Steel (Poke)Ball Run
Chapter 14 - VS THE SHERIFF'S REQUEST
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A relatively dry path wound back from Driftveil City and the church back into the threshold of the route that had made up stage one of the race. Mr Steel and Lucy, in a carriage without a roof or walls, were admiring the scenic route as led by two Ponyta and a coachman. It was really quite lovely out here.
The sun was high in the sky and laying on its heat thick. Shadows speckled the flat, grassy plains. It was bright as anything given that it was midday right about now. Still, it was cool and a pleasant breeze played with the leaves; a most melodic, natural symphony. It was beautiful upon the area as the scent of flora wafted through on that gentle zephyr. It was hard to believe over three thousand mounts had just stampeded through mere hours ago. Now, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.
However, it was not for a tourist visit that Mr Steel and his wife had been brought out here for. It was by the whim of the sheriff and one or two of his men. He was local to Driftveil City and was well respected in the area. Unfortunately, he didn't like to answer questions from the likes of Mr Steel and as they came to a halt, it was beginning to grate on Mr Steel's nerves evermore.
'Hey, Sheriff!' Mr Steel cried out to the aloof man once more.
All the beasts that had brought them to this particular part of the forest, not overly far away from the church, came to a complete stop. The sheriff glanced around. He whistled. He ignored Mr Steel once more.
Mr Steel got up from his plush seat on the carriage. 'Hey Sheriff!' he yelled again; waving his fists in the air. 'Do you have something you want to say to me or not? Why did you make us come out here anyway?'
Slowly, the sheriff turned his head around. With cold, grey eyes he acknowledged Mr Steel.
'It's not good to have newspapers or reporters out here.' he said. 'Truth is, I didn't want a lady out here either.'
Lucy twirled the pink parasol she had brought with her. She kept her eyes to her feet.
'Then what's this about? I'm busy you now.' Mr Steel said.
'I want to talk about some bodies I found, Mr Steel.' the Sheriff revealed.
Mr Steel took a sharp breath. 'What was the condition of mount Pokemon they were with' he asked; it was the pragmatic thing to do. 'We have mounts in this race that can do up to ninety kilometres. At the time the rider's eyesight from the ground is about two-point-five metres high, and they're at flying speeds!'
One of the men that the sheriff had brought along, dismounted. He took his mount, a Sawsbuck, by its reins. He led it a little closer to a pile of rocks that were half hidden by the trees. Sheriff did the same, he dismounted his Rapidash and led it into this grotto that was present.
'Yep, this is the place.' he noted.
Both men ignored Mr Steel who was spurting all sorts of strange things.
'And what about the race?!' he yelled. 'It's a dangerous sport, you know! But they knew that when they signed up to our contracts! We made them sign waivers and everything!'
'Mr Steel,' the Sheriff's pointed voice pierced Mr Steel's yelling, 'you should be able to see for yourself.'
Mr Steel removed himself from the carriage. Lucy waited behind. He wandered forward; closer to the sheriff. Mr Steel frowned and his eyes searched for these "bodies" of the Sheriff's. His eyes widened. His stomach somersaulted.
'What the hell?!' he yelled.
Lucy flinched. But she dared to look up from her shoes nonetheless. Everyone noticed the buzz of some sort of bug and then a stench. The stench of meat left to rot in the sun but mixed with something else; body odour, perhaps. Whatever it was, it was foul.
Then there was the trail. What looked like a root at first turned to something else upon closer inspection. It was strangely coloured; closer to pink than brown. Not to mention oddly textured: bumpy and almost rope-like. It trailed back to behind the rocks but where it ended, in front of them, it was coiled around a bloody pistol.
'Wh-What the h-hell is that?' Mr Steel asked again. This time, his voice was a lot softer. As broken as shattered glass.
Behind the outcrop, where that strange, flesh-coloured rope coiled back, a pair of feet stuck out. It was like a man was lying down. No, two men. Mr Steel noticed the scalp or crown of a man's head next to those boots. From what he could tell, the man's skin had turned a sort of green-grey. He looked ghoulish, particularly with those unfocused, glazed over eyes.
The realisation fully struck Mr Steel now.
'Return my wife to the station, now! Take her back!' he screamed. His arm flailed about wildly.
These were not the bodies of men who had died from exhaustion or related conditions such as dehydration or starvation. This was the work of a deranged man. Those "ropes" were the unwound entrails of the bodies. They had been sprawled out as some sort of path. Was it the killer's doing?
Mr Steel swung his arm towards the sheriff.
'What is this? Who the hell are these people? Is there a third?' His questions came one after another with the utmost urgency and revolt.
The sheriff, in contrast, was quite cool beneath the situation. He shrugged.
'The guy's name on this side is Mark Baker. The guy on the far right is David Hagen. And yeah, there is a third and he's Paul Lucasa. All three were participants in this race. It was reported that they had placed around two thousand during the seven to eight thousand metre mark. We questioned some of the other participants of the race about it… But no one saw a thing from when these men fell off their mounts to when they were found. They were found going wild in the area; if it weren't for their saddle cloths, they woulda bin mistaken for wild 'mon and we may never have realised somethin' was amiss with these men.' the Sheriff explained.
