Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Do I look like Bill Watterson? I don't own it and I never will unless I somehow come up with a million or so dollars.
A/N: As always, R/R!
3::00 PM - It was a slow day for the private eye business. It seemed no one was getting robbed, kidnapped or losing stuff. But we private eyes are made of patience, at least while in the office. Outside of it, we P.I.s are impatient for the next clue, the next sign that could land us big bucks and big fame. I was dwelling on these thoughts while polishing my gun and listening to the theme song for Mission Impossible when she walked into my office. She was a tall dame, like most dames are. She had dark brown hair and came barging in, like something was important. With my private eyes (sorry, I couldn't resist the pun), I noticed she had a cordless phone in one hand and a note in the other. I sat up, gun in hand, and asked casually, "What's a girl like you want?"
"Explain this!" The dame gave me the note. On it was scrawled ,"Susie came home crying because she was hit with pinecones. Mrs. Derkins."
I looked at it, then at her. "So you want me to find out who did it?"
"No, I already know who did it." She gave me a look that could kill.
"Then you want me to find this guy?"
"No, did you do this?"
"Me?" I was taken aback. "No, it was someone else."
"Fine, did you take the message?"
"Maybe..."
"Well, I don't think that this is all Mrs. Derkins said on the phone. What else did she say?"
"Well dame, I'll have to go talk to this 'Mrs. Derkins' and get all the facts." And with that I slid off my chair and walked out of my office, with the woman behind me telling me not to call her a "dame" Ha! A P.I. can call his client anything he wants to. As I walked out of the building I thought about this case. Why would this dame say I did it? Maybe I was being framed. What if this "Mrs. Derkins" was living under an assumed name? And who was this mysterious pinecone thrower? All these thoughts entered my mind as I walked down the sidewalk.
When I reached the door of the Derkins house, I knocked on it and a lady opened the door. On seeing me, she cried into my face, "Go away you little monster!" Hmmmm. More questions popped into my mind. Someone must have threatened her to keep silent. Either that or she was in on this framing me business. No matter, a private eye can crack a case with just a few clues. I moseyed over to the scene of the crime, which was a sidewalk a few yards from the schoolyard. Nothing much, just a few pinecones. Suddenly, I remembered hearing that all the students who went to this school had to walk home today because the bus was being repainted. The pinecone thrower might have gone to this school! I could see the scene in my head. A small figure runs out of the schoolyard ahead of everyone else. He/she picks up two or three pinecones and waits behead a tree. When the victim passes, he/she throws the pinecones, then runs in the opposite direction.
Unfortunately, before I became a private eye, I was in on some notorious deeds. I had turned from that life, but some people still remembered my troublesome years. I ran back to my office and rummaged through my desk. After a few minutes, I found it. A dusty yearbook from last year. I opened it and scanned the pages for any people who might have been in on it. On page 3, two people caught my eye. I recognized them at once. One was Moe, a underground crime lord known for his bullying and taking. The other was Moe's accomplice, Lou. He sometimes accompanied Moe on his rounds. Either one of them could have done the deed. I turned a few more pages. One other possible suspect loomed up at me. Chad. He was a sneaky, clever trickster who was known, at least by all the class, by his deals that sometimes were scams, but always profited him. He was one of those kind who had a crafty look in his eyes. He had enough brains to mastermind a plot where he wouldn't get caught. After all, he has escaped the eye of the principal more than once.
Now that I had the suspects, I would try to talk to the victim. Based on my previous encounter with Mrs. Derkins, I knew approaching the victim, whose name was Susie, in my usual daring, quick-witted self wouldn't work. I decided to take up a disguise. Opening my small adjourning room, I brought out a backpack and a chest. Inside the chest was a bunch of costumes from Halloween. I pulled out a mustache and glasses with no lens. Stuffing them into my backpack, I ran downstairs to get some snacks to bring with me. Hmmmm, carrots, celery, yogurt.....ah cookies! After putting the snacks in a ziplock bag, which I put into the backpack, I walked a few paces when a voice behind me said, "Stop right now, Calvin!" I turned, and there was a man with glasses and black hair. "You aren't going anywhere. You are grounded from the TV for a week. Also, you have to stay in your room for a day."
How could I crack this case if I was behind bars? I suddenly sprinted for the door. But the man was quicker. He grabbed me and dragged me over to the cooler. Locked in a cell with a tiger who was reading comic bo-. Wait a minute, those are mine! The no good, dirty, rotten scum swiped my comic books. No wonder he was here. I jumped onto him, and after a rather short scruffle, I religuished the books over to the thug temporarily. I sat down on my cot to think this case over. Why would Moe want me framed? I decided to break out, even though I knew that if caught without the evidence to prove I was innocent in the first place, I would serve a heavier time. I had broken out several times, in my past, so it would be no problem. It would only require a little help from the thug, who was actully, in truth, a close friend of mine. "Hey!"
"What do you want?" he growled, still sore from the comic books incident.
"Could you do me a favor?" I asked.
"What's in it for me?"
"A can of tuna." I knew this guy. He had a surprisingly strong weakness for tuna. I would use this to my advantage. His ears seemed to perk up.
"Tuna?"
"Tuna." I reached into my backpack, pulled out a can of tuna and waved it in front of his hungry face.
"Now you're talking. What's the plan?"
