"Two Tickets For Murder"
By Eoraptor
Rated T for Teen and Up audiences. Boring but important Legal Stuff: Kim Possible and all related characters are copy write 2002-2007 Walt Disney Corporation. Kim Possible created by Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley. (Thank them for their hard work by buying the DVD's, not downloading illegally!)
The work contained herein is not-for-profit and solely for the enjoyment of the fans. No redistribution without the author's consent is allowed. This fic is voluntarily rated R for adult themes. If the material here is illegal where you're located or you're not mature enough to handle it: don't complain to Disney, the moderators of the site this is hosted on, or me; JUST DON'T READ IT!
Kim and Ron slowly moved their way through the corridors of the Caribbean island lair of Doctor Drakken. It was quiet; none of the usual patrols of overweight henchmen, no synthodrones or killbots stomping the hallways… but still they had been asked to find out what Drakken was up to.
"Remind me why we're here again?" Ron whined as they interrupted their summer vacation to do this, jetting cross from Hawaii to the Caribbean.
"Wade said that Doctor Director said that that some expensive and dangerous lab equipment had gone missing during cleanup at Area 51." Kim sighed, sharing Ron's frustrations at having her break cut short, "And that they had no evidence, but that absence of evidence was not evidence of absence; and Drakken and Shego had been too quiet this last year."
"…huh."
"Yeah, pretty much my reaction." Kim rolled her eyes as she crawled along the same old ventilation shafts. "I think Doctor Director just wanted an excuse to trot us out and to check on Drakken and Shego."
"…huh."
This time the redhead paused and looked over her shoulder, "You just said that."
"I know… I just never thought that Shego was into deLeon Classic Movies."
"What?"
"And coming up on DCM," the narrator on the giant screen TV below them intoned,
"It's the 1947 noir classic 'Two Tickets for Murder'."
"…huh."
"I just said that, KP," Ron grinned and nodded down at the scene.
Shego was lying languidly on a couch and watching the show with apparent interest. No sign of her employer. Until he popped up from behind the TV.
"There, all done, Shego." Drakken dusted off his hands "The new components are all attached, we can now get television from any satellite anywhere on Earth."
"That's what this is all about?" Kim grumbled from her perch next to the vent. She scrubbed her hand down her face and sighed irritably, "Come on Ron, let's go. We're not the FCC. I say if Drakken wants to steal cable, let him."
"Awwe man, but the movie is starting!" her partner and boyfriend whined, having produced some snacks from his cargo pants and sharing them with Rufus.
"And now I throw this switch and viola, we get Cartoon Classics 1, 2, and 3, east and west coast feeds!" Drakken cheered, flipping a toggle on the cable box next to the giant TV.
Nothing happened.
"Voila!" He said flipping it again. "What?"
Drakken flipped the switch several times, pouting.
For her part, Shego was growing annoyed with the noise, "Drakken, I swear to all that is evil and unholy, if you don't shut up and let me watch Bogey and Bacall, I'm going to turn you black and blue."
"But I'm trying to voila…" he whined, sorting through the myriad devices he had hooked to the tv.
As he lifted them up, something came unhooked, and the seventy two inch ultra-definition TV went to static.
"That's It!" Shego rose to her feet, lifting her hands and charging them as she lined up on the blue man futzing behind the TV.
"Awwwe Man!" Ron complained as the giant screen went first to static and then to a blue [no signal] screen.
"Hey Ron," Kim frowned, looking at the various devices Drakken had attached to the back the entertainment center, "Doesn't that look a little like the…"
Too late she realized that she was looking at what Doctor Director had asked them to find.
Shego's green plasma shot flew across the few yards between her couch and the massive TV. Drakken shielded himself with the only thing at hand.
The long, silver, featureless cylinder of the Pan Dimensional Vortex Inducer, which until a week ago had been safely entombed at Area 51 for three years.
It sucked up the ball of electrically charged plasma and immediately whirred to life. A split second later it exploded, taking the giant TV, and them, with it.
"My name's Stoppable. I'm a gumshoe, a dick, a private eyeball. And right now my private eyeball is looking at something making my-,"
"Ron, if you finish that sentence I am going to crank my gumshoe right up your private parts to your eyeball."
"Awwwe shoot. I'm just appreciating the female form, sweetheart."
"And you know how I feel about you calling me that. It's demeaning." The redhead in the crème colored dress snorted derisively, "Besides, don't you have work to do? The lights ain't gonna keep themselves on you know."
