Part 3 of 3
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Mulligan Smith must make clear some unpleasant truths regarding an aging lover.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP248 - Mulligan Smith and The Endangered Granny, Part 3 of 3
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 248. This evening, we present Mulligan Smith and the Endangered Grandmother, part 3 of 3. [music] This week's episodes are brought to you by the Round Table podcast. Hi, I'm Dave Robison from the Round Table podcast. Each week on the Round Table podcast, I and my co-host, Brian Humphrey, invite writers to come on the show and present a story idea they've been working on. Then we have a no holds bar discussion about it, trying to turn the raw idea into literary gold. And by we, I don't mean just me and Brian. We're privileged to share the mic with some of the most remarkable and gifted storytellers of new media. People like Nathan Lowell, Jay Daniel Sawyer, Chuck Wendig, and other gifted scribes will be lending their insight and inspiration to the discussion. The podcast launches Tuesday, March 6th, and is available through iTunes and the Round Table podcast website. Visit www.roundtablepodcast.com for more information. The Round Table podcast, literary alchemy, one podcast at a time. [music] Flash pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, Mulligan Smith must make clear some unpleasant truths regarding an aging lover. Mulligan Smith and the Endangered Grandmother, Part 3 of 3. Written by JRD Skinner, Art and Narration Biopopanex, an audio produced by Jessica Met. [music] Mulligan leaned forward on the bloated white leather chair and set a minilla envelope on the row of slightly dusty popular mechanics issues that covered the center of the glass coffee table. On the opposite side of the living room, the trio on the matching ivory couch raised their brows. Horton Cobb, dressed in a sleek lined charcoal gray three-piece suit and positioned on the center cushion, was the first to speak. "You're a courier, some sort." "Well," replied Smith, "today I'm playing the Shakespearean messenger with bad news. But you'd normally find me in the phone book under private investigation and general loitering." "I knew it," said Granny Cobb from the left side of the sofa. "I met this skirt chaser down at the Lutheran, and he was doing his best to wrap his fingers in my girdle. But he's really come for Sasha Burnett." "Who?" asked the round face woman on the right, something of a stranger to Mulligan. From a quick phone conversation, he'd gathered that Carrie Salgado was 43 and had spent the majority of her adult life in the cab of her long-haul transport truck. She owned the condo at which the group was gathered, who the cops had moved in just the previous Saturday. "Sasha's simply a dentist I used to date," answered Horton. His voice was calm, but his hands fast at loosening his tie. Mulligan tilted, then shook his head. "I'd intended on having this conversation with you privately, Horton, but things have gotten rather complicated. Your Mrs. Cobb was quite eager to give me her number, and it was easy enough to discover it was Miss Salgado's credit card covering the bill. Things got worse from there, but well, that can wait a moment. "I should make it clear that I'm actually here on behalf of Donna Houser." "Okay then, who's Donna?" asked Carrie. She was equally interested in an explanation from either Smith or the Cobs. "Another of Ho-Ho's former paramores," said Jacqueline, laying a palm on Hort's knee. "But it makes no difference which is reaching for our wallet. We have nothing to give." Her voice had grown harsh, and her comments were delivered directly to Smith. The PI scanned the room before responding. The walls were eggshell white and barren. The ceilings were high and echoing. The room's focus seemed to be upon the massive television, which sat gaping like a window opened onto the blackness of space. Mulligan blew a raspberry. He had not been looking forward to the conversation. "To start, I'm not here about the money," he said. "But yeah, my client is gonna hear about it, eventually." As it is, I don't need you to try to hustle me out with a flip table and a bunch of indignation, so shut up and listen until I'm done. You'll have plenty of time to run before I call the cops. Jacqueline Cobb's mouth wore a frown of scorn, but Horton had turned his attention to tugging at his jacket cuffs. Miss Salgado continued the detective. "I know this is going to be a lot to hear, but it's important that you sit through the whole uncomfortable roller-coaster ride." Smith tried on a side grin, but irritation crept into his voice as he addressed Hort. "You're a couple of grifters, living off the guilty kindness of comfortably emotionally distant, but well off, women." Easy enough, I suppose, given your penchant for older ladies. You know, Doc Burnett was under the impression that you were beating the poor woman. Not to be crude, but I hope you at least had the decency to maintain your level of vigor while with the rest of your lovers. "What?" asked Carrie Salgado, but Smith pushed on. "As I mentioned," he said, "I was hired by Donna Hauser. When we first met Hort, she told me a very touching story about the two of you at a local park. It was a cloud burst, but you were snug beneath a broad sycamore. It was dark, and she had a clear view of the street as she straddled you at the edge of an empty public beach. A rare display of free-spiritedness on your part, she thought, but then they all seemed impressed with your sudden moves of daring. Frankly, it's amazing what you'll find beneath a button sweater." Anyhow, to cut to the chase, she recalled the only mar on the day being the broken condom. Donna's choice in cardigans led me to believe that she might not find such romance terribly common, so I believe her when she says she was pretty anxious that something more might come into the situation. I'm sure you were both very relieved when her next period came. It was months later when her routine doctor's visit turned up some unusual results that she realized the truth of the matter. Well, before any of that, though, on the morning following your beach party, you escorted Mrs. Cobb during two supposed weeks of out-of-state hip replacement surgery. I don't know what kind of surgeon operates in a Vegas hard rock hotel in Casino. Without realizing what was actually going on, my client covered the expense of the entire operation. I know you ended the relationship soon after, but you should be more careful about not leaving your banking receipts at your next ex-girlfriend's place. A mutual dentist's friend certainly didn't want them. "Not the kissing sycamore at Nettetech Beach," asked the wrong trucker, as she surfaced briefly from her stunned reverie. Not willing to lose his momentum, Mulligan didn't allow time for an answer. Donna Houser doesn't realize you conned her. She just wants you to know she tested HIV positive not long ago. It was a pain tracking you through your chain of broken hearts, but so far, Donna is the only sick one. Worse than an empty bank account, you've given her a life-threatening illness. "But... that's impossible," Sputtered Horton. "I always... I'm always extremely careful... well, except for that one accident." "Yeah, so I've heard," replied Smith. "I'm really hoping, for Miss Salgado's sake, that your streak of luck has continued." "If I had to guess, though, you're not so worried while with your wife, given her, uh, maturity... and the unlikelihood of any unwanted results." "I have to say, I came across a lot of surprises while doing my homework on you, Horde. But finding your marriage certificate to Jackie was probably the biggest one." "You were smart to break it off before any of your marks hustled you up the aisle. Biggie me cases can get ugly." "I do see your point, however, regarding your reputation for consistently wearing protection." "Perhaps, Mrs. Cobb. There are some gents at the local bingo halls that you should give a call." "The woman's false teeth. Shut with a clock." ♪♪ 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. ♪♪ ♪ Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled ♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled ♪ ♪♪