🚀 go-pugleaf

continued from previous post...


     Sandy watched the four others leave, with Betty Cho slamming the
door behind them.  "What was all that about?" she asked.
     "We need to cover more territory," her sister answered.
     "Whatever.  What's the real reason?" Sandy demanded.
     Betty slumped back on the couch, checking up on the corpse of Dale.
"I just wanted it to be you and I, I guess."
     Sandy fumbled through some cabinets, spilling plastic plates with
floral designs out.  "You're worried, aren't you?"
     Betty sneered at the thought.  "Why would you ask that?"
     "I lived with you for how many years?" he sibling said.  "I know
your little mannerism and ways.  Someone is bothering you, you send them
away for indirect reasons.  Something is aggravating you, you put it aside.
When you get nervous or worried, you become defensive."
     Betty stood and joined her sister in the kitchen.  "Just thinking
about those little girls and their parents a lot since yesterday.  Especially
about Mr. Cecava.  What he said to me before I left his office."
     "Which was?"
     "Oh, it's not really important.  I just-"  She stopped.  "Sindy, I
really wish you'd go home and sit this one out.  Ever since yesterday when
we got into town, I've felt uneasy.  Something is watching me.  I don't
want you here when it comes out."
     "Like Hell(tm)," Sandy replied.  "You're my big sister.  I've got
to be here for you."
     Betty leaned against a counter.  "thanks, Sindy, but really I -"
     "Jack pot!"
     "Huh?"  Betty walked to her sister.  Sandy was rummaging through
the refrigerator and pulled a small paper box out.  "Chinese food, Sindy?
If you're hungry, sweety, we can -"
     "No, look in side," he sister beckoned.
     The PI pushed the lid open.  "Holy -"
     "Exactly," Sandy cut in.  She reached into the white box and pulled
put the heavy gold cross, speckled with four rubies the size of silver
dollars.  "Now, my guess is the average drug pusher doesn't just happen
to have jewelry like this in his fridge for good luck."
     Betty rolled the cross in her hands.  "Looks like a Celtic cross.
Short arms."  She placed her arm around her sister.  "Well, it's not a case
cracking clue, but its better than where we're at now.  Let's get going."
     Sandy pointed to the sofa.  "What about Ozzie and Harriet?"
     "What about them?" Betty asked.  "They waited this long to be
found.  They can wait a bit longer.  Remember, Sindy, we have a virtual
amnesty thanks to our dear Mr. Cecava.  If you wanna wait around for the
police to come and find you in a dealer's apartment with him and his wife
dead and holding this piece and test the bounds of that amnesty -"
     "Gotcha," the younger Yeh said.  Sandy walked towards the door and
stopped.  "Did you see this?"
     "See what?"
     Sandy rolled a turned-over coffee table aside and grabbed a yellow
scrap of paper.  "Looks like someone was practicing poetry.  Listen to this:

               One for each Apostle:
               From Iscariot's branch
               Eight pure hearts from the flock hang
               Shorn and split as the Shepherd -
               Four crowned as the Master, bound to the wood,
               To burn as Moses' bush.
               And one shall open her eyes as Saul
               And feed the serpent's sting.

     "Can you make anything of it?" Sandy asked.
     "Moses - he was that guy, right?" Betty asked.
     "The one who had all those rules and stuff?" Sandy replied.
     "Yeah.  Him."  Betty scratched her head.  "Sounds religious to me.
How come none of these psycho zealots are Buddhists.  At least then I'd
understand these random clues."
     "True, but then we'd have to deal with them sharing our philosophies.
Still," Sandy said, folding the slip of paper up, "it will definitely be
helpful.  I'm gonna see if I can't find someone who can help solve this
little riddle."
     "Good thinking," Betty said.  "I'll go scout out the dregs these
lovely gentlemen used to hang out in.  And Sindy?"
     "Sandy."
     "I've called you Sindy since mom brought you home, I'll not stop now.
Do me a favor?" the older Yeh asked.
     "Maybe," laughed the younger.
     "Be careful, okay?"
     Sandy beamed.  "I promise to get into no more trouble than you do."
     As she watched her younger sibling bounce off, Betty muttered under
her breath, "That's what I fear."

