Chapter 9: Headhunters: The "Wax" Murderer
I had difficulty resting that night, unsettled obviously by the sudden "murder" of Wax Stan, and also wondering what called me to say what I had about the sheriff and his deputy. Sure, they weren't helpful, but I knew that what I said wasn't respectful and didn't help anymore than their words had. When I thought about it, I realized that I wasn't just mad for Dipper; I had internalized what the officers said as well. I guess the reason was because when I was Dipper's age, and even after seven years of maturing, people still didn't take me as seriously as I wanted them to. Some of it was my usually kind personality, naivety, and maybe that I was a blonde. I did have a touch of autism, an impression people no doubt got from the awkward way I sometimes behaved socially, or the fact that at times I surprised people with a smart idea. But I believe that some of other people's perception of me stemmed from still being a "young and dumb" teen. Let's face it; being a teenager means people expect you to act like an adult, but they treat you like a kid, even after the age of eighteen. With these thoughts in mind, I fell into a restless sleep.
The twins got me up early the next day, and we searched the scene of the crime for possible clues. Even though today was Sunday, I decided that looking into this murder was important enough to take some time away. After all,what if the culprit was so mad that he was trying to behead Grunkle Stan and mistakenly hit Wax Stan?
We set up a criminal investigation. I was continuing to nail toilet paper over the threshold and around the room with red marker warnings like"do not cross" and "crime scene," and Dipper had set up a board of possible suspects.
"Wax Stan has lost his head, and it's up to us to find it," said Dipper while his sister got photos of her besmirched handiwork with a disposable camera. He turned to his board of suspects.
"There were a lot of unhappy customers at the unveiling," Dipper said, peering at the photos of suspects with a discriminating eye. "The murderer could have been anyone."
"Gasp!" said Mabel. "Even us!"
I was becoming more afraid for Stan as we worked, which was almost out of character for me. Those policemen should have been more concerned.
"In this town, anything is possible," replied Dipper, pulling the journal out of his body warmer. He began to flip through it, searching for possible ideas. "Ghosts, zombies, it could be months before we find our first clue."
"Hey, look! A clue," Mabel pointed. A pair of footprints were at the "head" of the headless Stan.
"Footprints in the shag carpet," observed Dipper.
"But those could be ours," I pointed out. "We've been all over this room."
"That's weird," remarked Mabel thoughtfully. "They've got a hole in them."
Dipper followed them to the left arm of the arm chair. "And they're leading to..."
We gasped. There was an ax concealed behind the chair!
We brought it in to the gift shop for Soos to get a look at it. "So what do you think?" asked Dipper. Mabel gave the sharp tool a hard squinted stare, as if trying to envision who used this possible murder weapon to kill her beloved creation.
"In my opinion," replied Soos, testing the feel of the object in his hands, "this is an ax."
"The question we should be asking," I mentioned thoughtfully, "is who we know of from the unveiling yesterday that could wield a weapon like that?"
"Wait a minute," thought Mabel. "The lumberjack!"
In that moment it dawned on Dipper as well. "Of course!" the twins said simultaneously.
Briefly they flashbacked to the moment the lumberjack punched a hole in the pole that held the sign announcing the wax museum's re-opening. "IN YOUR FACE!"
"He was furious when he didn't get that free pizza," recalled Dipper.
"Furious enough for murrrderrrrr," agreed Mabel.
"Oh, you mean Manly Dan," said Soos. "Yeah, he hangs out in this crazy intense biker joint downtown."
"Then that's where we're going," remarked Mabel decisively.
"Dude, this is awesome," said Soos. "You two are like the Mystery Twins."
"Don't call us that," replied Dipper.
"You should have heard what he called me yesterday," I remarked.
"Yeah dudes," said Soos. "Did you know her last name was Tanning Bomb?"
"It's Tan-nen-baum," I clarified.
"Yeah, and I was all like 'We should call you 'The I-Bomb.'"
"I prefer 'I-namite.'"
"Awesome! I'm on a roll with these names. Quick! Let's break with the new handshake!"
With Dipper shouldering a backpack holding the ax, we hurried out the front porch of the gift shop where Gompers was chewing, no doubt on more tins cans. We walked briskly past Stan, who was struggling to pull a coffin out the trunk of El Diablo, his car.