"Fine, I'll be in my office, Miss Possible," Ron Stopable, operator of Ron Stoppable Investigations let himself through the only door in the disreputable office and made sure to yank on it hard enough behind him to close it. "That's my girl Friday. Kimberly Possible. She's WAC… Women's Air Corps. Serving in the military, and flying some of the most powerful aircraft in the world into combat zones for delivery gave her some unusual ideas about a woman's place in the world. But I can't doubt her results. Her last delivery, a Lightning, got shot down over Burma. While she was stuck there, she learned some sort of fancy footwork from the locals to go along with that mouth of hers."
"I heard that!"
"…and some of the sharpest ears this side of the Fearless Ferret's cave." Ron lamented as he lowered his voice and continued talking to himself, ignoring the piles of bills and notices on his desk. "But she's one of the smartest dames I know. In fact, she's almost as good a detective as I am. And the fact that she's got them long gams and that silky hair means people don't look twice at her and proceed to run their mouths off. She can get the straight dope on things in ways I never could."
The bell above the door rung and rattled, but the door didn't open. It did it again. After the third time, Kim rolled her eyes and called out from her small army surplus desk, "The door sticks! You'll have to push!"
There came a distinctively feminine grunt, and with a squeak, the misaligned door popped open, causing a long cool woman in a green dress to stumble in.
Detective Stoppable had come out of his own squeaky office door to see what the commotion was about, and whistled appreciatively, "Wow… Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, gal?"
The entreaty earned him a scathing look from the leggy brunette who had forced her way in, "Watch it, dick. I'm the kind of woman your mother warned you about."
By way of demonstration, she kicked the door closed behind her with one high-heeled shoo perfectly busting the lock off, "Now, where was I?"
"You were about to beg me to take you away from it all?" Apparently the detective didn't take the hint, or take no for an answer.
"How the hell do you put up with him?" the shapely brunette rolled her eyes, speaking to Miss Possible.
She shrugged, remaining behind her desk, "He's an acquired taste, and I'm mostly immune to his charms, but why are you here?"
"Lucky you," the tall woman, her eyes as green as the dress she wore, snorted and moved into the office space, leaning against Possible's desk as she took out a cigarette from an elegant silver case, "Obviously I need your professional services. And I hope they're better than the janitorial services. This place looks like Dorothy's house after the twister."
As she gave the place a disrespectful glance, Stoppable again plied his charm, "And what can I do for you with my professional talents?"
"Not those kind of talents… Dick." The woman snorted darkly, "I need a detective. My boss, Mistah Lipsky… he's gone missin'. I think maybe… maybe he fell in with some disreputable elements from Argentina."
This caught their attentions instantly. Every week rumors came out of Argentina and Brazil, rumors about people who wore bright red arm bands and knew where the Führer was. Rumors about mad Nazi science the likes of which were normally only seen inside of Ultraguy comics.
"Wait a minute," Miss Possible looked up, "Mister Lipsky? I think my father knows him… they studied together in New York before the war."
"Who's your daddy, toots," the leggy brunette apparently was not that concerned with the connection, "And why should I care?"
"His name is Doctor James Possible" Kimberly rose at the challenge, glaring daggers now at the formerly harmless patron, "As in the man who invented the radio fuse."
"Radio fuse, Schmadio fews," the pale woman derided, again ignoring the secretary, "Look, can you help me or not? I hear tell you're the kind of dick who takes the weird cases."
At this, Stoppable perked up, "And just where did you hear that from?"
"I gots friends in low places."
"and how low is low?" Stoppable challenged with a playful grin on his face, once again misreading the signals from Lipsky's assistant.
"I heard it from Charlene Doofenshmirtz."
"Wow…" Ron blinked and shook his head, "Yup, that's low alright… her husband was Heinz Doofemshmirtz. Schmuck had a seriously twisted fetish for egg laying mammals. Went looking for the Maltese Platypus and ended up almost getting a couple a kids killed including his own daughter."
"That's what she said. Hence the 'ex' part of ex-wife," the long tall assistant finally lit her cigarette. Apparently she was carrying on a theme, because the match she struck lit with a green flame from its painted green tip. "But I'm not here to talk about fruits with fetishes. Will you take my case or not?"
"You haven't even told us your name…" Kimberly shook her head, irritated at the way the taller woman was still using her desk as a perch as much as she was irritated at the derision she had with Possible's father.