                      ----= * =----



11:43 am -



     Betty Cho pushed her sunglasses farther up the bridge of her
slight nose.  "Imagine - they don't print this place in the tourist guide."
     Skinnybutt scanned the expanse of towering, abandoned warehouses and
apartment buildings.  "All there potential homes just falling apart here
while companies sheer more land to put up more buildings that'll just fall
apart anyway."
     "Wow, a socially aware dead guy," Betty Cho moaned.  "Aren't I the
luckiest girl in the world today?"
     "Stow it, brat," the carcass growled.  "Let's get something straight.
I hate being stuck with you just as much as you with me, but we might as
well put all our displeasure on hold long enough to get through with this
case.  Betty's very tired and she's counting on us."
     Cho turned her back to Skinnybutt and began to walk towards a large,
red bricked building.  "I'm just not in the mood to babysit you."
     "You aren't the one babysitting," Skinnybutt whispered to himself.
     "Okay, Rigo-Morty," Betty Cho started, "what's the deal?  Why are
we here?"
     "When these Kirk and Chauncy characters were younger, they spent
most of their early career in this area," the ghost said.  "Running drugs,
doing petty theft, usual stuff.  Apparently they made some hard enemies
here, too.  Then they graduated to big-time thugs, but the people they'd
crossed haunted them from then on.  On more than one occasion, their
lives were endangered."
     "So you think Chauncy might have been acting with someone else
from the old neighborhood?" Cho inquired.  "Then how does their other
playmate fix into the scheme?"
     "I don't know," he answered.  "Hopefully, we'll find out.  For all
we know, Chauncy offed him as well - just the body was never found."
     Cho sat down on the curb.  "Great.  A few hours of combing the
concrete jungle on a lead that probably goes as far Frosty the Snowman's
hopes in Hell(tm)."
     Skinnybutt tugged at Cho's shirt.  "C'mon.  Life can't be all
adventure and action.  Everyone has to spend some time doing ground work."
     Lazily, she propped to her feet.  "You're a supernatural being.
Can't you just snap your fingers or wiggle your nose like that chick on
'Bewitched' and know who did what?"
     The ghost verbally lunged.  "That's absurd!"
     "But a twenty-five century old dead guy with a virtual dimension
in his rib cage makes perfect sense.  I see."
     "Hey, lady!" cried a child's voice.
     Cho looked down at the huffing little boy who'd run up beside her.
"You ain't gonna go in there, are ya?" he asked, motioning towards a chain
link fence behind her.
     "The thought had crossed my mind.  Why, Tonto?  Are the banditos
planning to jump the stage coach?"
     "Whatever, lady," the boy said.  "You can't go in there."
     "Quite the contrary," she corrected.  "I can.  I'm very physically
able.  It's one of the many pleasures of motor functions."
     The little boy peered nervously at the chain link fence.  "If you
say so, lady.  I just wanted to warn you before you went in."
     "I get the feeling our little buddy here knows something we don't."
Cho looked up to Skinnybutt.  "What do you think?"
     The sidekick kneeled to the boy's level.  "What's so bad behind this
fence?"
     "The Troll," he answered.
     "Sounds like Junior here plays a bit more Dungeons & Dragons than
needed," Betty spat.
     "He's this twisted freak who used to live under the overpass, but
police cleared all the gutter bums out.  Everyone says he lives here now.
A couple of kids went missing here a few weeks ago.  Most people think
he ate 'em."
     "You ever seen this troll?" Betty asked.
     "Uh... well," the boy started.  "I know people who have."
     "People who _say_ they have," Skinnybutt interjected.  "Thanks
for your warning.  We'll keep that in mind."
     "Your hide," the boy replied and ran off.
     Betty watched Skinnybutt as he tugged at the chain binding the
entrance to the fenced area.  "Lotsa rubble over there."
     "Yup," he replied.
     "Whattaya think about the troll bit?"
     Skinnybutt didn't look up.  "An urban legend, comparable to the
hitchhiker with the hook for a hand or the ghost of the little girl who
drowned in a lake and every year looks for people to give her a ride
home.  Every town has something like it."  He tilted his head slightly
upwards to see her.  "Of course, all legends have some grain of truth
behind them."
     "Oh, that wasn't ominous or anything, dead boy," Cho growled.
"So what if this troll thing is real?  What happens if he catches us?"
     Skinnybutt shrugged.  "I guess you die."
     "What?" his companion shot.
     The ghost smiled.  "Well, if he's a real monster I doubt he'll
want spoiled goods.  What could be better than a lively little entree
like yourself."
     "You're a comfort," Cho muttered.
     "I try, dear."