"Hey give me a hand with this coffin, will ya?" he said to us. "I'm doin' a memorial service for Wax Stan. Somethin' small, but classy." He pulled again, then rested the upper half of the coffin on the ground to take a breather.
"Sorry Grunkle Stan, but we've got a big break in the case," said Dipper.
"Break in the case!" repeated Mabel.
"We're heading in town right now to interrogate the murderer," explained Dipper.
"And hopefully not get kicked out or harmed as nosy, under aged kids with who have no business in a scary biker joint for oversized men," I added.
"We have an ax," said Mabel, pulling it out from Dipper's backpack. "Ree, ree, ree."
"Huh, this seems like the kind of thing a responsible parent wouldn't want you doin'," said Stan, thoughtfully.
He paused briefly. "Good thing I'm an uncle." He placed a foot atop the coffin, and raised a fist in the air. "Avenge me, kids! AVENGE MEEEEE!"
Downtown in Gravity Falls, we located the biker joint that Soos had referred us to, and hid in a back alley beside the building. Dipper inched his way forward, back pressed against the Dumpster, while Mabel appeared hiding under a garbage bag inside the Dumpster. I just walked casually by behind them.
"Are you guys sure you don't just want me to go in and interrogate Manly Dan for you?" I asked. "I mean, I think that would be a little better, a little wiser, a little safer."
"You might need backup in case he's uncooperative," Dipper said. "Guys this tough never want to give you a direct answer."
"Besides," said Mabel. "It's dangerous for a single woman to be alone in such a dangerous place anymore."
"So bringing a couple of twelve-year-old kids into a dark restaurant full of questionable characters is supposed to make me feel safer?" I asked a little sarcastically.
"I knew you'd understand," said Mabel. I rolled my eyes.
Dipper pulled out the address he was given by Soos, saying, "This is the place." We peeked around the corner, and saw an oversized, dangerous looking guy spotted with patches of tattoos (one on his forehead labeled "HEAD," and another on his chin labeled "CHIN") guarding the entrance to "Skull Fracture,"the biker's restaurant. He glanced our way, and we furtively ducked out of sight.
"Got the fake ID's?" Dipper asked his twin. She handed them to him, and he held them to see how they appeared. "Here goes nothing," Dipper said with finality.
I looked over at the fake ID's. "He'll never fall for that,"I remarked.
The Skull Fracture bouncer looked over an ID card. "Sorry, but we don't serve miners."
The coal-dust coated miner stomped in frustration. "Daaaagnabbit!" He hocked and spat, then walked away irritated.
Mabel and Dipper approached the bouncer next. "We're here to interrogate Manly Dan the lumberjack for the murder of Wax Stan," said Mabel, and the two of them held out their homemade ID's. They were just photos of them with mustaches and googly eyes, with the aliases "Sir Dippingsauce" and "Lady Mabelton." Dipper's age on the fake ID was 45, and Mabel's was cards had stickers, macaroni, and glitter; Mabel touches. "Dee-de-lee-de-leet!" Mabel shook her card, and made her googly eyes bounce. Their great-uncle's influence of illegal activities was rubbing off on them.
"I'm with them," I said, showing him my driver's license. "And I'm at least over the age of eighteen."
The bouncer looked at our cards. "Works for me." He opened the door, and out poured metal music and the sounds of men fighting and yelling. We walked right in.
It was dimly lit inside, but not so much that we couldn't see why minors (and miners) weren't allowed here. We watched one guy take a punch to his face and lose a tooth. We stood still, listening to the sound of breaking objects and gruff anger, none of us too keen on going anywhere inside yet. Dipper took a glance around, and finally motioned us further in.
I felt like I was walking through a dark, noisy, smelly forest of gorillas rather than the scariest place in town. Men towered far over heads, beating their fists, knocking each other over like trees, and being the general alter ego of gentlemen. I felt like I was a six-grader sharing the halls with the high school boys all over again. Good thing we had a twelve-year-old kid with an ax to protect us.
Mabel stepped over the legs a fallen man. "He's resting," she observed.
"Not in peace?" I asked uneasily.
"All right," Dipper addressed us. "Let's just try to blend in, okay?" He began to walk to the other side of the room.
"You got it, Dippingsauce," replied Mabel. I wasn't sure what to do, until Mabel sat up on stool by the bar, next to a burly biker with a Pitt soda pop in his hand. "Hey there, fellow restaurant patron," she addressed him. "Bap." She patted his arm. He looked up, and growled, seeming more like a gorilla than I was happy with.
