"You won't believe what I found." Rick whispered in Stan's ear, waking him up.
Rick had entered Stan's locked motel room, Rick was also covered with blood, Stan jumped back screaming.
"What the fuck?!"
"Hey hey calm the fuck down," Rick said making a down gesture. "If I was going to kill you, I'd have done it a while ago."
Stan wrinkled his brow in thought for a moment: "Fair enough. What's with all the blood?"
"I did an autopsy on our undead friend," Rick said. "Found evidence of the reanimation serum, also lots of jizz in his stomach and ass."
"yuck," Stan said.
"You know what this means?" Rick asked.
"No."
"Of course not … it means someone has been reanimating corpses to fuck them. Which is a whole 'nother level of effed up." Rick said taking a swig from his flask. "Now I'm gonna take a shower"
And Rick began to walk off towards Stan's bathroom.
"Hey don't you have your own shower?!" Stan shouted.
"Where do think I did the autopsy?" Rick replied, then the door slammed shut.
"Asshole!" Stan shouted.
Stan had almost gone back to sleep when Rick came out of the shower.
"Hey G-get up," Rick said.
"Why?" Stan said and pulled his pillow over his head.
Rick sat down on the bed and tugged at Stan's feet.
"Because you have a car and we need to get down to Sally Anne and get us some cheap suits." Rick said.
"Why the fuck do we need to do that?" Stan asked.
"Because, I'll explain after I blow you." Rick said.
Stan took the pillow off his head and rolled over, he grinned at Rick. "Alright."
The problem with Rick is he was too good at it, and Stan found himself coming quicker than he expected.
After Rick had swallowed and cleaned up he explained, "Ya see Pines we need to look like detectives, that's why we need the cheap suits."
"Yeah?" Stan perked up. "What kinda con are you planning on running?"
"I'm planning on posing as detectives to find out about the late Mark Scarpi."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because whoever turned his corpse into a fuck puppet didn't just do it once I bet."
"Why d'you need me?"
"A police detective always has a partner."
Rick turned away from Stan, got up and stretched. Despite himself Stan felt a smile creep on onto his face.
A half hour later Stan was sitting in a parking lot in his car with Rick. This was the bad part of town, it made the lead-paint district look like fifth avenue.
They were both wearing rumpled suits and trench-coats that smelled like mothballs as Rick jimmied with some sort of whacky invention on his lap.
Rick picked it up and showed it to Stan.
"That's a wallet with a blank piece of paper in it, what the hell Rick?"
"It isn't on yet." Rick sighed and pressed a button on the back. The paper flickered into life before Stan's eyes.
Suddenly it was a police ID complete with badge. "It's telepathic paper, it tells the viewer what I want them to think I am, it shorts out sometimes …"
"That's amazing!" Stan exclaimed. "Gimme!"
"Here ya go," Rick said, and tossed Stan a wallet.
Stan pressed the button and waited…nothing, he clicked again. Maybe it shorted out? Without it, he was fucked. He didn't look like a cop, he was too young looking…this was a stupid idea anyhow… he needed to be on the beach treasure hunting.
"Hello Mr. Insecurities, it responds to the brain of whoever is holding it." Rick said. "You got issues, if you aren't confident it doesn't do jack shit except broadcast whatever random bullshit is in your head."
"Oh great," Stan sighed, "I don't even wanna be here."
"Hey, I paid for the gas and the suits." Rick replied. "And I blew you."
"You wanted to do that," Stan grumbled.
"Look Pines, what your problem is, is that even if you are a pussy, you can't act like it, ya know, what's a con-man without confidence? You lift wallets and turn tricks all the time." Rick said.
"Yeah, but this is serious Sanchez, we could get caught and we'd end up in prison, and you know what they'd do to guys like me in prison." Stan pleaded.
"Just think 'I'm a cop, my dick is rock hard and I'm above the fucking law, because I am the law'" Rick said.
Stan repeated, but he didn't buy it and the paper didn't either.