     "Look out for rusty nails and stuff," Skinnybutt reminded.  "I'd
hate for you to get lockjaw and to be unable to talk ever again.  I don't
know how I'd survive without your melodic voice."
     "I'm definitely going to see about having you cremated," Cho
retorted.  She scaled a few slabs of concrete and surveyed the area.  "Man,
this place is a sight.  I've never seen so much ruin."
     "Don't worry," Skinnybutt said.  "You're young yet.  You'll see
plenty more."
     "You should write for Sesame Street.  What's that over there?"
     The ghost hopped up alongside Betty and followed her pointed finger
with his vision.  "Looks like... dead body!"  He snatched her up and
bounded towards the blue rags Betty had seen.
     "What the Hell(tm)?"  Cho scooped up some of the bones.  "These
things are sun-bleached and dry.  They must've been here for weeks."
     Skinnybutt cracked one open.  "Guess again."
     "Days?"
     "Hours," Skinnybutt replied.  "The marrow is fresh.  Put your finger
in that."
     Betty's eyes widened.  "What?"
     "You heard me."
     Tentatively, Cho followed the order.  "It's warm... very warm."
     "This wasn't dropped off here too long ago," Skinnybutt said.  "And
the reason they're so dry is because they were picked dry.  Notice the teeth
marks."
     "Something ate this person?"  Cho shifted the pile of remains with
her foot.  "There's the pelvis.  Seems it was a male.  Small hips, colyx is
turned inward."
     Skinnybutt scrutinized the bones.  "This wasn't done by an animal.
These are human teeth marks."
     "So someone let Hannibal Lector out to play?" Cho asked.
     The specter chuckled.  "Or your urban legend is more a reality than
we suspected."
     "The troll."
     "I remember what he was called, Betty."
     Cho shook her head.  "No, I mean the Troll."  She grabbed Skinnybutt
by the shoulders and pulled him up.  "He's over there."
     "He is?"  The ghost concentrated and cupped a gloved hand over his
right ear.  "Footsteps... behind that pile of concrete."  He scooped Betty
up again and silently bounded from pile to pile of rubble.  Quietly he dove
behind a bank of shattered cement and wire.  Tentatively, Cho peaked over
the edge.
     "Troll?"
     She squinted.  "If that's the Troll, I question the locals' sense
of ugliness.  Looks like a white male in early twenties."
     The ghost peeped around at the man.  "I'll be - I wonder if Barbie
knows Ken is out here."
     The two watched as the man pushed some sheet metal aside to reveal
a gaping hole in the grounded.  Giving one more look around, he descended
into the darkness.
     Cho stood up.  "This is more like it!  C'mon, he's obviously up to
no good!  Let's smash him!"
     "You know, you'd be perfect for law enforcement.  However, we DON'T
know he's up to know good," Skinnybutt corrected.
     "Whatever," Cho blurted.  "Coming or what?"
     "I doubt I have a choice in the matter," the decomposing sidekick
stated.  "Ladies first."
     Betty Cho worked up a quick smile.  "What a gentleman!  Holding the
door open for a woman as she stroll to a possible unmerciful demise."
     Skinnybutt heaved a piece of sheet metal aside.  "I didn't spend
$29.95 on Charm School-by-Mail for nothing."  He mumbled a quick incantation
under his breath and a bubble of sick blue light appeared in the air in front
of Cho.  "Don't worry - it only illuminates for you and me.  Our new found
friend won't notice anything."
     "Cool for us."  Cho jumped down the steps, raising a cloud of dust
as she thudded on the ground.
     "Jesus, Cho," her comrade whispered.  "The intent here is stealth."
     Betty paid no attention but quickly scampered along the fresh
footprints.  "At long last," she giggled, "some adventure of my own."