I pulled up a stool between the two of them, sat down, and was meaning to say "Please don't kill us!" but instead said, "So, you wanna know your future?" Why did I say that?
"Oh yeah," said Mabel. "My cootie catcher! Thanks for reminding me, Iz. That's a great way to break the ice!" She pulled it out, and began to instruct the biker on how it was used. I sighed out of relief, believing I just saved Mabel's life, and my own.
Meanwhile, Dipper found Manly Dan at the other side of the restaurant, playing with an arm wrestling arcade animatronic called "Bicepticus." He howled as he held the arm, trying to slam it down while the score board beeped a score of 9999.
"Manly Dan," called Dipper. "Just the guy I wanted to see." He wasted no time getting to the point. "Where were you last night?"
"Punchin' the clock!" replied Manly Dan, slamming a fist on the game for emphasis.
"You were at work?"
"Nooo, I was punchin' that clock!" He pointed out the window to the street clock outside, dented from his blows. It was wrecked to the point that the time on it had stopped completely.
"Ten o'clock," noted Dipper. "The time of the murder." He scratched his forehead thoughtfully.
"Sooo, I guess you've never seen this before?" he asked, pulling out the ax.
"Listen LITTLE GIRL!" yelled Manly Dan.
"Hey, actually I'm-"
"I wouldn't pick my teeth with that ax! It's left-handed! I only use right hand!" With a grunt, he ripped the animatronic hand off the machine, wires and all, and began punching Bicepticus in the head with it. Dipper backed away a bit, and Tyler randomly ran up and cheered, "Get 'im! Get 'im!" He giggled while Manly Dan roared in victory.
"Left-handed?" thought Dipper with a raised eyebrow.
Meanwhile, we were quickly becoming friends with the biker over reading his future from the cootie catcher. We all counted off as Mabel flipped the paper edges open and closed.
"... three, four, five, six." Mabel opened it, and we leaned in to read what it said. Mabel and I gasped. "Your wife is gonna be beautiful," Mabel told him.
"Yes!" he fist pumped.
"Guys!" called Dipper. "Big break in the case!" We followed him out the exit.
"But will she love me?" called the biker despondently.
"As long as you do the dishes, you two will be inseparable!" I called, heading out into the blinding sun. I followed behind Mabel as we headed down the sidewalk, listening to whatever information Dipper got from Wendy's father.
"It's a left-handed ax," Dipper informed us, jotting down an organized list in a notepad of everyone who was at the unveiling yesterday, and writing out a right-handed category, and a left-handed category for each person.
"These are all our suspects," Dipper continued. "Manly Dan is right-handed. That means all we gotta do is find our left-handed suspect, and we've got our killer."
"Oh, man," said Mabel. "We are on fire today! Pazow pazow pazow!" She shot air blanks with her fingers.
"You're not including me on that list, are you?" I tensed.
"Why would we? You weren't there at the murder," he replied. "Were you?"
"No, I was taking a shower at that time," I affirmed. But I didn't lose my nervous tension. They haven't realized, have they? They haven't noticed that about me yet. Better if they don't. I wouldn't want them accusing the wrong person.
Dipper turned to face us, his countenance fixed with determination, and his mind no doubt brewing with great ideas."Let's find that murderer." We bumped fists, one after the other.
I said:"Tick."
Dipper said: "Tick."
Mabel said: "Tick."
We said: "BOOM!"
Throughout the rest of the day, we searched out our suspects, and tried many tactics to see whether they fit the description of our left-handed suspect. First, was Old Man McGucket at the town dump. I simply waved at him, and he waved back, his right hand stuck in the mouth of an alligator (or maybe it was a crocodile? Caiman? Over-sized iguana?) Not him.
Next, Dipper posed as a postman bringing a package for the fat Free Pizza T-shirt Guy, asking for his signature. He signed a clipboard with his right hand, and Dipper took it and package back and walked out of his yard, leaving him disappointed as yesterday. Ain't him.
After that, we found the angry chair busting woman walking down the street. Mabel whistled for her attention, and threw a baseball at her. She caught it, and crushed it in her right hand. No dice.