"Boss calls me Miss Go." She shrugged as she took a drag from her cigarette, "It's good enough for him, it's good enough for you."
Miss Go flipped her ornate smoke case around and revealed that the other side held calling cards. She thumbed one out with practiced ease. "Here's where you can reach me. I was s'posed to go down to the lab in the Caribbean, but I think a missing boss entitles me to a few days leave, right?"
The detective and his lady assistant both shrugged at that. After a moment's consideration, Stoppable nodded, "Yeah, we ain't got nothing better to do, and the local baseball club is going nowhere in a hurry."
"They need a better hurler," Miss Go blew smoke throughout the air derisively, "All they got is that Flagg character, and he spends more time takin' it the wrong way from that actress bird of his than he does pitchin'."
"Bird nothing," Miss Possible supplied bitterly, "She's a grade A witch riding around town on an A card gas ration."
"oooh, history. Well, I ain't here to talk baseball… find my boss, and you can name your price." Miss Go flicked out her cigarette's fire with a manicured nail and slipped it back into its case.
As she left, Stoppable enjoyed the show the green dress put on, and Miss Possible rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long case.
"What's this? Stoppable looked up from his desk, a slightly better army surplus model than the one Miss Possible kept in the outer room. The contrast was that while hers was neatly organized and made efficient use of its small space; his was a rat's nest of bills, investigatory files, old hoagie wrappers from the deli, and assorted knickknacks.
"A bill, payable to me." Miss Possible rolled her green eyes, "cross country telegram."
"And why is the office supposed to pay for your telegrams?" He eyed his assistant archly, sticking the bill into a random stack.
"Because it's work related. I telegrammed daddy to see what he could tell me about this Mister Lipsky character." She snorted and flicked her pocket book closed.
"And what did he say?"
"Nothing yet… Telegrams aren't some sort of instantaneous communication," Possible sighed and moved back to the desk in the front office.
"Well, maybe that Wade guy down at Bell Labs should work on that? I hear he's done wonders with those film-o-phones." Ron called after her.
"Yeah, who in the world would want to see a person on the phone?" Miss Possible called back as she began typing away at her selectrux, "I mean honestly? Half the mouth breathers I deal with I'd rather never have to see again, I'd hate to think what they'd do if they thought I couldn't slap them via some kind of seeing eye phone."
"Well, what about a radio watch like Dick Tracy?" Stoppable posited again as he looked at a stack of unread pulps filling too much space on his desk.
"Even if my father hasn't shrunken the vacuum tube down to that size," Miss Possible paused, considering the concept, "I'm not sure I'd like to be seen talking into my wrist like some loon. Maybe a hand held though… women talk to their pocket books all the time."
"Yeah, asking where all the money has gone when they see the nice shoes in the shop window," Stoppable smirked, and ducked a stapler hurled through the open office door. Fortunately it banged against the wall and not the much more expensive window.
Possible had impeccable aim, considering she was one of the few female pilots to see combat, which itself was a closely guarded secret. The redhead was not supposed to tell anyone that she had pulled the trigger even once in one of her aerial charges, let alone that she had shot down enemy planes or been herself shot down. It would cause a national uproar that women had been sent into harm's way, and worse, had held their own.
"Speaking of Lipsky," As Ron picked up the projectile stapler and examined it for damage, "I went down to that office address on the card Miss Go gave us. She really must have taken a few days, because the place was locked up. But the neighbors say they hear strange things coming out of the old warehouse it's in."
"An old warehouse," Miss Possible sighed from the outer office, "That's always such a good sign… So, what has our ÜberWissenschaftler been doing that has the neighbors concerned?"
"Oober what now?" Stoppable scratched his head.
"Super scientist…" Miss Possible supplied exasperatedly, "What has he been up to with his friends from Argentina?"
"Well, nobody said they heard anybody speaking Argentinese or anything," Ron looked over his notes and scratched his head, "But they hear all sorts of weird sounds from the place, at all hours of the day and the night. Flashing lights too. Female voices when no one is there, and that don't sound like that smoldering Miss Go…"
"Spanish, Ron… people from Argentina speak Spanish." The redhead sighed and wondered just why she put up with this sort of thing; and then she remembered that it was because Ron put up with a lot more of her odd ideas than most men did. "Alright, so female voices and flashing lights… that's not a lot of help. Anything else?"
"Well, one sop swears he saw Miss Go throw a fireball at this guy, Mister Lipsky… with her bare hands. But considering the fact that he smelled like he might catch fire himself if I lit a match too near him, I think that one is a red herring." Stoppable finally came out of his office again, still thumbing through his ratty notepad.
