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Post by Charles Vane on Aug 16, 2013 12:46:49 GMT -5
id like to play a drinking game with this where i take a drink every time private eye lingo is said
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Post by Linda Rhaldeen on Aug 16, 2013 20:31:57 GMT -5
Imagining Charlie as an enormous drunk is kind of funny.
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Post by Sixteen on Aug 17, 2013 4:27:28 GMT -5
You write good and stuff.
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Post by penne on Aug 17, 2013 10:58:28 GMT -5
This is awesome.
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Post by bandit on Aug 17, 2013 21:22:34 GMT -5
SUSPECT #4: THE SECRET AGENTAnka Anwhistle sat on a bench outside the airport, clutching onto her cardboard sign which read "BRANDON M " and chewing on her long German hair nervously. She had successfully met with Mister M here numerous times before without incident, but the experience never failed to make her anxious. What if someone recognized her from all the operas she went to with Mr. Anwhistle, and then saw her with another man? What terrible consequences would she have to face? How could she ever-- "Anka!" Anka looked up from her terrible fantasies to see Mister M walking towards her briskly, grinning from ear to ear. Without a second thought her mood brightened and she threw her arms around Mister M happily. "I'm so glad you could come!" she said in a voice like Heidi Klum after breathing in a substantial amount of helium. Mister M smiled again, but his eyes became sad. "Listen, I have a few things to talk about," he said quietly as they walked towards Anka's parked Volkswagen/Mercedes/BMW/other German car. The ride home was very uncomfortable, and not just because of all the potholes they drove over, but also because of the lovers' upsetting conversation. "I'm sorry Anka, but it's the truth!" cried Mister M. "An aeroplane to Germany costs a lot of money, especially when it's in the middle of the night, which is the only time I can ever see you!" "I'm sorry Mister M, but that's not my fault!" cried Anka. "I thought the whole reason you started going out with all those girls was because you could get some cash out of them in the long run!" "I'm sorry Anka, but in the long run!" cried Mister M. "That means in a few decades, not whenever I need a quick buck for a ticket!" "I'm sorry Mister M, but none of this is my fault!" cried Anka. "If you can't take the heat, get out of that terrible town and stay in Germany with me!" "I'm sorry Anka, but that's my hometown!" cried Mister M. "I need to keep up my reputation there!" "I'm sorry Mister M, but that kind of makes sense!" cried Anka. "Let's talk about this later when we don't have to yell over the roar of the car's engine!" "I'm sorry Anka, but okay!" cried Mister M. "My point still stands, though!" Later that night as Anka lay alone in bed (Mister M had left for the airport again after a few hours), she pondered how to fix her situation with Mister M. Bickering was a truly awful business, and she hated to be involved in it. But even though it was sometimes necessary, that didn't mean it had to last long; all Anka had to figure out was how to compromise. She knew all about Mister M's plans with Mayor Charlie Snicket, and she had to admit it was a very immoral thing to do, but maybe if she helped him out he would soften up to her a bit? It would be very nice if M would just move to Germany already. With these and other thoughts in mind, Anka eventually dozed off into a slightly troubled sleep.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Aug 18, 2013 2:17:50 GMT -5
"I'm sorry Mister M, but that kind of makes sense!" That line made me lauh so much
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Post by Kit's tits kick ticks on Aug 18, 2013 2:46:52 GMT -5
she said in a voice like Heidi Klum after breathing in a substantial amount of helium. I laughed so much at this.
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Post by Charlie on Aug 18, 2013 3:33:39 GMT -5
I like this. Cause I'm so well characterised.
Also, I quite like the style itself.
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Post by Hermes on Aug 18, 2013 10:18:27 GMT -5
How very German this chapter is!
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Sept 12, 2013 8:09:59 GMT -5
BUMP
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Post by bandit on Sept 12, 2013 20:10:44 GMT -5
SUSPECT #5: THE HENCHMAN The telephone singing like a bird woke me up, if the bird just had a wing ripped off and was about to be eaten by a cat. It’s not a good way to rise out of bed, especially for a professional snoop who knows it’ll always be some blabbing client who’s too shaken up to communicate correctly. As it turns out though, it wasn’t a new client. It was an old client, or at least one I had talked to enough already for my tastes. And from the tone of the dame’s voice, things weren’t going to be all sunshine and roses after wherever this little talk led to.
“What kind of detective are you, going straight to my father and actually talking to him the second I put you on the case?” Lemona snarled through the telephone speaker. Oh no. For some strange reason a mental image of me not getting two bits of that twenty-five a day flashed through my head. “So what’s the story, shamus?” the girl continued angrily. I groaned and rolled over in bed, wishing I hadn’t picked up the Ameche in the first place. My grumbles of annoyance managed to make it to the other end, which really set the dame off.
“What’s your problem, you quack PI?” she said with more derision I would think a human was capable of having. “I wanna know why my old man just came home shouting his drunk head off about a certain obnoxious gumshoe bothering him at the pub.”
“Listen, angel,” I sighed, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation on the spot, which I can tell you is pretty hard to do when you’re still half asleep, “I have my ways of doing things. If you want me outta your hair, so be it. I got better things to do than follow around fat old boozehounds, see?”
“What a thing to say!” hissed Lemona like an angry rattlesnake who had just been treaded on. “Listen shamus, nobody badmouths my father, especially a grubby old mug like you! You’re off the case!”
“No, you’re off your case, woman!” I growled, slamming the receiver back down on the bedside table and cursing loudly. Of course I was lying when I said I was fine if she took me off the case, and of course I needed that dough more than a baker on a busy day. The mental image from just a few minutes before came barging back into my head, and I figured it wouldn’t be long before the dame would come back for her twenty-five greenbacks.
I hate it when I’m right.
***
I woke up that morning to find the twenty-five missing mysteriously from my desk, an extra office key lying on the chair and a friendly note from the janitor telling me "a rambunctious young woman wished to see you earlier, so I just let her in." I’d be sure to give that schmuck custodian a thorough chewing later, but now wasn’t the time. Any time after losing a wad of cash isn’t a good time, especially for a professional who could have raked in a lot of profits.
Lighting a cigarette and heading out into the dirty streets of the city, I decided to take a leaf out of Mayor Snicket’s book and drop by the local tavern for a drink. I needed a good pal like brandy to calm me down after an ordeal like last night.
Seeing the deserted benches was enough to calmed me down as I walked under the sign reading “The Tin Can” in letters messier than a kindergartner’s pants. I was not particularly hopeful for another confrontation with the mayor. I sat down at the counter next to a passed out old hobo and flicked my cigarette on the ground next to me, pressing a shoe on it and grinding it into the wood floor. The waitress sauntered over and looked at me expectantly. “Scotch on the rocks,” I grumbled absentmindedly. The waitress winked at me and blew a bubble with her gum as she sashayed off. Dames.
The drink slid down the countertop and I caught it in my hand and took a swig. Coughing, I patted down my coat pockets for another cigarette as a finger tapped on my shoulder. I turned around, saw a fist coming straight at my face, and everything went black.
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Post by Tryina Denouement on Sept 14, 2013 12:22:17 GMT -5
This is a very nice fic! And it's nice that you updated. I'm hoping to feature here.
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Post by Linda Rhaldeen on Sept 15, 2013 18:49:52 GMT -5
I am really loving this story.
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Post by Kit's tits kick ticks on Sept 16, 2013 4:08:35 GMT -5
Okay, now this last chapter confused me.
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Post by Hermes on Sept 16, 2013 7:15:22 GMT -5
Me too. Should I take it that the henchman only appears in the last sentence?
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