We then tried a tall guy that had been at the Shack yesterday, who also happened to have a garden gnome in his front yard. (I didn't take my eyes off the abominable ornament). He answered Dipper's knock, with both hands in casts. Definitely not him.
Dipper checked off his list everyone we came into contact with, and they all turned up right-handed. Until Dipper flipped a page on his notepad.
He gasped. "Guys! There's only one person left on this list." He showed us his results.
"Of course," replied Mabel. "It all adds up."
I looked down at the name written. "I knew there was something shifty about him when I saw that turkey baster." I dialed the cops on cell phone. "Let's head down to the Gravity Falls Gossiper. It's time to stop the presses."
It was sundown by the time the cops arrived, armed with flashlights and hoping this was a serious situation. The five of us all positioned ourselves outside the door of the Gossiper, the cops on both sides of the door, me behind the deputy and the twins behind the sheriff.
"You kids better be right about this," warned Sheriff Blubs, "or you'll never hear the end of it."
"Believe me," I replied, "we wouldn't have bothered calling you again if we weren't positive."
"The evidence is irrefutable," replied Dipper confidently.
"It's so irrefutable," emphasized Mabel.
"I'm gonna get to use my nigh-stick!"said Deputy Durland excitedly.
"You ready?" Sheriff Blubs asked, holding a nigh-stick of his own. "You ready, little fella?" The two of them whooped and batted each other playfully with the sticks. It felt promising to see the cops become excited with us in our confrontation.
"On three," commanded Dipper. "One, two-"
Durland kicked the door open, and he and the sheriff rushed in.
"Nobody move!" commanded Blubs. "This is a raid!"
Toby Determined fell out of his office chair in surprise as the officers trailed the flashlight beams on him. "What is this? Some kind of raid?"
Durland was so excited about using his nigh-stick he knocked over an innocent lamp standing on a VCR.
"Toby Determined," addressed Dipper. "You're under arrest for the murder of the wax body of Grunkle Stan."
Mabel addressed him next. "You have the right to remain impressed with our awesome detective work."
"I think we should call the next news headline 'Toby Predetermined' as in predetermined murder!" We high-fived. I knew the term was actually "premeditated," but I was too pleased with myself to care.
"Gobbling goose feathers," replied Toby. "I don't understand."
"Then allow me to explain," replied Dipper. He flashbacked to the previous days events, with the addition of his own idea of how he murdered Wax Stan.
"You were hoping that Grunkle Stan's new attraction would be the story that saved your failing newspaper. But when the show was a flop, you decided to go out and make your own headline." Mabel held the front page of today's paper for him to see the photo of Wax Stan's decapitated head.
"But you were sloppy," I continued, flashing back to the clues found, and the fact that Toby was holding the turkey baster with his left hand. "And all the clues pointed back to a shabby-shoed reporter who was caught left-handed."
"Toby Determined," said Mabel. "You're yesterday's news." She crumpled the newspaper and threw it over her shoulder to demonstrate.
Toby didn't say anything at first. "Boy, your little knees must be sore," he finally said, "from jumping to conclusions!" He did some short victory dance over his word play. "Ha-cha-cha! I had nothing to do with that murder."
"I knew it!" exclaimed Dipper. But then he and Mabel back-tracked.
"Wait- wha- did you say nothing to do- he said nothing..."
"Wait- huh -what- could you repeat?"
"Then where were you the night of the break-in?" asked Blubs. I noticed that he didn't say "attempted murder". He obviously didn't consider the beheading of Wax Stan to have been a premeditated possible murder planned for the real Stan. He wasn't paranoid enough to consider the idea.
Toby pulled his collar nervously.
"Hey, is that a video camera?" I asked, pointing to a corner in the ceiling near the door.
"Check the film," said Dipper.
We played the tape from last night. We saw Toby Determined open the closet by his desk. "Finally, we can be alone," he said, pulling something flat out of his closet, " cardboard cut-out of female news reporter, Shandra Jimenez." He began kissing the tall cut-out. We all expressed various levels of disgust. "That's gonna give me nightmares," I muttered.
"Times stand confirms it," Blubs said. "Toby, you're off the hook, you freak of nature!"
"Hurray!" cried the freak of nature.
"But," stuttered Dipper. "But it has to be him! Check the ax for fingerprints!"
Blubs dusted the ax handle while Durland held a black light over it. "No prints at all," confirmed Blubs.