                      ----= * =----


St. Thomas' Church
12:03 am -


     Sandy pushed her leather-bound book of vodun spells farther into
her plum colored backpack so as not to draw attention to it.
     An ancient man in priest garb walked towards her.  "Hello, child.
May I help you in someway?"
     Sandy propped a grin.  "I really hope so, sir."  She handed him a
vanilla business card.  "I'm from the Betty Yeh Investigation Agency.  I
found something - a riddle, of sorts - and I was wondering if you could
help me decode it."  She gave him the scrap of paper.
     The priest's aged face lost a bit of its jovial glow as he skimmed
over it.  "Perhaps you would like to follow me into my office?"
     Every horrible Catholic clergy joke Sandy had heard about priests
and little children flashed in her mind, but she fought the images.  "If
you aren't busy?"
     The priest looked around the hollow church.  "I think I can pull
myself from the all-encompassing throngs of followers for a few seconds."
He smiled.  "Besides, you look a tad tired.  I'll make some coffee for both
of us."

     "I really can't thank you enough, Father Shael," Sandy chimed in
between gulped from her mug of coffee.
     "I'm all too pleased to help, Ms. Yeh," the priest said.  He took
a place behind a desk that looked nearly as old and worn as he did and
studied the scrap of paper through bifocals.  "Morbid little piece of prose,
isn't it?"
     "To say the least.  Do you understand any of it?"
     He scanned the poem a few more times before speaking.  "A great deal
of religious imagery.  I take it you're not Christian?"
     Sandy opened her mouth to immediately explain her religious beliefs,
but instead found herself saying, "No, sir.  I'm not."
     "I see, dear," he answered.  "I knew you weren't.  Some of these
sayings are basic doctrine.  The flock reference is from how the Bible refers
to the children of God as sheep.  Popular Christian art of times past
depicted Jesus as a shepherd carrying a lost sheep on his shoulders."  His
bleached finger followed the lines.  "'Crowned as the Master' - the Romans
forced a crown of thorns onto the Saviour's head just before the crucifixion,
and covered his bleeding back with a purple robe to mock him.  Moses' bush
would refer to how God spoke to Moses through a burning bush after he led
the Jews from Egyptian captivity."
     "Saul?" Betty asked.
     "Saul was a young Jew who desperately hated the followers of Christ.
He was traveling and God blinded him.  A follower took care of him until
he regained his sight.  Saul then gave his life over to the Lord and changed
his name to Paul.  Many feel it was the blindness that opened his eyes."
The priest looked up.  "Would you like for me to write all of this down,
dear?"
     "If you could," Sandy said.  "I'm afraid I've no pen or -"
     "I have some."  Father Shael stood and left the room.  "Be right
back," he called.
     Sandy fidgeted idly for a few moments, then began to snoop over the
papers on the priest's desk.  One in particular, a pink sheet, caught her
eye.  She had only a few seconds to scan the first few paragraphs before she
heard the man's footsteps returning.


