Vanishing Point #1

in #life6 years ago

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I settled down at the breakfast table with a relaxed sigh. Things had been good lately. My acceptance of the multiverse and my place in it had made life seem so much easier than it had before.

That and my decision to hang up my detective hat and just let life lead me where it may.

The good lady slammed a plate down before me. On it quivered some thick, glistening, black-spotted, white discs.

Ah, what delights have we here then?

I boomed gaily, as if she had sprayed her yester-teats with fondant icing and offered me a spoon.

White pudding.

She replied suspiciously at seeing my happy demeanour.

Beef fat and oatmeal stuffed into a sausage skin, sliced and fried? How delicious!

I eagerly started forking the gelatinous muck into my suddenly dry mouth.

Mmm.

I rubbed my tummy in the direction of the good lady's suspicious gaze and tried to hold in my body's rebellious protest farts.

She backed off, her face still gnarled with distrust. I had fought weasels with happier faces.

No matter. I finished the turgid nonsense and prepared to leave for the office.

At the coat-stand I paused as I reached out for my Fedora and long coat. The assembled armour of detectivity that had guided me for so long.

Reluctantly I pulled my hand away from them. Not my life anymore. I pulled out a snazzy leather jacket instead.

Being happy with my lot, this was my new life. I shouted my goodbyes and headed out the door.

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My nimble fingers danced over the keyboard as I attempted to force a connection to a new server like a fat cat squeezing through a pipe.

A sudden crack split the air like three-day underpants being struck by a toffee hammer.

I looked up, a pale man with white eyebrows and a white goatee looked over guiltily from the whiteboard he was deconstructing.

Sorry about that.

He muttered.

Albino! Screamed my inner detective and I quickly had to quell the urge to fling a stapler at him.

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But no. That was the old me, the private eye. The man in the long coat and fedora.

What you up to?

I asked pleasantly whilst trying to control the twitch in my left eye that spoke of murder.

He looked at me nervously as if memories of being hunted through the heather clad Highlands by my blue-face-painted ancestors were bubbling up from his subconscious.

Who me? Erm, nothing.

He mumbled, avoiding my gaze.

My interrogation was cut short by the arrival of Thin Lizzy. A manager type, so named because she was old and tired and rubbish.

BoomDawg, have you seen Mikey?

I looked to my right. Mikey's desk was empty. His mug unwashed and mouldy.

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I haven't actually. Has he called in sick?

Thin Lizzy made a face as if trying to knit a sweater with low grade arsehair

No he hasn't. If he comes in tell him I am looking for him.

Roger that ma'am.

I responded.

I cast an inquisitive eye at Mikey's desk. It wasn't like him to be absent. His desk looked as if it hasn't been sat at for many a day.

Mikey missing and hasn't phoned in?

How mysterious. Whatever the mystery was though, it would have to be solved by someone else. I was no longer that man.

The white-goatee'd whiteboard dismantler had finished and after loading the pieces into a small cart was heaving them away.

Hey, where you going with them?

I called.

He didn't answer, instead, quickening his pace as if to get away from me.

How curious.

My inner detective stiffened momentarily before I quelled it hurriedly back down.

Wherever he was taking it would have to be someone else's business. I was out of the game now and happier for it.

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The clock on my desktop showed it was almost ten o'clock. Time for my morning shit. I trailed off to the toilet hurriedly, the white pudding was already knocking insistently at my brine cellar doors.

As I shimmied past Mikey's desk I noticed a solitary post-it, half crumpled in his out-tray. I palmed it out of habit and hurried onward to the toilets to read it out of sight of prying eyes.

I closed the cubicle door and quickly un-crumpled the post-it. It had only one word scrawled desperately on it...

Ganymede.

Ganymede?? Jupiter's largest moon? What the hell did that mean?

My torpid detectivity once again snarked from deep within. Something was wrong here. Something bad was going down. What had Mikey gotten himself involved in?

No matter how I fought it, I couldn't let this lie.

I clenched the turtle's head back inside my billabong and marched determinedly back into the office to my locker

As I thumbed at the combination, my colleague BinJuice called out.

Hey, something wrong? You look serious?

I wrestled my locker open and pulled out my emergency Fedora. I pulled it onto my head and turned to him adjusting it to that oh so comforting rakish angle over my eyes.

My mouth opened and the voice that rang out was as familiar as the dog that scratched at my back door every night, calling out my name.

Just when I thought I was out they pull me back in...

Sort:  

Your main image for this post appears to be of the same sort that you used for the Automaton series. Should I make a connection here?

I just love a theme!!! :0D

Our is there more... Hmmm. Ponder ponder!

Pssh, how could there possibly be more.

Once a detective, always a detective it seems.

Aside from Mikey's mysterious disappearance, a quandary of which I have no doubt you'll solve and report on, I must say that I am most intrigued by the hobby that is arse hair knitting. I mean, what distinguishes the quality of said hair between low and high grade? I have so many questions.

😆You are truly the best MB!

Hehe, I keep on trying my best :O)

I believe it is graded on many factors, I have not yet cracked the code that determines quality yet!

It's amazing how men can shit like clockwork. Look forward to finding Mikey detective.

When it doesnt come as expected you know you are in trouble!

Here we go again..... I hope Mickey is not in jail :)

Hehe, you never know ;0)

Emergency fedora 🤣

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You gotta have one!!

Old habits are hard to break...

A man can't stop sniffing for could!!

The disappearance of your friend, Mikey, forced you to become a detective yet again. Being a detective is in your blood even if you want to retire. I hope Mikey is safe. Upvoted!

The blood forces us to continue!!!

'made a face as if trying to knit a sweater with low grade arsehair'

A real pleasure how you every time manage to describe things in a way that I instantly get the whole picture in detail; LMAO.

Anyway, talking about hair ... Where's the beard???

I rather liked that one myelf.

Thats my detective photo, it's old! Don't worry, the beard is still there in all its hairy magnificence!!!

You had me worried there for a moment.

It's days are numbered I fear

hahaha! there are so many funny lines in this one sir meesterboom! "emergency fedora" is one of them..lol.

A man ain't a man till he has sorted out an emergency Fedora ;0)

Exactly. All I have is a cowboy hat. I gotta get a Fedora!

white pudding...white eyebrows...white goatee...whiteboard....and...white moon? hmmmm......DIdn't take long to get back in the game ;o)

How can our hero refrain when mysteries abound!! And white things!! Is it all linked!? And what colour is Ganymede!!

definitely a white shining circle in the sky! It's all connected!

Connections everywhere even unintentional ones :0D

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