"Last ditch efforts then," Rick said taking out a small metal container and pouring a dime sized dot of white powder on the knuckle of his thumb. "This is will help, Stan… just a bump, not m-m-much and you'll be good to go, right as rain, ya'know."
"What is it?"
"Cocaine, dummy."
"If it'll help," Stan sighed. He bent over Rick's hand and inhaled. It was hard to get it up his nose for one, it didn't seem to want to stay up there. He felt a rush, a warmth, his heartbeat get faster, energy and confidence increased dramatically. He said at the words: 'I'm a cop, MY DICK IS ROCK HARD, I'm above the FUCKING law because I AM THE FUCKING LAW!" He tasted the words and yeah they sounded right, things seemed clearer, more focused, he could pull this off! They'd buy it too.
Rick smiled. "Look at yer telepathic paper."
A police ID appeared, looking legit as fuck. "Yeah."
"And awwaaay we go!" Rick said and opened the car door.
Rick rang the fifth buzzer down on a nondescript block of brown apartments. A male voice crackled over the intercom. "Yeah?"
"This is the police, we're here to talk to you about your roommate Mark Scarpi." Rick said in a calm no-bullshit voice, as he held the button on the intercom.
"Uh-okay, just lemme put my pants on, then I'll buzz you up." said the guy on the other end of the intercom.
Rick raised his unibrow and took his finger off the buzzer. "Ten to one, Stan he's hiding drugs."
Stan nodded. "So what do I do?"
"Just follow my lead," Rick said. "Let me ask the questions."
"Right." Stan nodded, he was thrumming with energy from the coke.
The buzzer buzzed, the door clicked. Rick took the door and held it open as Stan followed.
"According to the Driver's license he lived in number five at the end."
Stan glanced around and saw numbers on each door of the first floor. "It only goes to four here."
"He's up the stairs, then." Rick said.
It was on the left at the top of the stairs. The air around the door had a funk of rotting garbage and stale marijuana smoke.
Rick knocked on the door. The guy who answered had shaggy blond hair, sallow skin, and the slightly dazed look of the permanently stoned. He was wearing a led-zepplin t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Rick and Stan flashed their badges at him.
"Whoa. So you the cops?"
"Yep." Rick said.
"I'm Lenny Franks, uhhhh come in?" Said the guy.
They stepped into the apartment. The floors were a scratched, dirty hardwood, with dust kitties and trash, as for furniture there was a beanbag chair, a lawn chair, and numerous milk crates. The chairs were circled in a way that suggested there was usually a bong in the middle.
"Your roommate Mark has been missing for quite sometime hasn't he?" asked Rick.
"Yeah," said Lenny. "I figured he skipped town, he owed a lot of money to people… shit he owed me twenty bucks. Why do you care now?"
"His mother," Stan said thinking quickly. "Has been wondering why her son hasn't called."
"Oh, heh." said Lenny. "He didn't talk about his folks much, ya know. But we don't have a phone here, so I guess he used the pay phone down the street."
Rick nodded. "So how long would you say he's been gone?"
"Uhhh, I dunno, two and half weeks, officers." said Lenny.
"Mind if we look in his room?" asked Stan.
"Sure, I mean he hasn't been there for a while." Lenny replied. " It's the one on the left near the kitchenette, Just don't look in mine, I know my rights."
Rick glanced at Stan and rolled his eyes and nodded.
The room was tiny, there was barely enough room for an unmade bed… no mattress… on the floor. There was a copy of some pulp magazine, a small radio, and a wooden cigar box. It contained some very dry weed and a pipe. Stan pocketed that. He went back out and Rick was still questioning Lenny.
"Where did you last see Mark?" asked Rick.
"He went to the Blue Swallow Lounge…yeah," said Lenny.
Rick cleared his throat. "That's a gay bar, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess you could call it that, huh, never thought about," Lenny said.
