Disclaimer: You can't spell 'Pokémon' without 'nope', as in, 'nope, I don't own it. Pokémon I mean. Which is what this story is about.'
You can, however, spell Pokémon without a good portion of the rest of that statement. Also a fun fact!
Chapter 16: A Detective
Sunset, Oakridge forest. Hues of red and gold like a Harry Potter fanatic's scarf. I sit alone, parked in my standard issue Chevy Rapidash and wait as the colors fade to black, blanketing the forest with a layer of dark, sacred night straight out of a Louis Armstrong bit… except there's nothing sacred about it. Nothing about these anonymous tips ever is.
The name's Detective Magnum Jenkins, POkémon LEague Security Team Adjunct, Pokémon Homicide (POLESTAPH). Fifteen years of regular homicide and you think you'd be prepared for anything, but throwing Pokémon into the mix is a whole other deal.
It's not that the deaths are any more gruesome… as if a Pokémon could possibly come close to being as warped as a human being… but the hysteria you have to deal with is reminiscent of Swine Flu… almost makes me wish we had it back. Nine out of ten times, these anonymous tips end up as nothing, an oddly acting Sentret just turns out to have Pokérus, a trainer with blue eyes gets caught in the wrong light and suddenly everyone wants to burn him at the stake… that sort of thing.
It's worth following up each one, though, because every now and again you come face to face with Death himself. It's those few moments, where I have even the slimmest chance of clapping the sick bastard in cuffs and ridding the world of him once and for all, that keep me out on the Routes, following up every last lead I can find. He has to slip up eventually. He's only a man.
That's the important thing to remind yourself of, and it's what I tell the rookies whenever they're spooked silly by the briefest flash of blue in a Pokémon's eyes. No matter what he does, or how omnipresent the bastard seems, he's only a man. Strip off his mask and his fancy cloak and there's just a twisted, quivering sack of meat that wasn't loved enough as a child and knows how to use a voice changer. The only problem, of course, is that this particular quivering sack of meat also must be one of the greatest Pokémon trainers alive… that, as much as I hate to admit it, is a justified cause of fear if I've ever seen one.
The specific tip I was following up that night was from yet another source that refused to identify themselves, claiming to have seen Death fleeing into Oakridge forest sometime over the last few hours, presumably right after melting the flesh off of one of Woodale's hospital patients. Sick. Seeing as, if the tip turned out to be true, time was of the essence, I was sent immediately without time to pick up my partner, within radio contact of backup, if needed.
Officer Jenny, the intercom in my Rapidash crackled. Officer Jenny, do you copy?
"It's Detective Jenkins," I spat into the receiver. The paper-pushers at headquarters didn't do field work for a reason. "What is it?"
"Just got a call from a Ranger in the Green Lake Campgrounds area of Oakridge," the officer on the other end said, chuckling. "Thinks he saw Deathwing. Want to check it out while you're there?"
I growled, restraining myself from cussing the officer out. Deathwing was, as local legend had it, an enormous Dragon-type Pokémon trained by Death that lived in Oakridge, crushing victims whenever Death saw fit. This was, of course, bull crap, as numerous satellite images of the forest had never shown any Pokémon larger than a Fearow… and certainly no Dragons. Even if it did exist, it was more than likely the Dragonite from the Cliffkiln Relief (called as such because, to our relief, no one had died) that had just recently been put to death.
"Need I remind you, desk jockey, that I'm following the trail of Death himself, here? There isn't any room for playing around, got it?"
Even across the radio, I heard him gulp. "Y-y-y… yes sir, Detective Jenny, sir," he sputtered, quickly cutting the line of communication.
I sighed, leaning back into the black leather seat, absent-mindedly ruffling the fur of my Growlithe, dozing peacefully on the passenger's side. I considered calling it a night: I'd been sitting here for almost four hours now and my thermos of coffee was running dangerously low. I shrugged, grumbled something under my breath about my time being wasted, and turned the key in the ignition, bringing the eight cylinder engine to a roaring hum.
At this point, I heard a cracking noise, and two trees fell towards my vehicle. I threw the car into reverse and floored it, but my tires spun around uselessly, unable to gain traction. Grabbing Growlithe, I threw open the door and dove out of the vehicle, hearing a crunch and feeling shards of glass graze the back of my neck.
Drawing my .44 from its holster, I cocked back the safety, finger firmly on the trigger as I circled around, looking for what had caused the trees to fall. I heard two voices, a man's and a Pokémon's, talking out loud as if they didn't know I'd survived. Perfect.
