When Insanity Goes From ‘Charming’ To ‘Repulsively Creepy.’
I’d been working a missing persons case for, oh, about a month on and off, in between more urgent stuff. Three months ago, one of those pinkies doesn’t show up for work. Three or four days later, they get worried about him, and head around to his apartment. No signs of a struggle, but there’s empty drawers and cupboards, and a missing suitcase.
Me, I’d say good riddance, but someone wanted him found. Even though we had no leads, or clues, or evidence, or frankly anything at all. I was for calling off the case, but the chief just said they were ‘pretty damn determined’ and wouldn’t look me in the eye, so I took a hint and kept the file on my desk.
We finally got a lead when some pirates got taken in in the south seas, who had in their possession clothes that included a uniform from the place the guy worked–some tech shop or something, I forget. It took some doing, but we got them to tell us they dug them up. Apparently somebody’d buried all this guy’s clothes on a deserted island, which was just weird enough to get me interested again.
The south seas are a big place. If you want the lowdown on them, you have to know who to ask. So when the birds turned up nothing, I put out the word that I wanted to talk to fish.
So that morning, a gull turned up on my doorstep with a very out-of-breath herring. Wanted compensation for him, too, because apparently this particular fish was something of an escape artist, in the criminal sense. I told him to shut up and get to the point, which turned out to be that while making his getaway from a pelican, he’d seen the missing pink thing.
I’m not sure if you can call a whale and a human running away together an elopement. I am sure you can call it downright appalling, especially when the human throws away all his clothes, just as if we wanted to see even more bare, clammy skin. But I’m also sure that there’s no crime going on here, at least not that I’ve got jurisdiction on, so I closed the case.
Needless to say, I was tired, so needless to say, I wasn’t pleased to find my house full of snake eggs.
And I really really really don’t want to know how Count Weirdly talked some poor snake into breaking in and laying eggs all over.
I kinda tiptoed over to the phone to call CPS or an exterminator or both, when Max yells from the kitchen Ey Sly, whered’ya keep da toaster?
“You want a toaster?”
Yeah I’m famished. I’m-a make me a scrambled egg sammich. Though ya sounldn’t be leavin yer eggs just lying around the house like that, dey mighta gone bad.
By the time my brain had processed what he’d said, gone ‘Oh shit,’ and screamed at my mouth to warn him, I could already hear frying.
So that’s why I don’t eat eggs anymore.