"Your friend gay?" asked Stan, putting an edge to his voice. "You know what those fags get up to."
"Not really, he just uhhh…" Lenny seemed nervous. "Needed a drink, it was in the neighborhood."
"So he went to this gay bar, just for a drink?" Rick said shaking his head.
"Look, Mark had lost his job washing dishes and, I dunno man, sometimes… when he couldn't' get work, he sells himself to those queers, made good money too." Lenny said.
"How do you know about that?" Rick said in a no nonsense way. "Anything you say won't be used as evidence against you."
"Well, I sorta do that once in awhile too," Lenny said. "Hey, I mean now I have this job in construction. I guess I got him into it."
"Once in awhile?" Stan asked still putting an edge on the voice.
"Fine, I hook more than that, just don't let it out, I have this girl I'm seeing, I don't want her thinking I'm into guys, man," Lenny said.
"So you got him into hooking, one night he goes to this gay bar and what?" Stan said. "You weren't worried when he didn't come home?"
"Naw, sometimes he doesn't for a day or two," Lenny said.
"He hasn't been home in nearly three weeks," Rick said.
"Hey man, people come and go, ya know?" Lenny shrugged. "I thought it was an asshole move leaving me with the rent. But Marky had debts and stuff…."
"So you never considered, something may have happened to him." Stan growled, it was good just like a proper policeman.
Lenny's placid expression changed to one of horror, he blanched. "…oh shit, he could be dead! Shit! I mean some other guys we knew kinda disappeared but Harlan said he'd be going to San Fran, and Andy... well… he never exactly told us, just left."
"Did any of this happen near the Blue Swallow Lounge?" asked Rick.
"...yeah…" Lenny said. "I always knew that place had some bad juju."
"Thank you, Mr. Franks." said Rick. "Your information is very useful."
"We'll tell you if there are any developments in the case." Stan said.
Rick had been writing down what Lenny said in a small pad. He flipped it closed, they walked out the door of apartment five, down the hallway, and out the door.
"We goin' to that creepy bar?" Stan asked.
"Yep." said Rick. "You took something from Mark's room what?"
"Just some weed." Stan said.
"Give it to me," Rick said.
Stan handed to Rick, not really thinking. Rick snatched it away and put in his trench coat pocket.
"Hey I was gonna smoke that," Stan sighed.
"I'm gonna see if this shit is dusted, then you can smoke what's left, it's shit weed anyhow." Rick said.
A few hours later Stan was watching TV in his motel room when Rick knocked on the door.
"Giving me the weed back?" Stan asked.
"No." Rick said. "It's time we're going to the Blue Swallow Lounge. We're gonna get some info there."
"We going as cops again?"
"Nope, just us."
"Fine, lemme put on some pants." Stan sighed.
He didn't know why the fuck he was doing this, but at least it was better than giving bjs for ten dollars to lonely sailors. Besides this was a bar, right? He could have a drink.
The Blue Swallow Lounge was on the ground floor of a mouldering brick building in front of a railway bridge in the next city. It took a while to get there since neither were quite sure where exactly it was, both had seen it but neither had been in. The light blue neon sign with a swallow in flight was enough to tell them. There was something off about the place, Stan couldn't put his finger on it but shrugged it off as they opened the door. The Blue Swallow Lounge was a low rectangular room, it was dimly lit by golden lamps and mirrors lining the walls. The booths in the corner were trying to make the place look classier than the shitty dive it was. Stan noted the mirrors were cracked around the corners and speckled with age, and the naugahyde lining the booths was peeling. The clientele of the bar didn't seem to notice them, too busy smoking their cigarettes and drinking their beers. Stan wanted to see what they looked like up close… and well… they all just looked like normal guys and girls. Wait, were those girls? Stan couldn't be sure, but hey it wasn't like they were making him wear a dress. Rick was chatting with the bartender, who was nodding and saying something. Stan didn't care, he took a cigarette and smoked it at the bar. The bartender shrugged and nodded at a person in the corner, Rick nodded and went off to talk to the person.
