Part 1 of 1
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Mulligan Smith, PI, deals with a missed connection while investigating a murder.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP226 - Mulligan Smith in The Late Call, Part 1 of 1
[Music] Welcome to FlashPult Episode 226. This evening, we present Malgum Smith in The Late Call, Part 1 of 1. This week's episodes are brought to you by the Saturday Bee Movie Real podcast. Hi, this is Kevin Batchilder. And this is the Saturday Bee Movie Real. We look specifically at the sci-fi channel's original movies. You know the ones, the ones that air on Saturday night. We know them throughout the ages as an instant classic. We did a bigger gator! A limb cutting and blood squirting from the flying limbs. I crawled down my notes. What could go wrong? We look on a regular basis at the movies as they come out. And since they've been over 200 of them, we do go back and look at many of them that are now out on DVD. Please no! Please no! At this point, I had completely forgotten an semblance of seeing if this actually makes any sense from a plot point of view. So come on by, get involved and have some fun. Check us out at Saturdaybeemoviereal.com. Our future depends on it. Make it safe. 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, Melbourne Smith, PI, deals with a missed connection while investigating a murder. Melbourne Smith in the late call, part one of one. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art narration by Opopodex, an audio produced by Jessica Rae. ♪♪ Rich Walker, 25, was late for work. His alarm clock had failed to wake him, a fact he blamed on the things electronics and not at all upon his inability to set it properly. In the end, if his mother hadn't hollered him into consciousness, he might have missed his entire shift at Pizza Town. As he wiped at the sleep in his eye, cursed his matriarch and waited for the camera to warm up, the idea of being fired seemed inviting. With Ma Walker's firmest tones in mind, however, he finally dropped his borrowed sedan into reverse and edged the vehicle towards the ascending garage door. His impatient exit was cut short by a car parked across the driveway's mouth, a baby-blooter cell. With a sigh, rich, muted, classic rock 106. Punching the window down button, he exposed his uncommed hair to the wind. "Hey, I gotta get out of here," he said to the man standing alongside the offending vehicle. "Sorry about that. Just wanted to talk to you regarding a phone," responded the stranger in the hoodie. "You people are getting pretty pushy, but I'm not interested in switching my provider," the newcomer chuckled. "Mind if we chat a minute? It took me a lot of time and effort to find you, Rich. It's important." Walker looked at the neon green clock in the dash, mentally subtracted the seven minutes it was chronically ahead and ground. "Uh, okay, but hurry," he replied. "I'm Mulligan Smith. I stick my nose and other people's business, professionally." I was wondering if you ever met a woman named Meredith Ashley. Rich scratched at his sparrows goatee and shook his head. Well, at 10.48 p.m. last Tuesday, she apparently sent three text messages. The private investigator jabbed at his large red slurpee with its yellow straw. I really only mention it because she was dead at the time. In fact, she'd been murdered a week earlier, while inexplicably standing on the Fairview Hotel's beach, a couple hundred miles from the apartment she shared with her fiance. The pizza man shrugged. "I'm sorry, I never heard of her," he said. Smith took a sip of his beverage and asked his follow-up. "You've heard of Fairview." "Oh, yeah. Fancy old plays full of fancy old people," replied Rich, his hand still on the steering wheel. Pretty isolated, though, isn't it? No service that far out, right? No, I, uh... My mom and I went there for a vacation. She was meeting her boyfriend from the internet. I was mostly just walking around bored. There's nothing to do. I couldn't even call anybody. It sucked. Eh, I've been there, and I have to agree. It seems like a weird place for a woman to go alone. On the other hand, Meredith Theon, say Robert, says he was in Vegas. Mulligan retrieves some notes before continuing. The messages arrived backwards, which was rough. It started with "I'm okay, I tan." Then, he's coming, can hear him, help mom fluffy. And finally, mom and dad, I'm so scared. Migrant donut crazy, please send police. Rich's eyes were wide. Ugh, that is pretty rough, he replied. "I'm playing a hunch," said Smith. Bob's a tech guy, and he knew it was enough to take her to a place where her phone wouldn't have service. He didn't want her calling for help. Thing is, she obviously got away a few times in the dark, but at some point, she dropped the cell. It's funny how weird electronics are. Sometimes they'll keel over in a drizzle, and sometimes you can forget them on a beach for a week, and they still work fine. I think that's what happened, Rich. It wasn't a fancy device, but one of those old war horse phones is battery chugged on forever. Or, at least, long enough for you to get it back to civilization. It found service and launched its messages, but not long after, I'll bet it died. And you didn't have a charger. I spent a long while walking the grounds, asking if anyone had seen the robe cell. I kept hoping one of the staff had found it, but no such luck. Eventually, my only option was to head home. At the edge of mass acres, which, as you know, is really the first place with a bathroom along the highway, I stopped for gas and a decent burger. I was sitting in Mike Freissen's, nibbling at my lunch and taking the main drag through my booth's window. When I noticed the golden guy's pond emporium. Hard to miss it, really, considering the size of the hill sign, right? Hey, how? I figured what the hell. Strolling another hundred feet ain't gonna kill me. Then Shazan. Not only does Papa Golden remember you, he's tagged the tape you're on, and kept the license info he requested when you bought that ridiculous set of throwing stars. Trying to pawn the hotel's silverware was pretty low move. You can't blame him for not wanting to touch the cell, either. Funny thing is, lots of folks were looking for that phone. If you'd turned it in somewhere, the Fairview's lost in a phone, even. I wouldn't have had to spend the last few days wasting poor Meredith's parents' money. Actually speaking of, they were covering the cost the line to help their daughter save her wedding. So, technically, you're in possession of theirs, stolen goods. I'd hate to ding you on such a petty matter. Maybe I'm just chasing a dead end, but I'm pretty lucky so far. And she might have taken some photos that weekend. Rich killed the engine and stepped from the car. He was sure he'd toss the phone into his closet, as he'd done the same thing with every bit of floatsums Mom yelled at him to clean up. He smiled at the thought of the woman's upcoming surprise. She couldn't be too mad if he was fired. He was, after all, helping to solve a murder. ♪♪ 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 skitter@skitter.fm or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792. 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 ♪ ♪♪