Part 2 of 3
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Mulligan Smith is forced to fend for himself in the bowels of a gambling establishment.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP247 - Mulligan Smith and The Endangered Granny, Part 2 of 3
[Music] Welcome to Flashpulp episode 247. This evening we present Mulligan Smith and the Endangered Grandmother, part 2 of 3. 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 6, and is available through iTunes and the Round Table Podcast website. www.roundtablepodcast.com for more information. The Round Table Podcast, Literary Alchemy, one podcast at a time. Flashpulp 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 is forced to fend for himself in the bowels of a gambling establishment. Mulligan Smith and the Endangered Grandmother, Part 2 of 3. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration Biopopodex, An Audio Produced by Jessica May. Household behind a strip mall offering overpriced coffee, cheap clothes, and a questionably licensed chain store barbershop, Capitol City's Faith Evangelical Lutheran Church required some foreknowledge to find. As he threaded his way through the parking lot, however, Mulligan Smith considered that it looked as if a fervent revival were underway. In truth, he knew that it wasn't a holy summons that had brought them, but instead, the whoop of the bingo collar. Inside, the broad basement was tight with long wooden tables, and every available surface seemed covered in an array of speckled sheets and discarded paper caps. At the end of the hall most distant from the stairs, a steel-haired man in a button-down shirt plucked balls from a noisy hopper, then thundered the letters and number combinations into his ancient microphone. His recent visit to the dentists having provided little usable information, Smith had decided to search out Granny Cobb. She'd been recognized, if not present, at the previous pair of bingo events he'd canvassed. Seeing the sea of grey hair and thick-lens prescription optometry, Mulligan hoped that, if she was there, she'd be accompanied by her problematic grandson. He'd learned a lesson in his earlier excursions, though, and instead of immediately approaching the nearest players and beginning the questioning process, he simply waited. To Smith's right, a concession had been set up to sell game cards, and he couldn't help but overhear the awkward landing of a joke, told by its cardiganed operator. So I said to the novelist, "I knew you were an atheist from your suspenders of disbelief!" Mulligan worked hard to hide his wince, but the frail-limbed woman who had been the victim of the delivery chuckled politely before making her escape by bee-lining towards the detective. "Can I help you?" she asked. "I'll bet you can," replied Smith, retrieving a picture from his pocket. "Do you know Mrs. Cobb, or perhaps Horton Cobb?" The photo, taken on a bright spring day, had the appearance of a funerary keepsake due to the formal apparel both wore. Mulligan had been assured, repeatedly, that it was their usual manner of dress. "I do know Mrs. Cobb, though I've never met this Horton, you can probably find her in her usual spot, by the collar." Experienced told the PI that the Gossips in a group were always the most eager to size up strangers, so, rather than heap further rumor on to Granny Cobb's reputation, he curtailed his questions and went in search of his subject. Fortunately, it was easy enough to find her, as she was the lone female occupant and an expansive table of hairy-eared men. Smith was surprised to find the chairs on either side of the woman unoccupied, given the crowded nature of the hall. He surmised it was likely due to the exceptionally large number of scorecards she seemed to be overseeing. "Hi," he said. "Name's Mulligan." "Oh, well, hello, Mulligan," she replied. Despite her high collar and long sleeves, a smile seemed to come easily to her lips. "Care to have a seat?" He did. "Ma'am," he continued, "I'm here about your son, Horton." "Hort?" "Yes, Miss Cobb. Sasha Burnett mentioned that I might find you here." A particularly common call of N-33 sent her in to a fury of jabbing. "Oh, enough of that Miss Cobb business," she said as she patrolled for any missed entries. "My name's Jacqueline." "Anyhow, that dentist was nice enough, but she wasn't for my heart." He looks for a strong character in a gal. A disappointing follow-up of O-73 allowed her an opportunity to turn towards the investigator. Her eyes widened and her smile deepened. "Why, do you know Sasha well?" she asked. Her dopper-free hand moved to the lace collar of her dress, and she began to tug at the fringe-work with thumb and forefinger. "Only in passing," replied Mulligan. He pointed out a square she'd missed marking, leaving the card in question on the cusp of victory. At the discovery, Cobb licked her lips in anticipation, but then her brow briefly tightened. "Are you here regarding financial matters between Sasha and Hort? I wasn't privy to any--no, ma'am, look, you're pretty occupied, and I hate to intrude on your evening. No matter with your son as a personal one. I'm not a deck collector of any kind, but I do need to have a quick chat with him." The woman reached his hand with her own. "Anything you need to say to Hort, you can say to me, we're very close." "Well, Jacqueline, there are some things a fella simply doesn't want his grandmother to hear, at least from a stranger." "Jackie," she replied. Her voice had grown thick. "Why do we need to be strangers?" Her fingers began rubbing at his own. Before Smith could react, the missing digits, I-25, echoed through the room. The triumphant sheet was amongst the most distant from Mulligan's elbow, and he instinctively leaned in to indicate the finishing dob. As he did so, however, Jackie threw her arms around his shoulders, and his nostrils filled with a soft scent of artificial flowers. For the briefest of moments, he could feel her nails running through his hair and brushing the back of his neck. And she pulled away. "Oh my, I'm sorry, I rarely win, so when I do, I tend to get rather excited." Apologized Mrs. Cobb with a giggle, she rided herself, and brushed aside a smoky strand from her bangs. As a smocked church volunteer arrived to check her numbers and count out her prize money, Mulligan's phone rang. Looking at the number, he smiled and said, "I've got to go." As he rose, the results were accepted, and the basement became saturated with the sound of paper being crumpled. He hesitated, and stalled by zipping his hoodie. Finally, as the den quieted, Smith Green lopsidedly and asked, "Could I call you sometime?" 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. I'm your host, and I'll see you next time. (upbeat music)