Stan ordered a beer, drank it, smoked, and watched as the patrons of the Blue Swallow Lounge talked and flirted. Rick would pay for the beer, after all Rick did make him drive to this shithole, it was the least he could do. He was on his third beer of the night. Each one nursed slowly, 'cuz no way he was fucking up this zombie… thing… when he realized he had a great and urgent need to piss. So he left the beer on the bar and went off to the john.
He read the graffiti on the wall as he pissed, shook it off, popped it back in, and went back out to the bar. Someone had put the jukebox on, 'stuck in the middle with you," Also no one had touched his beer it was still where he left it, didn't even look cloudy or nothin.
Rick was still talking to someone. Stan sat back down and drank his beer, feeling slightly mellow and buzzed. Something shifted, the buzz became a weird, sleepy, nausea, when he tried to move it was like he stepped off an amusement park ride, he was dizzy as fuck. So maybe he'd had more than three beers, he tried to remember if he'd been drinking more but things were fuzzy around the edges. He felt like he'd been pounding 'em back all night. The dizziness was the worst, he looked at the floor wondering if he should sleep or vomit on it. He tried to get up but almost fell out of his chair, his limbs feeling like jelly. He needed fresh air, the whole place was spinning and he couldn't seem to find Rick or even speak right, the words were there but he knew he couldn't say it, not with a tongue that felt like lead in his mouth.
He was walking to the door of the Blue Swallow Lounge or trying to, he had to hold on to chairs and things to not fall down. Fuck he couldn't even see right!
"Stan, what the fuck are you doing?" Came Rick's voice, It sounded like it was echoing and coming from behind.
"Lemme go…. Lemme get some fresh air….. my head is…. whoa!" He said as the room dipped.
He made it out the door, despite the fact the room now seemed to be rocking like ship in a high gale. He was outside, gulping in the colder, fresher air, he still didn't feel right. He walked a few paces and vomited. There was someone coming up behind him from the Blue Swallow Lounge. A hand on his shoulder a kindly male voice: "Hey, son you don't look so good, want me to get you somewhere safe?"
"No,"Stan brushed off the hand. "I don... I just want some fresh air, just fres' air… "
The man had come back, Stan looked at his face and recognized him from the bar. He took Stan by the shoulder's "Come on, you're drunk, we'll get you home and safe."
The man looped his arm around Stan's shoulder and began to half carry him away. It seemed like the world was blank, because Stan didn't remember being lead away from the bar. He must be drunk, well it was good he ran into a friend….wait who the fuck was this guy? And why did he care so much about Stan? It wasn't Rick,though. A spark went off in Stan's muddled brain.
"NO!" Stan shouted and pushed the man away with all his strength, the other man stumbled away."GET THE FUCK OFF ME!"
Stan was sure he looked the man directly in eyes at this point, but later he wouldn't be able to say who it was. "Whoa, calm down son, I was just trying to help…"
Stan stumbled towards him, limbs feeling like rubber, he mustered all his strength and growled, "I don't know who the fuck you are, and if you touch me again, I'll kill you."
The man turned tail and ran. Stan then fell to his knees and threw up again. He stayed like that for a while, staring blankly at the puddle of vomit. Until he heard Rick behind him, "Hey Pines, what the fuck happened?"
"don't know," Stan said. He handed Rick his keys to the car. "We're goin, I'm lettin' you drive. Important."
"Y-Y-y-you shouldn't be this hammered, I've watched you knock back a lot more then this," Rick said furrowing his unibrow. "I'm doing a blood test on you,"
"Fuck," Stan slurred, he took a step stumbled and then grabbed hold of Rick.
Rick sighed, but put his arm around Stan's waist and helped him to the car. Maybe it was whatever had gotten him loopy, but Stan felt a strange warmth towards Sanchez at that moment.
"You paid our tab right?" Stan added.
"Yep." Rick sighed.