10:33 a.m.
"Look, it's all planned out and everything," Nosegay said, accidentally getting a dab of polish on the mayor's expensive Office Flooring. She hastily wiped it up with a cushion someone had carelessly left on the beautiful ivory sofa, and switched her cell-phone to her other hand, "I mean, you know me. I don't play those kinds of games. I won't go near anything unless it's airtight, you know that."
She listened for a moment, then sighed, "I already told you, it's complicated. You wouldn't understand the ins and outs of everything, you're not that smart. Mmm-hmm. Well, ok. I'll give it to you in a nutshell. It's basically a multi-console, multi-game price-gouging operation. Joan's been doing it for years. The villiagers buy the turnips from Joan, and they sell 'em to Nook, who gives 'em about about half what they paid. What do you mean, 'why?', because Joan jacks up the prices, and she never reports the income on her taxes. So Nook gives the turnips back to Joan at the beginning of every week, gets his cut, and Joan re-sells the fakie turnips to the unsuspecting villiagers. Huh? Well, they don't see it like that, apparently. They keep thinking they'll hit it big one of these days, so they keep buying. And then Mink and Nook exchange their bells for rupees, which in turn are exchanged for mushroom coins, and then converted back to bells. they end up making about 16 grand a week. Look, I don't know how it works. Taxes, inflation, I can't figure that shit out. But I know Gulliver is running some similar operation off that island, and recently things've been getting kind of...competitive. Sven got whacked last night, and now I'm stuck in this shithole until they can figure out just what the holy hell is going on. Uh-huh. Yeah, I don't have to do jack shit. I stumbled into it, and told Mink I'd mailed a videotape to someone in case I was knocked off. So he had no choice but to give me a cut. Duh, if I thought it wasn't airtight I really would have gone to the police, moron. You're not the sharpest crayon in the box, are you? Anyway, he can't afford to have me wiped like Sven, because he's afraid the tape'll get out, and it'll be over. So I'm stuck here for God knows how long. It's like that pissant museum here, I mean it. Paintings and expensive furniture that feels like cold fucking stone, and there's even a model of some ancient Indian something or other in the living room, looks like it would fetch a pretty penny on the black market. Oh, you mean Tortimer? That old fuck, he set this shit up years ago, he's been waiting for someone who can pull it off 'cause he can't trust Nook worth a shit. So he just sits back, makes sure the fuzz doesn't get too hot on anyone's trail, and gets a nice piece of our pie. Fucking asshole. Look, I just heard someone coming in the front. I gotta go, ok? I'll talk to you later."
She snapped the cell-phone shut and put it, and the nail polish, back in her bag. A pink and white panda had appeared in the doorway and was giving her a suspicious "you dont belong here" kind of look, the same look that had that fucking old fart mayor had given her last night.
"Who the hell are you?" Nosegay said coldy, leaning back and propping her feet up on the glass coffee table, "You work for the mayor?"
"No, not really. Is he here?"
"Who's asking?"
The panda narrowed her eyes further and leaned against the doorframe, "The name's Pinky. Who are you?"
"Nunya."
"I'm sorry?"
"Nunya. Nunya Fucking Business."
Pinky took a deep breath, "Look. Is Tortimer here, or should I come back?"
Nosegay shrugged, "How should I know? He's probably fucking his secretary or embezzling money or whatever it is mayors do."
Pinky withdrew a business card from her briefcase and set it down upon the cofee table, "Well, when you see him, tell him to give me a call. I'd appreciate it."
And with that she turned and left the room.
"Fatass," Nosegay muttered, closing her eyes and wondering if anyone ever bothered locking their fucking doors in this stupid game.
10:37 a.m.
"Fuck!"
Mink threw the controller across the floor in disgust. He buried his face in his hands. Why couldn't they have sprung for some SNES games, at the very least? Those heinous 8-bit graphics were really making his eyes water. He took in his spacious living room and noted that his own graphics weren't exactly state of the art.