'Just what is this? Why'd they die like this?' Mr Steel asked.
'We reckon that after they died, a Mandibuzz probably got to 'em and picked 'em apart for its dinner. Not that we usually get Mandibuzz this out west but hell, even a hungry 'nough Tranquill might be responsible. But there aren't any tracks 'round to suggest either of 'em 'mons may've been at the bodies.'
'So how did it happen?' Mr Steel demanded.
'Mr Steel, this is a murder.' the Sheriff informed gravely. 'And it was during the race, to boot. We don't know who did it but I'd say this was premeditated. I reckon the murderer planned to knock these riders off. Yet… no one saw a thing. Even though there was three thousand people were racing alongside these unfortunates but not a single witness.'
'Don't say something like that! Why do they think that; someone must've seen something!'
'Judging from the evidence, it is already clear to me that the suspect is among one of your participants. A possible motive for murder would be… simply thinning to the pack; boost their chances of getting a good rank and more badges. Plain old greed. After all, it's a mighty big prize ya got there: 50, 000, 000, 000… If that's the case, this bloke is definitely still in the race. Likely, anyone who interferes with this person's chance of winning will be killed.' the Sheriff explained.
Mr Steel shut his mouth. His fists clenched by his side. There was nothing he could say. He could bark orders, he supposed but they went without saying. So, the best he could do was let that gentle breeze wash over him, comfort him in vain. But he was restless nevertheless. The sheriff noticed.
The sheriff's words echoed in Mr Steel's mind. He decided he could stay silent no longer. It wasn't his style.
'Fuck, for something like this to happen… It's inconceivable. But, the race will continue as per normal. It's too late to postpone; hell, it's impossible to postpone. Everyone is too involved in the race. We can't change anything except proceed usually.'
'Figured you'd say somethin' like that… Which is why I got into contact with someone dependable. I called in a request with that Mountain Tim. Local bloke, Driftveil fella born and bred. I know 'im like he's my own son. He's the best candidate to investigate the participants of this race… and look, he's arriving now. A bit late.'
The sheriff turned around. His mount bowed its neck. Meanwhile, the carriage trembled. The pair of Ponyta that were in the harnesses pulling it suddenly got to the ground. They bowed. A man on the back of a Tauros arrived. His Simisage happily bounded along behind him. He wore Zebstrika print clothes and had a kind-hearted smile.
Mountain Tim welcomed himself to Lucy.
'Hello.' she offered to him.
He smiled at her. She weakly smiled back, a tad intimidated by him as he was a stranger and she was well aware of his position as a favourite for the race. At least before Gyro Zeppeli had shown up.
Mountain Tim lifted his head. He flicked his hat upwards then wolf-whistled. 'Oh Lonesome Me, use Vine Whip on that their shrub.' he instructed.
'Sage!' his Simisage crooned.
It threw its arms forward and thick vines extended from its body. The vines behaved like a rope and Simisage manoeuvred it expertly. The vines wrapped around a few wild violets growing. It yanked them back and gathered them up. It handed them to his Trainer.
Mountain Tim flashed another smile to Lucy as he gave her the bouquet. 'Flowers for the young lass… You remind me of my sister when she was your age.' he said wistfully.
'Thank you.' Lucy said.
She accepted the flowers. She brought them to her face and smelled them. She sighed. Her brittle smile turned strong. Mountain Tim noticed the ring on her finger.
'So it's true, huh? You are married.' he said.
'Yes.' Lucy replied.
'My little sister… her biggest dream was to become a bride.' Mountain Tim commented, lamented.
'Your sister… you speak of her as though she's passed on.' Lucy pointed out shyly.
That warm smile of his turned as cold as a dusky evening. 'That's because she has.'
'My condolences…' Lucy murmured.
'S'alright, it's been a fair few years. I've had my time to grieve but sometimes, I get too nostalgic for my own good... Say, Miss, you got any Pokemon to keep you company?' Mountain Tim rambled.
'No, sir.'
'Well, it's grizzly times…' Mountain Tim unlatched a Friend Ball from his belt. 'This here is my Maractus, Jessica, she can be great company. If you ask her real sweet-like, she'll play a song for you. You wanna look after her for a tick whilst us grown men deal with the situation?'
'Alright.' Lucy replied.
'Have a good one, Miss.'
Mountain Tim tipped his hat to Lucy then turned on his heel. Lucy inspected the PokeBall. Mountain Tim regrouped the other men whilst remaining mounted on his Tauros. His Simisage clambered over and sat behind him as it was trained to do so. He gave Lucy one last scant glance.
'Alright Jessica,' she mumbled to herself, 'would you like to come out of you PokeBall?'
It opened wide at her question. Out of a sort of mysterious, silvery-light, a lively Maractus danced out. It posed for Lucy.
'Is it true you'll sing for me? Will you please sing for me? Pretty please with Cheri Berries on top?'
'Mar-ractus.'