"Yes, yes," said the human voice, in response to the Pokémon's chatter. "Your cut certainly is cleaner than mine, but you have to admit my tree started falling down first! Speed of draw is important too!"
The Pokémon (as I crept closer, I could tell from its speech patterns that it was a Treecko) began chattering again, prompting the man to sputter and defend his position indignantly. Taking advantage of the internal conflict, I dove in quickly, revolver drawn and badge gleaming in the moonlight.
"Freeze! POLESTAPH!" I shouted at the Treecko and the… Gallade? What's a Gallade doing talking? "You're both under arrest for destruction of police property, as well as attempted murder of an officer!"
The Treecko immediately put its hands in the air, and the Gallade reluctantly followed suit. "I'm not sure what law is regarding this sort of thing, but shouldn't we talk about this with our trainers first?"
"Take me to them," I said, motioning with my gun for them to show me the way. Slowly, cautiously, they led me into the forest, towards whatever camp their trainers had set up. Soon enough, the layers of oaks and ashes gave way to clearing, wherein sat three trainers: a red-haired girl, a pale-skinned boy in a visor, and a quite attractive young woman. The Gallade immediately explained the situation, and the boy face palmed.
"Guys…" he said, almost apologetically. "I realize that I didn't specifically tell you not to chop down any trees for firewood that would fall on cop cars but… I was kind of hoping you'd figure it out for yourselves."
"We're sorry officer," the redhead apologized quickly, "Inigo and Gallant have been trying to one-up each other in swordsmanship all day. I told them to stop before it got out of hand, but they just wouldn't listen, would they?" She stared at the two Pokémon, which were now hiding inside one of the group's tents.
"Don't play me for a fool, miss," I said sternly. "You expect me to believe that these Pokémon were acting without any direction whatsoever?"
They all blinked, as if not understanding the question. "Yeah…" the boy said slowly. "Is that… does that really seem so weird?"
"We'll pay for whatever damages our Pokémon may have caused, and we're awfully sorry, officer," the violet-haired one said, batting her eyes. "And it's so impressive that you were able to dive out of the car, with what little notice you had…"
"What? Oh, uh…" Don't blush! "That's nothing, ma'am, standard training."
"And I suppose it's standard training to shield your adorable Growlithe from the blast with your big, strong body, too?" She asked, blushing as she spoke. I cleared my throat, trying to keep my temperature down. I knew what was happening… why couldn't I help but fall for it?
"I can't believe this is really happening," Redhead grumbled.
"I should wake up Medici, he'd get a kick out of this," Visor laughed.
"All right, listen!" I yelled, grabbing the attention of the group. "Seeing as this whole thing was just an accident, I suppose I'll drop the attempted murder charge, but," I stressed. "There is the matter of my car. I'll need to get your names to file an incident report at the very least, understood?"
Violet-hair smile innocently. "Vanna Albright," she responded immediately.
"Amber," the redhead said, declining to mention anything further.
"Axel Jackson!" Visor said, extending a hand as if we were meeting on friendly terms. I paused. I'd heard that name before.
"You aren't the Axel Jackson from Cliffkiln, are you?" I asked, drawing my notepad from my pocket nonchalantly.
"Um… well, originally I'm from Pembrook," he explained. "But… I spent a good bit of time in Cliffkiln. I was there when… that… happened, if that's what you're asking."
"Interesting," I said, writing down what he said. "And you were in Cliffkiln for how long?"
"About two years, why?"
"No reason," I said, jotting it down. "And you're how old?"
"Nineteen."
"Which means that, for you to have left on a Pokémon journey at seventeen, you would have had to leave home before the first Pokémon murder ever occurred?"
"Don't answer that," Amber cut Axel off quickly. "I'm sorry, but who exactly…"
"Detective Magnum Jenkins, Pokémon Homicide," I introduced myself with a tip of my cap. "I'm here on an anonymous tip that Death had been seen fleeing into Oakridge forest after committing his latest murder, but a few hours ago."
The three trainers gulped, and their Pokémon became a little less rowdy. Vanna sighed deeply. "Thanks for the heads up, officer. We'll keep a look out."
"You don't quite understand, miss," I responded. "In addition to this tip, we've received several allegations regarding Mr. Jackson here, claiming that he is death."
"Huh?"
"WHAT?"