He looked at his wrist, then remembered they hadn't bothered drawing a watch on his freakish, stick-like arm. He glanced at the grandfather clock gathering dust in the corner. Nook's shop should be open by now, and Tortimer would be here any moment. Unless he got caught up by that panda. He'd seen her snooping around the train station earlier, talking to Kitty, who seemed to be enjoying the attention. She could mean trouble. Two years ago, when Jingle'd been jumped on Christmas Eve, she'd been all over it like Bill Clinton on a chubby intern. Well, if he found out she knew anything she shouldn't, he'd have to have her knocked off. That is, after he found someone to replace Sven. Maybe he'd make Nook do it. A very faint paranoia had settled over him recently, and the only person he was sure he could trust had just been brutally murdered. Making Nook take out that meddlesome panda would be a test of his loyalty.
Mink realized he was probably just being neurotic. Nook was making too much money to try any funny shit. If he were working for Gulliver on the side, Mink was certain he'd have found out. Nook wasn't as stupid as he pretended to be.
"At least I hope he's not. Jesus."
He picked up the NES pad and wrapped it meticulously in its black cording, then made himself busy making coffee, clearing the room of old pizza boxes and half-empty cans of Nook's disgusting homemade pina-colada punch. He cracked a window and was trying to fit thirty-seven gay porno magazines under the sofa when someone knocked, once, on the front door.
"Coming!"
He kicked the last of the magazines and, satisfied that they were properly hidden, hurried to answer the door.
"Mayor! What an honor! Please, come in."
"Cut the shit. I'm alone."
The wizened old mayor settled into the lumpy armchair opposite the sofa and tucked his collapsable cane into his vest pocket. His prosthetic leg let out a low, barely audible flatulent noise.
"Can I get you some coffee?"
"Sure as hell is hot! Sweet baby Jesus, it's colder than a dead prostitute out there! June, hmph! It's February still, my old bones tell me so."
"Maybe someone's been cheating the internal clock," Mink said, stirring the mayor's coffee. He put it on the table next to a week-old sandwhich he must've missed in his sweep of the living room. He blushed and took the plate into the kitchen, "Milk? Cream? Sanka?"
"None for me. I like my brew like I like my men: hot, black, strong and first thing in the morning!" The mayor let out an explosive laugh, then began to cough violently into his handkerchief.
Mink laughed politely and settled onto the sofa, crossing his legs and looking expectantly at the mayor as he sipped his coffee.
"God, that's terrible. Where did you get those beans, from Nook?"
"Yeah, but it's instant."
"Bah! Haven't you learned anything? You can't get good coffee from that asshole. You have to have it imported from the island."
"I'm not too popular on the island at the moment, sir."
"Oh, please. Not everyone is as crooked as we are!" The mayor shook with laughter, and then again coughing bits of blood and gore into his kerchief.
"Well, anyway, boy, I've been busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. I just wanted to make sure everything was still...functioning."
"Yes, sir," Mink leaned foward and began abset-mindedly scraping a crusty bit of pizza sauce from the edge of the table, "I've got Nook at the shop, same as always. Of course, Joan'll have heard about Sven, but I think if things are kept under control, she won't back out."
"That's right. Joan may be a fat brown slob, a monsterous, shit-colored fatty, but she's no dummy. She'll just call the whole thing off and not even come back to Lemon. And then, even I won't be able to stop Copper from nosing around. He'll be a little suspicious, I would be too."
"So why don't you get rid of him?"
"It's not that easy, my boy. He's been on the force for over fifteen years. Do you know how it would look if i just fired him out of the blue? And besides which, who would I get to replace him, Booker? Ha! Booker doesn't know his ass from his elbow."
"I'd feel a lot better if Booker were in charge, let me tell you."
Tortimer scowled, "I'm in charge, son. Don't forget that. I call the shots. I've got that old dog Copper on a short leash, and if he starts sniffing around where he ain't supposed to, well then I'll just give him a bit of a yank, won't I?"
