Chapter ; Cartman
Disclaimer 1 ; I obviously don't own South Park, or this would be much better.
Disclaimer 2 ; I do own the words here, so please do not use them without permission.
Author's Note ; Just a simple, silly story written for entertainment purposes only. Set in fifth grade, the boys are still boys. Each chapter will be in a separate character's view point. The chapters are going to be very short, but it is just a fun side project. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Reviews are much appreciated. The more reviews and ideas you let me know about, the more likely I am to finish a story. *nudge nudge, wink wink*
Author's Note 2 ; Thanks, xEmeraldIsle, for letting me know. Microsoft spell check probably shouldn't be my best friend. It often tells me things are spelled incorrectly concerning the South Park universe.
The following events take place between 7:00a.m. and 7:23a.m on June 6th......
The call came in at seven that morning. I was sleeping with Clyde Frog, cozy under the blankets when the phone woke me up from a particularly good dream about Jennifer Lopez. I rolled out of bed, grabbed the phone and put it to my ear.
"Uh," is all I say. If they were calling my private line, they knew who I was.
"We need the help of a P.I," the voice says, audibly distressed.
"What's the job?" I ask, sitting up in bed, swinging my legs to the cold hardwood floor. Clyde Frog now lays in bed alone, all but forgotten in my line of work. I couldn't have any attachments to a world that could be taken away at any moment.
"Our son... he's gone missing."
"Call the police," I say gruffly.
"No! We need you! The police can't help us now!"
Considering my options, I crack my toes against the floor. Getting to my feet, slapping the alarm clock as it beeps seven-oh-five, I sigh heavily. "I'm going to need more information, mister. His name, height, age, weight, hair color, eye color. Then, I'll tell you my price."
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" the voice praises, almost crying in joy.
Getting a slip of paper with Terrence and Phillip drawn on it, I sat at my desk to write down the information the father could give me. I heard the mother crying in the background, her hysterical sobs breaking my concentration. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to move to a different room. Your wife's sobbing is breaking my concentration," I say bluntly.
The noise soon fades. "Our son is about three feet tall, he's going to be in sixth grade this September. He has light blue eyes, blonde hair, and he was last wearing a blue shirt. He's not very heavy..." the father trails off, apparently getting choked up or something stupid.
"His name?" I remind him.
"Leopold Stoch," he says. "His classmates call him Butters."
I pause, then smack myself in the face. "Jesus christ," I groan.
"Will you still do it?"
"It's going to be a hundred dollars," I say, sighing. "An hour."
After a long pause, the Mr. Stoch swallowed hard. "Done."
"Good, good. This is a recorded conversation, and that was your verbal agreement. If you don't pay up, I'll take you to court. Do you understand?" I ask, grabbing another sheet of paper.
"I understand."
"Good. Now, Mr. Stoch, I need some more information on your son. Where was he last seen, what was he doing, and what time did you realize he was gone?" I hold the pen at the ready, sketching down any important detail.
"He was last seen at the campsite on North Park Scenic Road, and he was gathering fire wood for our campfire."
"Were there smores?" I interrupt.
"W-what?"
"Sir, this isn't a game, I need you to answer the question. Were. There. Smores," I repeat.
Confused, the father stuttered a moment. "Well... there were going to be... yes, we had smores ingredients."
"Okay. Keep going."
"We noticed he was missing - I mean, we noticed he hadn't come back when it was getting dark. We looked for him until the sun disappeared, but we couldn't find him. We called the cops, and they couldn't find him either. Now we're turning to you."
"You've done a good job, sir," I say, circling smores on the sheet of paper. "I'll call you when I get any information. Meet me at the campsite in two hours."
Without giving him time to respond, I hang up the phone. Setting the pen down, I stand up from the desk, stretching my aching, old bones. "Well, Clyde Frog, I have important business today. I'll be home when I can.
"Call me, Cartman.
"No, I cant do that, Clyde Frog! We agreed this wouldn't be a relationship. I'll come home when I do!
"You'll go to the strip club again!
"That was once, Clyde Frog, and it was for a job," I say angrily, tossing the blanket over my irritating other half and dismissing the one-sided conversation. Dressing myself, I hurry down the stairs, grabbing a plate of waffles off the counter. "Bye mom, got important things to do," I say quickly, rushing into the livingroom.
"Young man!"
She never uses that tone. "Whaat, mom?" I stress.
"Don't bring that plate outside again. Last time, mommy had to buy a new plate. You stay in here and eat those waffles, pookiekins."
"Awwww but maaawwwm, I have really important business to take care of today," I whine, stomping my foot.
"Well... alright, hon. But bring the plate back this time."
"Okay!"
I rush out the door, already on my way to a house I knew could help. He lived across town, which gave me enough time to eat my waffles. It also gave me enough time to work up a sweat as I came around the final corner, panting from the stress, long ago abandoning the plate by the side of the road.
The pale house looming above me had an air of religion about it, though from one tiny window upstairs, the anti-christ pulsed healthily. I walk to the front door, pounding on it with my fist. There is a rustling of feet behind the door, then it opens. The boy standing before me has mousey, dirty brown hair, dark mysterious eyes, and a cigarette hanging limply from his mouth.
"Wat ees it, fatass?" he asks, his accent heavily French, smoke curling from his lips.
"I have a job for you," I say simply, knowing the bait will catch his attention, however fractionally.
"Like what?" he says dully as he blows smoke in my face.
Coughing, I wave it away. "Butters is missing, and his parents hired me to find them. I'm hiring you to follow clues."
"Wat makes you tzhink I'll work for you?"
"Twenty dollars an hour."
"Hm." He pauses for a while. Smoke chugs out his mouth like a diesel engine. Behind his shadowed eyes, I cant tell if he's thinking about my offer or wondering where to hit me first. The dark orbs focus on me suddenly, and he says gruffly, "Deal."
"Good, lets go."