
“What makes you think the culprit is in here?” Officer Grady asked with wonder in his voice.
“Let’s call it blind faith.”
The door was removed from it’s hinges with a booming kick and the two men stumbled inside. The air assaulted Ray’s senses, a conglomerate of scared kitty, and another strangely similar and yet foreign odour. There was the clicking of claws on wood flooring and then a hiss as claws dug into Ray’s cheeks.
“Jumping Junipers.” Ray called out as he collapsed onto his back, struggling with the oblong mess of fur and claws on his chest. It was no cat, the smell was primal and sneaky like a furry pirate. “Help me.” Ray shouted. There was scuffling coming from across the room. Another sharp claw scraped Ray’s chest.
Finally grabbing the writhing, hissing tube in his hands, he grit his teeth as the claws raked his arms, drawing blood no doubt. Ray mustered up his strength and threw his attacker hard. There was the shattering of glass.
“Winnie! No!” A scream came from an unknown source. Ray stood, his forearms slick with blood.
“Where’d you hide the cat, or should I say, the murder weapon.”
There was the clacking of footsteps on wood and then a thump as something heavy hit the floor. “I took him out.” Officer Grady said.
A quiet meow came from below and Ray knelt down, feeling the small, soft body of a kitty. “There you are and not a minute too late. Put him in cuffs and bring him over to the murder scene.”
The unconscious man woke with a gasp and then began to cry. “Winnie.” He sobbed. Ray walked close and took a big sniff. The man smelt of stale blood and that strange attacker.
“Winnie the name of your accomplice?”
“Winnie was my friend. Why’d you throw him out the window?”
“He attacked me. It was self defence.”
“He’s a weasel, that’s what weasel’s do.” The man melted into a mess of tears and snot.
“Oh I know he’s a weasel. Only the most degenerate type of man could -“
“No, he’s actually a weasel.”
Ray’s eyes widened. Son of a goose.
“Is that why you beat this poor woman to death with her own pussy? To protect Winnie?”
“Yes.” Came the man’s voice quietly through tears. “How did you know?”
“Nine-parts intuition, seven-parts luck and three-parts common sense.” Ray walked over to the grooves in the floor. “These grooves were not made on a normal day. They stink of lethal conflict. They are deep and yet thin, the exact type of mark a cat would make if it were being swung around as a weapon.”
“From there it was as simple as following the smell, it all came together. You were trying to stop her from squealing on you. A weasel is not a regulated pet. By Zeus’ belly man! You killed a woman for a weasel.”
“Yes and now he’s gone.” The man broke down again.
“Remember kids, crime don’t pay and even when it does, there’s copious quantities of taxes.”
“Who are you talking to?” Officer Grady asked.
“No one really. The world in general, I s’pose.”
“Oh.”