"I suppose. But what about that panda? I saw her this morning, talking to Kitty."
The mayor frowned, "Pinky? She's nothing but trouble. From the state, she is. I have no control over her, and I'm sure if she's here she's already been at my station, wantin' to see the body. Asking questions, making notes. We'll just have to be even more careful."
Mink nodded. They were quiet for a moment, and then he asked, "How is Nosegay?"
"Heh? Oh, she's an annoying twat as usual. I made it real clear that she's not to step foot out of that house. She's a nosy one anyway, so she's not too happy about being cooped up there for a few days. But we can't be sure that she didn't really make a tape. Personally, I don't think she did, but we can't risk it. I'm the mayor, but I'm not exempt from the law, you know. I wouldn't put it past her to make some sort of a tape, just to be a perfect bitch even from beyond the grave."
Mink smiled, "Well, at least you'll have some company for awhile. It must get pretty lonely at that old place."
"I like the quiet. I read a lot, listen to a little Ella Fitzgerald. Nothin' like Ella to melt away your problems." He stared at the ceiling contentedly for a moment before clearing his throat and looking around Mink's living room, as if suddenly unsure of his surrondings.
"Well, you don't have anything to worry about sir. I'll make sure Nook stays in line."
"You do that," Tortimer was standing up, unfolding his cane and shaking out his leg a little, "You make sure that Pinky doesn't get her dirty paws all in her pie. It'd be...unfortunate if something were to happen to her."
Mink nodded and held the door open for the mayor, who was walking rather slowly as he still didn't have his cane fully constructed. When he had, he leaned against it and gave Mink a slight smile, "I'll see you at the town meeting?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Mink said, returning the smile.
"Just the usual bullshit. Tell everyone we're working our damndest to solve the crime. Find the head, all that. Alright, Mink, we're sqaured away. I'll see you later."
He left, and Mink closed the door behind him.
"Look, it's all planned out and everything," Nosegay said, accidentally getting a dab of polish on the mayor's expensive Office Flooring. She hastily wiped it up with a cushion someone had carelessly left on the beautiful ivory sofa, and switched her cell-phone to her other hand, "I mean, you know me. I don't play those kinds of games. I won't go near anything unless it's airtight, you know that."
She listened for a moment, then sighed, "I already told you, it's complicated. You wouldn't understand the ins and outs of everything, you're not that smart. Mmm-hmm. Well, ok. I'll give it to you in a nutshell. It's basically a multi-console, multi-game price-gouging operation. Joan's been doing it for years. The villiagers buy the turnips from Joan, and they sell 'em to Nook, who gives 'em about about half what they paid. What do you mean, 'why?', because Joan jacks up the prices, and she never reports the income on her taxes. So Nook gives the turnips back to Joan at the beginning of every week, gets his cut, and Joan re-sells the fakie turnips to the unsuspecting villiagers. Huh? Well, they don't see it like that, apparently. They keep thinking they'll hit it big one of these days, so they keep buying. And then Mink and Nook exchange their bells for rupees, which in turn are exchanged for mushroom coins, and then converted back to bells. they end up making about 16 grand a week. Look, I don't know how it works. Taxes, inflation, I can't figure that shit out. But I know Gulliver is running some similar operation off that island, and recently things've been getting kind of...competitive. Sven got whacked last night, and now I'm stuck in this shithole until they can figure out just what the holy hell is going on. Uh-huh. Yeah, I don't have to do jack shit. I stumbled into it, and told Mink I'd mailed a videotape to someone in case I was knocked off. So he had no choice but to give me a cut. Duh, if I thought it wasn't airtight I really would have gone to the police, moron. You're not the sharpest crayon in the box, are you? Anyway, he can't afford to have me wiped like Sven, because he's afraid the tape'll get out, and it'll be over. So I'm stuck here for God knows how long. It's like that pissant museum here, I mean it. Paintings and expensive furniture that feels like cold fucking stone, and there's even a model of some ancient Indian something or other in the living room, looks like it would fetch a pretty penny on the black market. Oh, you mean Tortimer? That old fuck, he set this shit up years ago, he's been waiting for someone who can pull it off 'cause he can't trust Nook worth a shit. So he just sits back, makes sure the fuzz doesn't get too hot on anyone's trail, and gets a nice piece of our pie. Fucking asshole. Look, I just heard someone coming in the front. I gotta go, ok? I'll talk to you later."
