Disclaimer: Other than a few places and the OCs whose names are dropped, I don't own anything.
One of Those Cases
It could not accurately be described as a dark night, as in Los Angeles, there were no dark nights. Thanks to electricity, there hadn't been any dark nights in a long time. Nevertheless, there were dark alleyways with little light spilling into them, and near such alleyways there were often the sorts of bars which were practically magnets for the seediest types possible and innocent young girls who happened to get lost in the worst possible part of the city.
One bar in particular was in a league of its own. It made even the worst saloons of the 1920s look like a church. In a curious mixture of un-creativity and lack of imagination, it was called The (Blank) Lounge. It was a rare night indeed when nothing occurred that didn't make the local news and cause local moral guardians to launch yet another crusade against it.
Incidentally, this was one of those nights, as the significance of the only things that really happened was not yet known.
One man walked into the bar.
Two men walked out.
And that was all.
"It would have been nicer if a lion had gone missing, don't you think?"
Manfred von Karma opened an eye momentarily to glare at his companion, then closed it; after all, there was no point if all he was glaring at was the back of Damon Gant's horrible orange trenchcoat. He leaned back on the bench and prepared himself to ignore whatever asinine tangent the detective was about to go on. Or perhaps die of heatstroke.
Whichever came first.
"It would be easier to track, anyway," continued Gant, who was either completely oblivious to von Karma's indifference or actively trying to infuriate him. "You'd just have to follow the trail of bodies!"
He laughed at his own joke, then turned from the lions' enclosure to face the prosecutor.
"Of course, we are talking a twenty foot long snake here-are you alright, Manny? You know, you shouldn't be wearing all those clothes during the summer. You could get heatstroke."
The corner of von Karma's mouth twitched.
"Unlike you, I value professionalism enough to wear more suitable clothes than shorts, a T-shirt, and those horrible sunglasses while investigating."
"Well, you could at least take the cravat off. That's probably what's-"
"No," interjected von Karma, glaring pointedly. Again, this had no effect on Gant, who stared a moment, blinked, and continued.
"Well, it's probably going to be a while before the air conditioning in the squad car kicks in. I think you could risk looking slightly less than perfect-"
"No."
There was another brief pause. von Karma met Gant's eyes with his own piercing glare.
"Besides, it's been forty minutes since you turned the car on. Surely, it has to be cool enough by now."
"It's the old squad car, Manny. You know it's so beat up that it's bound to explode for no good reason one of these days." Gant paused a moment. "You know, I never understood why the department decided to refit all the cars with leather interiors this summer instead of actually replacing the cars. I think that's rather odd, don't you?"
von Karma rolled his eyes. "Chief Caballero probably had the same train of thought as the time when he promoted a riot control horse to detective."
"Binky's a fine investigator," said Gant, sounding vaguely miffed. "It's a shame we couldn't bring him in with us- ...where are you going?"
There was no response, unless one considered the sheer aura of irritation emanating from the prosecutor's retreating figure a response.
"Manny?"
Again, no response.
"Oh, come on. I thought you'd given up on the cold shoulder approach a few months ago."
More silence. Gant sighed, lingered a moment, and followed.
The squad car looked as though it had been put through the first few levels of Hell and then, when the demon towing it realized it wasn't particularly sinful of its own volition, dragged it back, and its level of functionality was about the same. Its only saving grace was that it was very, very clean at the moment, although that was primarily because von Karma had refused to step anywhere near it before it met his standards, which involved it being so pristine that he could see his reflection on the hood.
Of course, the hood didn't show quite enough definition to be of any real use and there was no time to waste with preening, so as the squad car headed down the road von Karma ensured his appearance's perfection in the rear view mirror.
"The facts, Gant," he said, slicking a few stray reddish-brown bangs back with one hand and snapping his fingers with the other. "I couldn't care less about speculation at the moment. Give me something concrete, will you?"
"You know, I always thought you were more fond of Silly Putty, myself-"
"Is that supposed to be a jab at my moral character?"
"It was nothing of the sort, Manny," said Gant with a smile as he narrowly avoided a disastrous collision with a Pinto. "Concrete takes an awful long time to set, you know!"
He laughed, then, noting that continuing on this thread would probably be detrimental to his health, took on a more serious look. "Quite frankly, we don't have much to go on right now. Considering the officials thought for that the anaconda escaped until about... last week, most of the evidence is... well, gone, and all we have to go on is the fact that a handler just so happened to recall something vaguely suspicious."
"I see," said von Karma, sounding as though the information had only served to make his mood worse. Gant stared ahead at the road for a moment, then glanced at the prosecutor.
"I'm surprised you're even taking this case, Manny. It's anything but... well... perfect."
"Who do you think I am?" snarled von Karma. "I'm not going to drop a case just because nothing presents itself at the moment. Something will-"
Almost on cue, a panicked voice came in over the radio.
"Detective Gant? A-are you there? You've got to get over to Pintur Street right now!"
"Oh? Did we find the snake already?" said Gant cheerfully.
"Er. U-unfortunately, yes."
As the car got closer and closer to Pintur Street, facts began to filter in.
First: the snake was dead.
Mission failed. Well, not exactly failed, considering the police department had actually found it, but... well, it was certainly turning out to be an interesting case!
Partially because, well, second: the snake had been found in the apartment of a mild-mannered (read: boring) college professor named Robert Playne.
Third: the landlady had found the snake that morning when she called to check up on the apartment's occupant, was understandably panicked, pulled out her pistol, and shot it in the head.
And the fourth fact wasn't found out until the two arrived upon the scene.
von Karma and Gant stepped out of the squad car simultaneously. The prosecutor observed the scene with a particularly disdainful air, his gaze lingering venomously upon a squad car which happened to be blaring The Who instead of being turned to the proper radio signal. Gant, who was less concerned about airs, found his attention being drawn to the dead snake.
"...Oh dear," he said, taking his sunglasses off for a moment.
"What is it?" inquired von Karma, turning his attention towards the reptile. "It can't be worse than anything you've already-"
He stopped silent when he noted the unnaturally large bulge inside the snake. Of course, anacondas were known to eat deer, but this-
"Well, now," said Gant, moving to replace his sunglasses. "I've heard of people trying to smuggle snakes into planes, but I've never heard of a Playne in a snake."
Just as the sunglasses were fixed back onto his nose, a loud "YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! WE DON'T GET FOOLED AGAIN!" came from the one of the squad cars.
The detective and the prosecutor continued staring at the snake for a moment.
"That was the most horrible pun you've ever made, Gant."
"I don't know. I thought the effect was enough to make up for it."