"No prints?" thought Dipper befuddled.
"Hey, I got a headline for ya," said Durland to Toby. "'City Kids Waste Everyone's Time.'" The three pompous adults laughed at us. Dipper and Mabel looked away, feeling rather foolish and awkward.
I felt my face turn color with rage. "But how is this all possible?! We found that ax in our living room and we've never seen it before! Someone had to have broken in and tried to murder Stan! Sheriff, you have to help us with this investigation. What if the murderer comes back and tries to hurt Stan, or worse, one of us? We could be-"
"Do I really need to hear anymore of this?" asked Blubs unimpressed. "You've wasted enough of our time, Shoobie. The next time you call, we'll find a real emergency to deal with instead." With that, he and his deputy walked out, Durland hollering "City KIIII-IIIDS!"
Being called a "city kid" was hardly an insult compared to being called the New Jersey word for an out-of-stater.
"Boy, I'd be pretty embarrassed if I was you kids," said Toby. Meanwhile, the tape still played him smooching the tall piece of cardboard behind him.
Least we don't have to keep our friends stored in a closet, I thought bitterly. How come adults found people like him more credible than kids concerned about a likely threat?
That night, we held a memorial funeral for Wax Stan. Organ music was being played by an organist in a corner of the room. Who's playing that music? I thought. I didn't think that Stan would go to the trouble actually hiring an organist for the funeral.
Stan stood in front of a podium to give a speech in his memory. He addressed each group who was seated for the funeral.
"Kids, older kids, lifeless wax figures, thank you all for coming." Soos blew his nose sadly.
"Some might say that its wrong for a man to love a wax replica of himself," Stan continued.
"They're wrong!" jumped Soos.
"Easy Soos," replied Stan. "Wax Stan," he addressed his wax twin. " I hope you're pickin' pockets in Wax Heaven." He shed a few tears, something that was completely out of character for him ( but considering who he was mourning, not too surprising). He ran from the podium. "I'm sorry! I got glitter in my eye!" He ran from the room of wax figures. Soos wept following after him. "Du-hu-ude..."
I blew my nose, resounding like a fog horn. I wasn't depressed about the demise of Wax Stan much at all; I just almost sneezed. "Sorry guys," I apologized. "This room's dusty." I felt pretty bummed out, and even more unnerved than before. Something bad was gonna happen to us; I could just feel the danger in the room. Of course, I was probably being hyperactive from fear and paranoid from all the crazy creatures we've had to deal with the last couple of weeks. What was next?
"Huh,"sighed Dipper. "Those cops were right about me."
"Dipper," replied his sister. "We've come so far. We can't give up now." She held the ax in her lap.
Her brother stood up, and walked over to the coffin where Wax Stan lay. "But I considered everything. The weapon, the motive, the clues." He gazed in at the glittery figure, and sighed defeated.
"Then there must be something else we haven't considered yet, " I concluded., standing up to throw away my used tissue. "Or there must be a part of a clue we're missing." I walked over and peered into the coffin. "There isn't anything unusual about Wax Stan's body or appearance we've missed besides his head, is there?"
"Wax Stan's shoe has a hole in it," Dipper noticed. Mabel walked next to him.
"All the wax guys have that," she replied. "It's where the pole thingy attaches to their stand dealies."
"Wait a minute," remarked Dipper with a sudden thought. "What has holes in it's shoes and no fingerprints? Guys, the murderers are-"
"Standing right behind you?" finished a British voice. We turned to look behind us, and watched in stupefied horror as the figures came to life and moved towards us.
Dipper gasped. "Wax Sherlock Holmes! Wax Shakespeare! Wax Coolio?"
"'Wassup, Holmes?" asked Coolio.
I screamed, and pointed at the organ across the room. "WAX LAVEY IS ALIVE!" I screamed again, and hunkered far behind the twins.
He played the organ dramatically while laughing wickedly.
Wax Lizzie Borden snatched her ax out of Mable's grip. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" said Mabel, backing behind her brother.
"Congratulations, my three amateur sleuths," said Sherlock Holmes. "You've unburied the truth, and now we're going to bury you." He pointed a magnifying glass at us like a pistol, and we shrank back in terror.
We're dead, we're dead, we're dead, we'redeadwe'redeadwe'redeadwe'redeadwe'redead...