"That's… I can't even begin to describe…"
"Take it easy," I calmed them, motioning them to sit before they'd even begun to rise. "We don't make a habit of believing ever single wild accusation we get. But I do hope you understand why, events lining up as they are, I'd like to ask you a few more questions."
Axel smiled. "I guess that makes sense." Amber began to object, but Axel calmed her. "He's just doing his job, Amber. And I can sort of see where this is coming from." He stood up. "Wherever you'd like, Detective."
I led him a little ways into the woods (to ensure there'd be no interruptions), and took a seat on a nearby stump, while Axel leaned against a tree. We got to talking and honestly, he didn't seem like a bad kid. He explained how'd he gotten where he was… about leaving Pembrook, getting stuck in Cliffkiln and about the various chores his boss had had him go on.
"And all that time, while you were working at Munson's Grocer, you never left Cliffkiln? Ever?"
"Well, not ever," Axel admitted. "Occasionally, Mr. Munson would send me to deliver a package for a customer outside town. That's how I met Shelligan's Original Trainer, actually. He was a customer from the next town over."
"And… you own this Pokémon now because…"
He looked down. "Well… he's kind of… gone," he said, eyes glistening slightly.
"Oh… sorry to hear that," I said, making a note in my pad. "So I'm assuming this trainer… he left you Shelligan?"
"Shelligan kind of just came with me," Axel explained. "I told him that he could join me if he wanted, and he accepted. Plain and simple."
"Ah," I nodded. "And then you caught the Treecko… Inigo? Sometime afterwards?"
Axel smiled, somehow knowing where I was going. "Already picked up on it, huh Detective?"
"You've never actually caught a single Pokémon, have you, son?"
"Not in the… traditional sense, no," the boy admitted. "You don't get a lot of chance to hunt for Pokémon when you work as much as I did, so I got them all… incidentally, I suppose you could say."
"Care to elaborate on that?" I asked, doing my best to sound casual.
"Not really," he said with a smile. "It's not that I have anything to hide, but… telling would sort of be disrespectful to some people, both alive and dead."
My gut told me I could trust him, though it wasn't exactly professional. Even if he did turn out to be a scumbag, it'd be easy enough to find him again. Flipping my notepad shut, I tipped my cap farewell at him, and he saluted me as I walked back towards… my… car.
Ah well, accidents happen I suppose. And it wouldn't be the first time I asked HQ for a new car with no explanation as to what I did with the old one.
The walk back was longer than I remembered it. Sticks and leaves crunched underfoot as the wind swept underneath my coat, chilling me to the bone briefly before I could pull it shut. A particularly strong gust knocked the scarf my wife had knitted me off, and I stopped over quickly, trying to catch it before it hit the ground.
That's when I saw the boot.
And then the leg attached to the boot. And the body attached to the leg, flattened like a sword on an anvil, blood trickle indicating a recent kill. I brushed the leaves covering the face aside, revealing a young female trainer, first Gym badge still fastened proudly to the hem of her jacket.
I radioed my find in and hightailed it back towards Axel's camp as quickly as possible. Not this time, you sick bastard.
Author's Note:
I'm not sure how good I am at writing a gritty, seen-it-all cop-type character. The reason this took longer than usual is a) trying to capture (and ridiculously overstate) that tone and b) TESTS! ZOMGWTFBBQ! They were everywhere this week. I still have some. It's… it's fine. I'm supposedly a genius. So they say. So your mom says, at least. OOOOH…. Oh. Right. I'm not 12 anymore. Damn it! My roommate says I deserve to be shot for this joke. He's probably right.
Additional note! I've done the math, and this is now the second longest story I've written for this site!
Medici: WOOT! AW YEAH! It's only a matter of time before we hit number one, right?
Amaxing: Well, let's see, you guys are at around 38,000 right now, and the longest story is Chancellor Moore: Ace Attorney with a count of…
Amber: 109,000 words? Good gravy, what the hell is that about?
Amaxing: Chocolate covered strawberries, mostly.
Viva la feminism?
Oh right! Last thing, I promise!
Just in case you guys forgot, I accept character suggestions! Obviously not main characters, but possible Team WhatItsName members? Townsfolk? Etc.? It's honestly fine. The world itself is pretty fleshed out, but if you feel like saving me some thinking time… I AM COOL WITH THIS. AS LONG AS YOU PUT IT IN A PM BECAUSE IT SHOULDN'T CLUTTER UP THE COMMENTS SECTION. But you can still ask questions and stuff in the comments.
NOW VIVA LA FEMINISM.