Part 1 of 3
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Mulligan Smith, PI, takes on an unpleasant case on behalf of a concerned mother.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP219 - Mulligan Smith in The Pinch, Part 1 of 3
[Music] Welcome to FlashPulp episode 219. This evening, we present Malecan Smith in the Pinch, part one of three. This week's episodes are brought to you by the DuneSteve Podcast. On the DuneSteve, we read science fiction, fantasy, and horror stories. If you've never listened to the DuneSteve, you don't know what you're missing. After the story, there's witty banter and discussion from the hosts. The best part about the discussion is that it's at the end, so it's easy just to skip it. So, come check out the DuneSteve Audio Fiction magazine. Find us at www.dunesteep.com That's D-U-N-E-S-T-E-E-F. 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, Malecan Smith, P.I., takes on an unpleasant case on behalf of a concerned mother. Malecan Smith in The Pinch, part one of three. Written by J.R.D. Skinner. Art and narration by Poponex. An audio produced by Jessica May. The house sat slightly to the right of the center of its block, and was flanked on either side by nearly identical replicas of its brick-ficade and wooden porch. The neighborhood, on the west side of Capital City, had been claimed by the somberly dressed office dwellers of the downtown core, and many of the small front yards had been smothered in pavement to make space for extra parking. Stepping from his baby blue to her cell, Malecan engaged the recording application on his phone and dropped it into his hoodie's breast pocket. The house had no visible bell, so he opted to use the red door's ringed knocker. Given the resistance he encountered in moving it, however, he concluded the thing was likely only intended as ornamentation. Nonetheless, he gave it three heavy swings. Selena Givens, his client, answered the summons. She wore her dyed hair well, and if the alteration hadn't been made obvious by her highlights, he would have been hard-pressed to guess she needed it colored. Mrs. Givens reached out a hand, and her shake was firm and dry. Malecan asked about the boy, "He's upstairs, and expecting you, but he's having another talk with Stewart," she said. "I wish that man would take the situation more seriously. I'm concerned that harpy might have permanently scarred Jared, might have made him some sort pervert or something, but his father can't stop winking and nudging." Smith nodded. He knew Miss Lacey's garbage cans were his likely next visit, and he held little excitement for the appointment. Digging through a sex offender's trash was rarely a pleasant experience. "I understand," he replied, "I'll do my best to be gentle while with chatting." The woman's eyes filled with flame, "I didn't hire you to be gentle. You find that harlot's secrets and you air them. You find out how many more there are, you find their names, and you make her confess. I want her fired. I want her shamed. I want her burned at the goddamn steak. Whatever it takes." The private investigator could only continue to nod. He was relieved to hear a door click shut on the floor above. "I'll, uh, just head on up," he said. As he topped the flight of stairs, Smith caught his first view of Mr. Givens, a stalking man in a tireless dress shirt, and gray slacks. The man stood, legs said, in a wide stance upon the beige carpet which ran along the hall. "Listen," said Stewart, "Jared's a good kid, but he's fifteen, and need to learn some life lessons at some point anyway. I'm not saying I can doin' what she did, but who better to learn from than a social studies teacher?" Smith had no response for the father's half-smirk, and instead simply moved past the man into his son's room. The teen seemed surprised at his entrance. "Sorry to bust in, your mom," said I was expected. The boy's shaky haircut made it difficult to identify his reaction. Without waiting for a proper welcome, Mulligan took a seat in the wheeled chair beside the desk, cluttered with homework, and surveyed the area. Wind posters, largely unrecognizable to Smith, covered three of the walls, and the fourth was adorned with a thick layer of photos, which appeared to be the product of a cheap printer on even cheaper paper. Although the furthest corner was dominated by a large flat panel television resting atop a dresser, the device had been muted, leaving the overhead ceiling fan as the chamber's only source of background noise. "Yeah, come on in," Jared said, after the PI had made himself at home. "I was just going to run down the street and grab a bag of chips anyhow." Butting at his upper lip, Smith gave a sticker covered by a nurse to caddo drumroll with his fingers and stared at the TV, but he found no help in the silent insurance commercial that was currently playing it across the screen. He sighed. "How many people have you told?" "Mom and Stu had me tell the police, and I'm about to tell you, so that'll be four." "What you really want to ask, though, is what happened." Last Friday there was a dance at the school. I was there with a few people I know, not graceful, but when it gets late enough and everyone is sweating in the dark, no one notices how bad I am. I was there with Ashley, we're just friends, but she had to go home early, as her dad's a real prick. She actually came back though, she's the one who found us. I was coming out of the bathroom when I saw Miss Lacey, she was wearing a black skirt and a blue blouse, and she was giving me a funny look. She stopped me in the hall and I remember thinking that I'd never seen her with her hair not in a ponytail. It was just a little messy. She looked pretty fierce, and came here as she said, "So I did." She put her hand on my shoulder, and it smelled like she had a bit to drink or something, sort of a sweet wine smell. We went past the calf, which is usually closed during after-school events, and she brought me outside, but behind the school where the running track is, it was dark. Jared's voice broke, it, I mean, no one's ever done that to me. It felt good while it was happening, and my mouth was so warm. For a time, the only sound in the room was the electric wine that moved the fans' faux wood blades. 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 skater@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. 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