Tonight we present a tale of everyone’s favourite private investigator, as provided by our very own time traveller.
The Skinner Co. Network
FPGE11 - Mulligan Smith in The Cinema Show, by Rich "the Time Traveller" Jefferson
(upbeat music) ♪ A tirelessly seeks through me ♪ ♪ Ages for fictions ♪ ♪ Besties rich the time ♪ ♪ Traveler ♪ (upbeat music) (upbeat music) - Welcome to Flash MOB, guest of 7/11. This evening we present, Mulligan Smith in the cinema show by Rich the Time Traveler Jefferson. This episode is brought to you by the Flash MOB on name. It's where the invisible unicorns live and you can find it at theflashmob.name.com. Flash Pope is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to 10 minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, we present a tale of everyone's favorite private investigator as provided by our very own time travel. Mulligan Smith in the cinema show. Written by Rich the Time Traveler Jefferson with art and narration by Popon X and audio production by Jessica May. (upbeat music) Mulligan Smith leaned in the back corner of the narrow space between the two buildings. It was a crisp mid-autumn night, but despite the chill that had caused him to virtually retreat into his ever-present hoodie, he held a slurpee in his hand and sipped from the drink. As alleys went, he had certainly smelled worse and even been intimately acquainted with the floor of a few that made this one seem practically pristine. He drew on the frozen slush and pondered if he would have long to wait before the person he needed would appear. The time I was stretched along so languidly during this part of a job until it eventually reached a point where it was pulled taut and snapped. The moment when things sprang into action. He had often been on the other side of that temporal distortion on enough occasions, being suddenly surprised by someone lurking in anticipation of his own arrival. Mulligan thought of the unexpected compression of minutes went on the receiving end of such an arrangement and believed that perhaps it was the better portion of the bargain. Sucking once more on his beverage, it made a rude and jagged sound, signifying that it had been exhausted. Mulligan reached over and flipped it towards the nearby dumpster, but the cup hit the edge and tumbled back to the ground. It rolled to his feet, spilling its last bits of fluid and adding its stickiness to the already tacky concrete. He let go of a frustrated sigh and bent to pick it up again. This time, his shot was true and the container disappeared into the refuse receptacle. The door adjacent to the building began to move and Mulligan pressed himself back within the obscuring shadows. It was difficult in the dim light cast in the passageway, but he could just discern the head of a teenage boy, no more than 16, 17 of the most, topped with curly ginger hair, protrude from the opening and glance across the area. Apparently satisfied, no one was around. He slid half in, half out and paused to do something with the door before exiting fully and letting it slowly close. He was lanky and clothed in a far too baggy sweater that dangled well below the waist of his jeans. Shuffling quickly, he made for the open street. Mulligan stepped from his spot behind him and cleared his throat. Um, I was wondering if I could palivar with you but your nocturnal avocation. The youth was startled and jumped at the words and made an odd jangling sound. He spun towards Mulligan, who could see the look of bewilderment on his face. Ooh, ooh, he managed. The PI realized that the boy's puzzlement came only partly at surprise from his unseen approach and reworded his request. What are you planning to do? The boy's expression turned to one of panic and he lurched to run. Mulligan just sighed deeply once more. As the youth reached the sidewalk, the imposing form of Billy Winnipeg stepped in front of him but he did not see the large man because he had turned to check if the hoodied figure was pursuing him. The thin sprinter bounced off the wall of flesh and fell backwards to the ground graciously. Winnipeg snatched him in his meaty arms and put him easily in a half-nelson before a protest could be made. He began to squirm as Billy spoke. You know, simple light to run away from someone who just wants to ask you, "Ow, Mulligan!" Scrawny kids got some sharp elbows. "Pook me but couldn't the ribs." "Nah, I don't think so," said Smith, walking next to them. He reached forward and lifted the struggling teens sweater to reveal a short pry bar, screwdriver, a couple of shims, and a hammer, all strung to a worn leather strap hitched below his armpits. A garish and oversized belt buckle in the shape of a tractor acted as a clasp. You really get the married badge for being prepared, kid. What's your name? I'm telling you anything, officer. Ain't it legal to carry tools around? Spat the youth. Mulligan rolled his eyes. Do we really look like the police? Why don't you just tell me? Or I can grab your wallet and find out for myself? Doesn't matter to me. The adolescent sized them up for a moment deciding that was the truth. So Tim, Tim Crutchfield. If you two ain't cops, what the hell are you then? Well, Tim, you can call me Mulligan. And my friend here, giving you a bear hug, is called Billy Winnipeg. I'm a PI representing an individual who wants back something of his that has gone missing. Something I think you took during one of your late night movie viewings. I don't know what you're talking about, the boy up left weekly. I just wanted to get a little fresh air. You know, the actual cops haven't figured this thing out yet. It's a pretty good cover. You go to a movie with all your tools neatly hidden, slip away during it, and tape the door so you can get back in, do the robbery, sneak back into the theater. And if anyone ever suspects you, the alibi is set up. The PI completed his monologue. Tim just slumped in Billy Winnipeg's hold. Mulligan continued. Unfortunately, it was your love for the snack bar that got you into trouble. I had a friend on the forest let me poke around your last heist. You did a fine job leaving no usable prince behind. Not that you likely have a record anyway. At least don't have one yet. But you did manage to deposit a nice smear of what could only be movie popcorn butter topping on one of the windows. On a hunch, I started looking where the jobs were done and noticed this theater was the center of them all. Quick talk to the manager and he told me about occasionally finding them the door taped. He got sloppy and forgot it a few times, didn't you? The pieces all started to fall into place. Pausing Smith ran his hand up under the hood and scratched his head. The only thing I haven't got figured yet is where you stash the stuff you take. You can't bring