Disclaimer: Do I look like Bill Watterson? I don't own it and I never will unless I somehow come up with a million or so dollars.
A/N: As always, R/R!
3::00 PM - It was a slow day for the private eye business. It seemed no one was getting robbed, kidnapped or losing stuff. But we private eyes are made of patience, at least while in the office. Outside of it, we P.I.s are impatient for the next clue, the next sign that could land us big bucks and big fame. I was dwelling on these thoughts while polishing my gun and listening to the theme song for Mission Impossible when she walked into my office. She was a tall dame, like most dames are. She had dark brown hair and came barging in, like something was important. With my private eyes (sorry, I couldn't resist the pun), I noticed she had a cordless phone in one hand and a note in the other. I sat up, gun in hand, and asked casually, "What's a girl like you want?"
"Explain this!" The dame gave me the note. On it was scrawled ,"Susie came home crying because she was hit with pinecones. Mrs. Derkins."
I looked at it, then at her. "So you want me to find out who did it?"
"No, I already know who did it." She gave me a look that could kill.
"Then you want me to find this guy?"
"No, did you do this?"
"Me?" I was taken aback. "No, it was someone else."
"Fine, did you take the message?"
"Maybe..."
"Well, I don't think that this is all Mrs. Derkins said on the phone. What else did she say?"
"Well dame, I'll have to go talk to this 'Mrs. Derkins' and get all the facts." And with that I slid off my chair and walked out of my office, with the woman behind me telling me not to call her a "dame" Ha! A P.I. can call his client anything he wants to. As I walked out of the building I thought about this case. Why would this dame say I did it? Maybe I was being framed. What if this "Mrs. Derkins" was living under an assumed name? And who was this mysterious pinecone thrower? All these thoughts entered my mind as I walked down the sidewalk.
When I reached the door of the Derkins house, I knocked on it and a lady opened the door. On seeing me, she cried into my face, "Go away you little monster!" Hmmmm. More questions popped into my mind. Someone must have threatened her to keep silent. Either that or she was in on this framing me business. No matter, a private eye can crack a case with just a few clues. I moseyed over to the scene of the crime, which was a sidewalk a few yards from the schoolyard. Nothing much, just a few pinecones. Suddenly, I remembered hearing that all the students who went to this school had to walk home today because the bus was being repainted. The pinecone thrower might have gone to this school! I could see the scene in my head. A small figure runs out of the schoolyard ahead of everyone else. He/she picks up two or three pinecones and waits behead a tree. When the victim passes, he/she throws the pinecones, then runs in the opposite direction.
Unfortunately, before I became a private eye, I was in on some notorious deeds. I had turned from that life, but some people still remembered my troublesome years. I ran back to my office and rummaged through my desk. After a few minutes, I found it. A dusty yearbook from last year. I opened it and scanned the pages for any people who might have been in on it. On page 3, two people caught my eye. I recognized them at once. One was Moe, a underground crime lord known for his bullying and taking. The other was Moe's accomplice, Lou. He sometimes accompanied Moe on his rounds. Either one of them could have done the deed. I turned a few more pages. One other possible suspect loomed up at me. Chad. He was a sneaky, clever trickster who was known, at least by all the class, by his deals that sometimes were scams, but always profited him. He was one of those kind who had a crafty look in his eyes. He had enough brains to mastermind a plot where he wouldn't get caught. After all, he has escaped the eye of the principal more than once.
Now that I had the suspects, I would try to talk to the victim. Based on my previous encounter with Mrs. Derkins, I knew approaching the victim, whose name was Susie, in my usual daring, quick-witted self wouldn't work. I decided to take up a disguise. Opening my small adjourning room, I brought out a backpack and a chest. Inside the chest was a bunch of costumes from Halloween. I pulled out a mustache and glasses with no lens. Stuffing them into my backpack, I ran downstairs to get some snacks to bring with me. Hmmmm, carrots, celery, yogurt.....ah cookies! After putting the snacks in a ziplock bag, which I put into the backpack, I walked a few paces when a voice behind me said, "Stop right now, Calvin!" I turned, and there was a man with glasses and black hair. "You aren't going anywhere. You are grounded from the TV for a week. Also, you have to stay in your room for a day."
How could I crack this case if I was behind bars? I suddenly sprinted for the door. But the man was quicker. He grabbed me and dragged me over to the cooler. Locked in a cell with a tiger who was reading comic bo-. Wait a minute, those are mine! The no good, dirty, rotten scum swiped my comic books. No wonder he was here. I jumped onto him, and after a rather short scruffle, I religuished the books over to the thug temporarily. I sat down on my cot to think this case over. Why would Moe want me framed? I decided to break out, even though I knew that if caught without the evidence to prove I was innocent in the first place, I would serve a heavier time. I had broken out several times, in my past, so it would be no problem. It would only require a little help from the thug, who was actully, in truth, a close friend of mine. "Hey!"
"What do you want?" he growled, still sore from the comic books incident.
"Could you do me a favor?" I asked.
"What's in it for me?"
"A can of tuna." I knew this guy. He had a surprisingly strong weakness for tuna. I would use this to my advantage. His ears seemed to perk up.
"Tuna?"
"Tuna." I reached into my backpack, pulled out a can of tuna and waved it in front of his hungry face.
"Now you're talking. What's the plan?"