                      ----= * =----


     Betty Cho climbed a few rusted pipes and looked down the spiraling
passage of earthen tunnels below her and her dead partner.
     "Tracks stopped," she muttered.  "Talk about crappy luck."
     Skinnybutt drug his finger through the gravel on the floor.  "I
can't shake the feeling he's not here anymore."
     "Well, duh, moron," Cho said.  "That's painfully obvious."
     The ghost stood.  "That's it.  You want adventure?"  He gripped her
dainty wrists.
     "What the Hell(tm) are you doing?" Betty demanded.
     Skinnybutt propped Cho up on his back.  "Making this all a bit more
exciting for you."
     With those words, Betty watched Skinnybutt's legs shape-shift into
a set of wheels.  With the tilt of the floor, the two lurched forward and
helplessly flew down the several flights which the path led.
     Seven minutes later, they were on a heap on a polished wood floor.
     "You rotting bastard," Cho griped.  "If you weren't already dead -"
     "Remember how you couldn't find any foot prints up there?" Skinnybutt
asked.  "That's because there were slight tire tracks - like the ones on
bicycles.  Whoever we were following either knew we were following and found
a quicker way here, or just happened to have like joyriding down steep
passages."
     "Great, Ski, great," Betty moaned, pushing her pained body up.
"You could have just noted that and zapped us down here."
     "Where's the excitement in that?" he asked mockingly.
     Cho admired the red of the rust-covered surroundings.  "These pipes
are ancient.  This must be the early waterworks of the town."
     The ghost's ears perked.  "I hear something."  He jumped up and
jogged towards a vaulted door.
     "What do you hear?" Betty asked.
     "Humming," he replied.  "Gotta open this door."
     He placed his eager mits around the wheel of the door and sternly
yanked, pulling it and the locking device from the door.
     "That won't be suspect at all," Betty snickered.
     "Drastic times," he commented.  Skinnybutt pushed the door open and
ran inside, followed by Betty.
     "Computers?" she asked.  "Down here?"
     The steady hum of several feet of powerful number crunchers filled
the small room.  A particularly shiny machine rested imposingly against the
north wall, staring down at the two intruders.
     Cho examined a CRT.  "They seem to be compiling names of people.
Crap - it's like one of those goofy conspiracies Morbid is always rambling
about.  Addresses, names, social security numbers...."
     "Hey, Betts, I think I found a trap door," the ghost called.  "Now
we know how that guy escaped from here."
     "The Troll," Betty said in a shaking voice.
     If Skinnybutt still had eyes, he'd probably be rolling them at that
precise moment.  "He was not the Troll, Betty."
     "No," she said, "but I think he is."
     Skinnybutt looked back towards the door, where a man over seven foot
tall stood.  His visage was wrinkled with neglect and muddled folds of warty
flesh.  His heavy breathing easily flooded over the computers' humming as
he glared down at the two, bearing his cracked yellow teeth.
     "I've said it before, but I'll say it again," Skinnybutt said.
"If I had bodily functions, I'd be wetting my pants right now."


                      ----= * =----

12:09 pm -


     Betty Yeh strode into the shanty gin-joint with an air of confidence.
     A few cat calls came from the mostly toothless and tattooed locals.
She'd expected that.  She could barely see their mugs through the thick
cigar smoke in the room.
     "Don't mind me, boys," she announced.  "I'm just a spectator.  By
all means, keep soaking those livers of yours."
     A wall of a man left his bar stool and presented himself to Betty.
"Yer a purty li'l thing, ain't ya?"
     "Wow, Tarzan teach Cheetah stand erect?" Betty retorted.
     "Huh?" the man asked.
     Betty pulled a photograph from her pocket.  "Have you seen either
of these men?"
     The man scowled.  "Why?  You a pig?"
     "If I was a pig, I imagine I'd enjoy wallowing in this lovely squalor
a bit more, don't you?" she asked.  "No, I'm not with the police.  I need to
recover some things from them."
     He rubbed his stubbled chin.  "Can't recall off top o' my head.  Maybe
a kiss woul' jug my memory."
     "Is that all?" Betty giggled.  She reached up and ran her fingers
through his greasy black hair.  "Close your eyes, and I'll see if I can't
remedy that insomnia," she cooed seductively.
     The man shut his lids and bent down towards the woman, excitedly
expecting the soft touch of her lips.
     Instead, he felt cold steel.
     He opened his sullen eyes to gawk at the large pistol Betty placed
against his lips.
     "Pucker up, Buttercup," she growled.
     "T-the dead guy," he whimpered.  "I know him."
     Betty frowned.  "What good does that do me?"
     "He ain't dead," the neanderthal whimpered.
     The investigator's eyes narrowed.  "Say that again?"
     "Ain't dead," the man mumbled.  "He's been around a lot, trying to
keep low.  He's hirin', too."
     "Take me to him," Betty demanded.
     "Don't have to," the goon whimpered.  "He's behind you."
     Betty didn't get to turn around.  Instead, she felt the frigid mouth
of a gun barrel against the back of her neck.


To be continued....

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