it back into the theater with you. But you'll help us with that little detail once we discuss what we need. Tim tried to stand upright and puffed out his chest. Yeah? And what the fuck do you need? The kid squealed his Billy clamped down his hold and calmly said, language. "What we need," Mulligan replied, "is a particular package you took "and my client would like returned." "Well, if I were a fenced it." "No, I don't think so. "My employer was quite adamant that he'd know "if it had been opened. "And I doubt you dispose of it without opening it." How am I supposed to know what package it is? Pitched a lot of stuff. "Oh, I'm quite sure you know which one I'm talking about. "You would have gotten it when you hit that courier office "over on 27th and Danford a few weeks ago." Tim's eyes suddenly became round and even in the poor illumination, the color could be seen draining from his face. I'll take that as confirmation you still have it and know what I'm talking about. So, where is it? "My mom has a storage unit over on East Milbrooke." The pack-in store. I managed to snag the key and make a copy. I've been stashing stuff there till I could come back and get them. The thing he wants in there. Something in the way he said "thing" gave Mulligan a queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. Let's take a ride then. Billy Winnipeg steered the much more applying youth to the investigators aging to her cell. Pushing the teen into the front passenger seat, he folded his bulk in the back and placed his hands on Tim's shoulder, like a second safety belt, as Mulligan dropped behind the wheel. The engine turned over and the trio began making their way through the neighborhood towards the pack-in store. "What are you going to do to me once you get the package back?" "Ratt me out to the cops?" Tim asked as they rounded the final corner and leading to their destination. "Nah, it's your lucky day," replied Mulligan. "My employer specifically requested that they not be involved. As long as you give us back what we're after, free to go, we won't say a word." He paused. But I will give you a bit of free advice. If I managed to find you this quickly, you could bet dollars to donuts that Cap City's finest won't take much longer to work it out and catch on to you. I suggest you take this opportunity to retire while you're ahead and get back to actually watching the movie when you go to the theater. With that, Mulligan turned the automobile into the self-service entrance of the pack-in store. Sliding in next to the keypad, he put the window down and then looked over at the saw and teen. "It's number two seventeen," he mumbled, and Mulligan punched it in. The pin is 1408. As he completed typing the digits, the barricade rattled and rumbled aside. The PI navigated past the identical rows, each locker bathed by the weak pool of light from a single bulb. Finally, he parked the tricell across from the unit Tim had indicated. All three departed the vehicle silently, instead examining the dull gate with two seventeen stenciled on it. Billy, when a pay gave Tim a short but powerful push forward, and Mulligan rolled his eyes slightly at his friend's enthusiasm. The boy fumbled key out of his pocket and undid the lock before pushing up the corrugated metal. Stacks of boxes and half shapes lurked just inside the entrance. Tim held his ground, not budging towards the room, but they could see the shaking in his legs. It's right there. You can take it. Tim stuttered, pointing vaguely. Well, good. Billy moved forward in the direction that had been indicated. As his vision adjusted, he noticed the parcel matching the description that Mulligan had passed along when their employer. He reached to take it, and stopped short. The tape sealing it seemed to be glowing red, like smoldering embers of a fire. Rubbing his eyes and shaking his head, he looked again. It's just a box. That's all he thought. The package appeared ordinary once more. Taking in his hands, he returned to the passenger seat. Smith had already moved to the driver's side, and was getting in. I think you know your way back from here, don't you? Mulligan was glowering at the teen, who was still standing next to the unit with the lock in his grasp. "Well, you gonna make me walk back?" Tim protested incredulously. "Seems to me you've already walked it a few times. A little more exercise, certainly, won't kill ya. You'll have time to think about what I've said." The PI retorted. Billy was already settled in, and he started the car and drove away, leaving the slack jawed burglar alone. Billy sat silently, not listening to the small talk his friend was making as they exited the pack of store. The box felt cold to his touch. "No, not cold, warm." "No, that wasn't right either." Didn't feel right at all. He already knew it was much too heavy for its size, from the short distance he'd carried it from the locker. It had the appearance of cardboard, but it felt like skin. He kept moving his hands on the surface, afraid to leave them still, though he was careful not to make contact with a strange flame-colored tape that was holding the thing closed. He was sure, if he stopped, that they would sink into it, that they would stick and never come off again. He stared at the crimson strip again. It had not appeared to glow since that first moment, but now seemed to have twisted itself into a... a mouth. Was it grinning at him? So hungry, a voice whined. So hungry, so long, waiting. Waiting for you, Billy. I'm going to peg cocked his head to regard the package and lean towards it. Slowly, he lowered his ear towards the parcel. Suddenly, just as he was going to brush against the package, the electronic tones of the Rockford file's theme snapped the large man back to reality. Looking around, he realized they were already far away from the storage facility, and he had no idea what his friend had been talking about while they'd been driving. Mulligan answered the phone, and Billy listened to the PI's half of the conversation, trying not to let his thoughts stray to the object resting in his lap. Yes, we have the package. How did you... Of course, of course. I was planning to bring it to your offices first thing on... your state? Tonight? No, that uh, won't be a problem. We'll head over that way right now. Leave it at the door? Okay, I'll call you to let you... No need, of course. Uh-huh. Mm-hmm. Yes. Oh, and Mr. Skinner? Now we're even. Flashpulp is presented by flashpulp.com, and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to Skinner@ Skinner.fm, or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792. But be aware that they may appear in a future Flashcast. We'd also like to thank the Free Sound Project, found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. [Music]