"Remind me why we're taking this case again?" Miss Possible sighed into her palms, retracting fingers from the typewriter.
"It's the first promise of a paying gig all month?" Stoppable smiled his best goofy smile at her, "The Tacos ain't gonna buy themselves ya know…"
"You and that Mexican food." Possible smirked behind her fingers, "Someday this office is gonna catch fire with those hot peppers and that gas of yours. Did you tell your sop that?"
"So I heard back from Daddy about Doctor… or Mister… Lipsky," Miss Possible spoke up as she came in for the morning with a box of doughnuts.
"And what did you hear?" Ron reached for a pastry, only to have his hand smacked. Obviously she had paid for them out of pocket since there hadn't been so much as a plug nickel in petty cash in weeks.
"For one thing, he apparently never graduated. He was run out of University over some sort of female automaton scheme." The redhead confirmed as she sat down at her desk and carefully arranged the mail she had picked up from the door slot.
"Autorama?" Ron scratched his head, again reaching for a doughnut, "So he designed cars before the war?"
"Automaton…" the female pilot sighed and corrected, again smacking his hand away, "Robot women… Clunky things. Apparently he called them Bebes and thought they would replace women in offices, steno pools, loom shops, what have you."
"A vacuum tube woman? Gah, what a hideous contraption that must have been." The private dick made a horrified face and shook himself.
"Yeah, I can only imagine." Possible shared his disturbed look, "I mean, that old silent movie about them was one thing, but the reality was probably far from it. We don't exactly live in a Metropolis full of artificial people now do we?"
"Well, if he was willing to try to replace women with windup machines, I can only imagine what he's been up to since the war ended and transistors started hitting the market." Stoppable reached into the box a third time, and this time came away with nearly bloodied knuckles, "This mook sounds downright dangerous."
"Well, I say we get in touch with Wade down a Bell Labs. They produce the only useable high tech equipment in the city, and I'll bet that if our Doctor Mister Lipsky needed any, he's put in an order or two." The redhead selected a caramel crème cruller for herself from the box.
"And what about Miss Go?" The detective wearily reached for the box once again, and this time received no interference.
"What about her?" The chill in the room was palpable as Possible arched a ginger brow
Stoppable almost regretted pointing her out, no matter how much he wanted to see that green dress again, "Well, she's our only link to Lipsky, and more importantly, payment."
"Fine, I'll look try to look her up at this warehouse place again. Maybe I'll have better luck than you with your drunkard yesterday." Possible sniffed at the mere thought.
"Just remember, no open flames around that one," Stoppable smirked and chided her as he inhaled his purloined treat, "So I guess that leaves me with Bell Labs then…"
"And YOU remember, "The secretary pointed, pointedly, "Don't touch anything in there."
"Geeeze… you touch one Light Amplified by Stimulated Something or Other and no one ever lets you forget it!" he complained as he threw his napkin at the trash can next to Possible's desk and missed as widely as if he'd been trying.
"You burn one multi-million dollar research facility to the ground by a Light Amplified by Stimulated Emission of Radiation, or LASER, and people tend not to forget it…" She rolled her eyes at her partner and sighed, standing up and going to retrieve the napkin.
"I'd much prefer a Taco Amplified by Stimulated Application of Cheddar Cheese myself… a sort of TASACC…" Ron challenged, and then ran to his desk, writing down his newest food creation.
The redhead sighed and exited the office quickly, yanked the warped door behind her so that she could get out and get some air. Argentine connections, a mad not-a-doctor experimenting with synthetic drone people, and a mysterious woman with green match heads all promised to be a lot more stimulation than she'd seen in months. The sooner she got to it, the better.
Stoppable came back out of his anteroom to see his secretary already gone and shook his head. He'd go and talk to someone about his TASACC, and then he'd make his way down to Bell Labs. Undboutedly Possible had taken the car, since she hated to be leered at on the bus, which sadly left him with little recourse but the bicycle he kept bolted up to the fire escape. It was still there mainly because it looked even more rusty and disreputable than the sixty year old fire escape it was bolted too.
At least he hoped it was still there.
NOTES: This was an old challenge fic from the Slash Haven which I recently rediscovered. I'll be working on it now that "Blonde Moment" has FINALLY wrapped, so enjoy, and remember Reviews = Love and Resharing Is Caring!