She snapped the cell-phone shut and put it, and the nail polish, back in her bag. A pink and white panda had appeared in the doorway and was giving her a suspicious "you dont belong here" kind of look, the same look that had that fucking old fart mayor had given her last night.
"Who the hell are you?" Nosegay said coldy, leaning back and propping her feet up on the glass coffee table, "You work for the mayor?"
"No, not really. Is he here?"
"Who's asking?"
The panda narrowed her eyes further and leaned against the doorframe, "The name's Pinky. Who are you?"
"Nunya."
"I'm sorry?"
"Nunya. Nunya Fucking Business."
Pinky took a deep breath, "Look. Is Tortimer here, or should I come back?"
Nosegay shrugged, "How should I know? He's probably fucking his secretary or embezzling money or whatever it is mayors do."
Pinky withdrew a business card from her briefcase and set it down upon the cofee table, "Well, when you see him, tell him to give me a call. I'd appreciate it."
And with that she turned and left the room.
"Fatass," Nosegay muttered, closing her eyes and wondering if anyone ever bothered locking their fucking doors in this stupid game.
10:37 a.m.
"Fuck!"
Mink threw the controller across the floor in disgust. He buried his face in his hands. Why couldn't they have sprung for some SNES games, at the very least? Those heinous 8-bit graphics were really making his eyes water. He took in his spacious living room and noted that his own graphics weren't exactly state of the art.
He looked at his wrist, then remembered they hadn't bothered drawing a watch on his freakish, stick-like arm. He glanced at the grandfather clock gathering dust in the corner. Nook's shop should be open by now, and Tortimer would be here any moment. Unless he got caught up by that panda. He'd seen her snooping around the train station earlier, talking to Kitty, who seemed to be enjoying the attention. She could mean trouble. Two years ago, when Jingle'd been jumped on Christmas Eve, she'd been all over it like Bill Clinton on a chubby intern. Well, if he found out she knew anything she shouldn't, he'd have to have her knocked off. That is, after he found someone to replace Sven. Maybe he'd make Nook do it. A very faint paranoia had settled over him recently, and the only person he was sure he could trust had just been brutally murdered. Making Nook take out that meddlesome panda would be a test of his loyalty.
Mink realized he was probably just being neurotic. Nook was making too much money to try any funny shit. If he were working for Gulliver on the side, Mink was certain he'd have found out. Nook wasn't as stupid as he pretended to be.
"At least I hope he's not. Jesus."
He picked up the NES pad and wrapped it meticulously in its black cording, then made himself busy making coffee, clearing the room of old pizza boxes and half-empty cans of Nook's disgusting homemade pina-colada punch. He cracked a window and was trying to fit thirty-seven gay porno magazines under the sofa when someone knocked, once, on the front door.
"Coming!"
He kicked the last of the magazines and, satisfied that they were properly hidden, hurried to answer the door.
"Mayor! What an honor! Please, come in."
"Cut the shit. I'm alone."
The wizened old mayor settled into the lumpy armchair opposite the sofa and tucked his collapsable cane into his vest pocket. His prosthetic leg let out a low, barely audible flatulent noise.
"Can I get you some coffee?"
"Sure as hell is hot! Sweet baby Jesus, it's colder than a dead prostitute out there! June, hmph! It's February still, my old bones tell me so."
