The Case of One Cold Body and One Cool Kat

[Glowurm]

"Aaaaaaaaaaarkcheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer," came a whiny, drawn-out call from another room. Arkcher, however, had his face planted firmly on a table in the kitchen with his arms uncomfortably wrapped around the top of his head, in an effort to shield his face either from light or from life. Or both. Probably both. Arkcher was not about to move any time soon, but it's impolite to ignore loud whiny drawn-out calls (or at least if you do, generally something worse than that follows) so he grunted into the wood. The call repeated, so Arkcher grunted louder. It came again, so this time he yelled, "What?" and the calling ceased. Arkcher found this odd, but soon he was back to being dark and silent on the kitchen table.

 

It wasn't long after that MK tapped him on his shoulder. Arkcher did not move, so MK sat on his back. He still did not move, so she bounced on it. Obviously she did not notice that she was preventing him from breathing. Either way, after much bouncing and even a couple trampoline tricks performed on his back (some members passing by through their open house even tossed loose change into a shoe and watched) MK finally got off. Arkcher was still not moving, so this time she pushed him. He fell out his chair, rolled onto his back and his arms flopped helplessly on the ground. His face was red with blood. Maybe she shouldn't have used his head in her trampoline routine. Either way, he was without a doubt unconscious, and with blood covering his face... MK was with no doubt suspicious. She put her hand to his throat, and throttled it for good measure. Still, there was no response, so she threw him into Ye Olde Meat Grindere, which had no effect on him. Finally, she used her end-all desperate emergency response and stabbed him with the nearest sharp object. Despite a pencil piercing his shoulder where she jumped, there was no reply. Arkcher was dead.

 

***

 

Meet me. Ebly. No, that's not my real name. I'm a cool cat and I'm a top of the line public figure and private eye. I don't know how it works, but that's where I ended up in my life. My business card barely has room for my address. Needless to say I have to keep one eye under an eyepatch, or else I won't be able to claim private eye (my eye wouldn't be very private, would it). People often misplace me as a pirate. Those people never live long. I may be a private eye, but I'm not of the law and I don't remember the last time I cared. Basically, I'm not off about killing a man for calling me a pirate. I have my history with them, but it's a mistake one would not wish to make. Nor two. Nor five. Nor any number you could imagine. Even the letters are nervous around it. I have a gun, of course, but I never shoot it. Shots are reserved for alcohol (which is too hard or expensive to get nowadays, especially with it being illegal. Private eyes aren't all that popular with the runners), and guns are reserved for dolls, dolls with sweet gams, up to their eyeballs. Yeah, that's the kind of kitten that I go for. So it's no surprise that was the next dame that walked in. Her body was an eight and her legs a long eleven, and I amn't talking outta ten. I saw her eyes, she had a case. A sweet-legged flapper with a case. I'd need a drink for this one. Some girls nowadays are tomboys, but this girl's a jane like you wouldn't believe. She looked like a bit of a vamp but even if she were a tad of a hood and could wield iron (I wouldn't have no idea if she could) that don't change her rack size, and you could hang your glad rags up on those to dry. But the best (or worst) part was her face. I'd recognise it anywhere. I knew this babe.

 

"So ya see, daddy, that's the deal. Dead buck, found by this sweet little kitten, so sweet she can't even work up the nerve to see a sly cat like you, asks me instead. What can I say, the girl's like my young sweet little kid sister, when a guy's killed in her own home, I just can't sit by. Y'gotta know what I mean, yeah?" she asked, idly twirling her blonde hair as if she didn't know she was winding me up. All gals are teases now.

"I'm sure you had no problem taking up the offer. No surprise they call you Kat from where you're from," I remarked, letting it slip I knew her. Bad move.

"Oh, you know me?" she asked, her face suddenly darkening. No, I shouldn't say that. It lit up like those lights outside the less reputable joints in town. And by less reputable I mean not even the worst of the speakeasies were this bad. It was cheesy, machinery. I could tell that her real face had gone and she was being polite. What a doll, though. Could fool me, but I'm not a private eye because I can't see.

"I have connections in your industry, it's inevitable"

"Ohoho, my 'industry'? Cut the ishkabibble, papa. You ain't talkin to some innocent little kitten, even if my name's Kat. I got a shiv in my stockings and people say I got a stick up my ###. Hood doesn't cover the half of it, and I'm not even Cajun. Now stop feeding me bull#### and you won't meet the Muddy Miss."

"Fine, I'll admit. A doll like you don't go unnoticed nowadays, especially when she's a killer queen that knocks off half an establishment just 'cause she wants in on some of the green through all the brown she's in. I heard of ya. It's not good. But I heard of ya, and that's better than most."

"I tell you I got a shank and you talk like that to my face? You got nerve, and nerves just mean you can feel the pain all the better. I don't like you, you speak right but what you got to say makes ya sound like a rube. I like whoever killed Arkcat even less though, so I'll hold off for now. You better watch your back when this case is over, darling, because this 'killer queen' don't appreciate being shot at like that."

Shot didn't cover half of it. I spent the rest of the night at the nearest establishment getting tanked. It's always the ones with the longest legs that speak the shortest, and the hardest. She said I had nerve, boy she was right. I had nerves from my head to my ankles, and they were all telling me to get out while I could.

But I'm Ebly. And I'm a private eye. And I guess I'll do what I can do.

 

-----

 

Probably a once-off. Playing around with early 20th century slang in that second part, man I need practise. I bet I used them all horribly wrong. Either way, there you go. Hope it was fun for you too, because I know that was fun for me.

Gams is probably the most horridly amusing slang I've ever heard for a woman's legs. I love it, so much. <33333

[Arkcher]

Arkcher was dead.

Now look what you did D:

[Mushroom_king]

[keep killing him, he might come die so much he comes back.]

[Horatio]

[ Glow... you are such a phenomenal writer!!! I hope you keep this story going for a while. Outstanding!!! ]

[- Kat -]

[Words cannot describe how terribly amused I was reading this! XD It would be AWESOME if you kept it up! I looooooooove noir <333333]

[Glowurm]

Arkcher was dead.

Now look what you did D:

Shut up. You're the one who died, so it's your fault. Duh.

[Horatio]

Arkcher was dead.

Now look what you did D:

Shut up. You're the one who died, so it's your fault. Duh.