Maractus shook its head and Lucy grimaced slightly. Then, Maractus puffed itself up and began to rattle its club-like arms. Lucy was delighted to learn that Maractus was truly like a pair of maracas. With the sound of off-key yowling and rattles in the distance, Mountain Tim was pleased to note that Lucy likely wasn't listening to this grim discovery.
'Your wife seems to be a lovely girl, Mr Steel.' Mountain Tim said.
'Er, thanks. Mr Steel replied, stern. He was slightly perturbed.
'Now, what do we know about the bloke who did this?' Mountain Tim asked, completely refocusing the situation.
'Are you sure you ought to take up a thing like this, you're a participant in my race too.' Mr Steel said.
'He's doing it at my request. I don't know how much you know about Moutain Tim's reputation but he's taken on many a' bounty hunting jobs all over Unova. I reckon there isn't a man who's nabbed more bounties than Tim. 'Sides, he is a participant in your race. It'll be the perfect cover for him.' the Sheriff explained.
Mountain Tim smiled smugly. 'I don't want to talk myself up too much up but my friend the Sheriff here is right. Here, let me take a closer look at things since we're all on the same blank page.'
Mountain Tim tugged at his reins. His Tauros slowly lumbered forth. He inspected the ground beneath him. In the dirt, there was a cluster of all sorts of hoof prints. If he had to guess, he would say two Rapidash and a Mudsdale. He was fairly certain that it was two Rapidash and a Mudsdale which had been wrangled in earlier, according to the report, so they must belong to the deceased.
He squinted. No, something wasn't right. Something was off. Perhaps there was a third Rapidash too. It was hard to tell. Mountain Tim glanced around. Something caught his eye further on.
He glanced at his Simisage. It nodded at him. It manifested its vines and used them as a lasso. Whilst his Simisage expertly wrangled in a glass bottle, Mountain Tim began to spin a yarn he had heard once.
'Up until now, I've never seen anything like this. Such a brutal killing method. However, I have heard legends of some deaths that're very similar. There's an old Isshu legend about where a shooting star fell in the Desert Resort. That shooting star was apparently carrying some kind of creature, maybe a Pokemon, maybe not, but either way that shooting star brought some kind of evil spirit with it. This evil spirit is sort of like an Isshu bogeyman. Apparently, this Isshu bogeyman was very greedy and bloodthirsty. And it had a type: anyone just as greedy as him.
'Heard once of a foreign man, some Kalosian fellow, who found an emerald in the Desert Resort. Brought it home but when he brought it home, he brought this bogeyman with him. Died just like these poor sods: intestines and whatnot sprawled out like this, other gashes and slashes too. Anyone else who was given or, uh, acquired this emerald through unsavoury means also died that way.'
'Are you trying to tell me some monster from under a kid's bed is behind this?' Mr Steel asked.
'Not at all, sir.' Mountain Tim replied.
'What then? Aliens?' Mr Steel continued to hound Mountain Tim with incredulity.
'I'm just saying that we've got someone impersonating a monster on our hands.' Mountain Tim.
His Simisage reeled in a glass bottle. It looked up to Mountain Tim with shy eyes that gave an impression of wanting to be praised.
'In a minute, Lonesome.' Mountain Tim replied to it but he ruffled up the top of its head.
Mountain Tim dismounted his Tauros. He looked at the hoof prints in the dirt. One Zebstrika… and three Rapidash. He was certain. However, there was something strange about one of the prints belonging to a Rapidash. He squinted, analysed the pattern. It was slightly off.
He got up and made his thoughts known to the other men.
'The hoofprints here are certainly in a scramble. That'd happen when Pokemon see human blood drawn. But these ones here, they have a distinct mountain-like pattern to 'em, like they've trodden on something odd.' he explained.
'That doesn't make it evidence. It could be a unique horseshoe marker. Something that could belong to our killer or to our deceased.'
'Or maybe, it's from something else.' Mountain Tim half-turned to his Simisage. 'Lonesome, wanna show us what you got there?'
'Sage.' it replied.
His Simisage threw it the bottle. Mountain Tim caught it perfectly in his hands by the bottom; like he was afraid to touch its neck. He looked it over. There was a bloodstain on it and stuck to the bloodstain was a curious little object that was gold. Mountain Tim carefully removed it.
'What have we here?' he pondered. 'Why it's a button.'
He showed the other men. It was small and golden. It had an engraving in all capital letters that read " ".
'I think you'll find none of our deceased are wearing buttons like this.' he said. 'So, it likely belongs to our killer. But I'm not quite sure what sort of connection it may have. Was it torn off during the murder or is something else? I suppose I'll just have to investigate. But one thing is for sure, it is most certainly our very important evidence.'
Mountain Tim cocked a grin. Mr Steel gruffly admitted defeat. It would appear that the investigation would be in very capable hands thanks to the Sheriff's request.
The sound of Mountain Tim's Maractus singing died down. Lucy twirled her parasol, it was battered by a slight wind. It carried a vaguely salty tang. Was it still the wind they called Santana?