"Maybe someone's been cheating the internal clock," Mink said, stirring the mayor's coffee. He put it on the table next to a week-old sandwhich he must've missed in his sweep of the living room. He blushed and took the plate into the kitchen, "Milk? Cream? Sanka?"
"None for me. I like my brew like I like my men: hot, black, strong and first thing in the morning!" The mayor let out an explosive laugh, then began to cough violently into his handkerchief.
Mink laughed politely and settled onto the sofa, crossing his legs and looking expectantly at the mayor as he sipped his coffee.
"God, that's terrible. Where did you get those beans, from Nook?"
"Yeah, but it's instant."
"Bah! Haven't you learned anything? You can't get good coffee from that asshole. You have to have it imported from the island."
"I'm not too popular on the island at the moment, sir."
"Oh, please. Not everyone is as crooked as we are!" The mayor shook with laughter, and then again coughing bits of blood and gore into his kerchief.
"Well, anyway, boy, I've been busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. I just wanted to make sure everything was still...functioning."
"Yes, sir," Mink leaned foward and began abset-mindedly scraping a crusty bit of pizza sauce from the edge of the table, "I've got Nook at the shop, same as always. Of course, Joan'll have heard about Sven, but I think if things are kept under control, she won't back out."
"That's right. Joan may be a fat brown slob, a monsterous, shit-colored fatty, but she's no dummy. She'll just call the whole thing off and not even come back to Lemon. And then, even I won't be able to stop Copper from nosing around. He'll be a little suspicious, I would be too."
"So why don't you get rid of him?"
"It's not that easy, my boy. He's been on the force for over fifteen years. Do you know how it would look if i just fired him out of the blue? And besides which, who would I get to replace him, Booker? Ha! Booker doesn't know his ass from his elbow."
"I'd feel a lot better if Booker were in charge, let me tell you."
Tortimer scowled, "I'm in charge, son. Don't forget that. I call the shots. I've got that old dog Copper on a short leash, and if he starts sniffing around where he ain't supposed to, well then I'll just give him a bit of a yank, won't I?"
"I suppose. But what about that panda? I saw her this morning, talking to Kitty."
The mayor frowned, "Pinky? She's nothing but trouble. From the state, she is. I have no control over her, and I'm sure if she's here she's already been at my station, wantin' to see the body. Asking questions, making notes. We'll just have to be even more careful."
Mink nodded. They were quiet for a moment, and then he asked, "How is Nosegay?"
"Heh? Oh, she's an annoying twat as usual. I made it real clear that she's not to step foot out of that house. She's a nosy one anyway, so she's not too happy about being cooped up there for a few days. But we can't be sure that she didn't really make a tape. Personally, I don't think she did, but we can't risk it. I'm the mayor, but I'm not exempt from the law, you know. I wouldn't put it past her to make some sort of a tape, just to be a perfect bitch even from beyond the grave."
Mink smiled, "Well, at least you'll have some company for awhile. It must get pretty lonely at that old place."
"I like the quiet. I read a lot, listen to a little Ella Fitzgerald. Nothin' like Ella to melt away your problems." He stared at the ceiling contentedly for a moment before clearing his throat and looking around Mink's living room, as if suddenly unsure of his surrondings.
"Well, you don't have anything to worry about sir. I'll make sure Nook stays in line."
"You do that," Tortimer was standing up, unfolding his cane and shaking out his leg a little, "You make sure that Pinky doesn't get her dirty paws all in her pie. It'd be...unfortunate if something were to happen to her."
Mink nodded and held the door open for the mayor, who was walking rather slowly as he still didn't have his cane fully constructed. When he had, he leaned against it and gave Mink a slight smile, "I'll see you at the town meeting?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Mink said, returning the smile.
"Just the usual bullshit. Tell everyone we're working our damndest to solve the crime. Find the head, all that. Alright, Mink, we're sqaured away. I'll see you later."
He left, and Mink closed the door behind him.
