I Am The Mayor

by Zalphon

The Tab is a criminal organization which has terrorized Cantown for years. They extorted us and used us, but somebody had to stand up to them. Somebody had to tell them that their time was done. That somebody was me. Why was it me? Because I Am The Mayor. ((Note: Any reviews (criticism or praise) are graciously accepted. I appreciate feedback whether positive or negative.))

Prologue

The coffee was cold as I swallowed a mouthful. I suppose that was just one of the consequences of being an investigator in a large city—coffee was never warm. Warm coffee meant money and nobody had money, except for the Tab. The Tab had everything, because they were able to bribe the people who were supposed to protect and serve.

I despised the Tab with every fiber of my being, but there wasn't much I could do. They were an organization of crime-lords, enforcers and hit men—what could I do? Even though I was supposed to be an agent of the Law, they had money—resources. What did I have? I had cold coffee.

The ring of my telephone pulled me away from my train of thought. Ring-Ring, it went telling me that it wanted my attention. "Wayward Vagabond? Two-Seventeen Green Street. Alley. Get there fast—the clock's ticking," the voice on the other side stated. Before I could respond, they hung up—asshole.

I took another sip of my coffee and walked rolled out from under my desk. There were a few steps before I had to stop. I needed my trusty fedora and trench coat—the signature apparel of the Private Investigator. Without them—I would just be another person on the streets; with them—I was one of the few, the proud, the Private Investigators.

When I closed the door behind me, I saw my name in big, bold letters: "WAYWARD VAGABOND, P.I." I had to take a moment to admire it—you just had to enjoy the little things in life. It was also nice to think that the famous Problem Sleuth once had humble beginnings just like this. And maybe one day, I would be as famous as him.

"Mister Vagabond?" Miss Mendicant asked as I stepped out of my office. "Is everything okay, Sir?"

"Everything's fine, Miss Mendicant. I just need to do my job," I said with a smile. She usually had me smiling and it was probably because of her beautiful black eyes and alabaster-white carapace. And her voice was so soft—so sweet.

I pushed the door open and stared into the busy streets. They were just individual drones of Cantown. They were all moving in their own way without paying any attention to anyone else. It was reasons like this, their apathy, which allowed the Tab to keep their hold over the people. They didn't care, but that's what made people like me important. I was a Private Investigator—I was a simple carapacian trying to do the right thing in a world which seemed to be against him.

After I got out of my thought tangent, I stepped into the parking lot of my office—a parking lot with three spaces and two of which were filled by Miss Mendicant and me. I turned the key and drove out into the slow-moving stream of cars. That was one of the other cons of being a Private Investigator; you didn't have a siren to make people get out of the way.

Eventually I was allowed to get my destination—Two-Seventeen Green Street and naturally there was an alley between Two-Seventeen and Two-Eighteen which led to a dead end. Ever think about how almost all alleys end in dead ends? Isn't that strange—it kind of ruins the point, doesn't it?

I slapped myself on the head to get myself to pay attention again. I didn't have time for the pondering the mysteries of Cantown. There was a shadowy figure lying down in the alley and I wasn't sure if they were watching me or not, but that meant one thing. There was no going in if I wasn't safe, so I reached into my glove box and pulled out two items.

First was an accident—my autographed and framed picture of Problem Sleuth and his partners posing as a team. The entire team had signed it; it was my most valuable possession which was why I kept it in my car. And the second item to be conjured forth from my glove box was my trusty gun—a small pistol which would give me all the safety a Private Investigator needed.

When I began walking towards them, I shouted, "Are you okay?" No response. When I got closer I was able to make out who they were a little better. She was wearing a bright gold dress with bullet holes in it and had a shiny-black carapace. And she was lying in a puddle of black liquid—blood.

I was uneasy, but no words could describe how I felt when I figured out who it was. It was Serenity, my best friend since I was a kid and here she was—dead. "No tears, Wayward," I vainly whispered to myself. "Sh-she'd want you to be st-strong." But that didn't work—there was the burning heat of tears against my cheeks in seconds.

There was something in her fingers and I knew what I had to do; I needed to read it. It was difficult to pull out of her fingers, but I did it. The note left me horrified—I just dropped it and sat against the wall of Two-Seventeen.

"Droog is in prison; your friend is in the Morgue. Hope you learned your lesson, because next time it'll be you.

-Slick"

Was this really happening? I shook my head in a hopeful attempt to wake up from the nightmare which I was having, but nope—it was real. In my misery, I just sat there for a long time—maybe an hour, maybe longer. But I knew what I had to do and it wouldn't be pretty. The Law would be something which I would have to forget, because they would learn the error of their ways. And it would be a lesson which they would never forget.