Part 2 of 3
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Tonight, Mulligan Smith and his mountainous friend, Billy Winnipeg, pay an expected visit to a local giant.
The Skinner Co. Network
168 - Mulligan Smith and The Crumble, Part 2 of 3
[Music] Welcome to FlashPulp episode 168. Tonight, we present Mulligan Smith and the Crumble, Part 2 of 3. This week's episodes are brought to you by the NuttyBites Podcast. Wake up, go to work. Work. Come home. Eat dinner. Rot your brain out. Go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. Are you tired of an old home drum life? Tired of things that just weigh you down and depress you? Wouldn't you rather just focus on things that are awesome? Tune into NuttyBites. Find out what's awesome. NuttyBites, nimlas.org/blog. [Music] 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 and his mountainous friend Billy Wayne Pegg pay an expected visit to a local giant. Mulligan Smith and the Crumble, Part 2 of 3. Written by JRD Skinner. Art and narration by Opoponax. An audio produced by Jessica May. [Music] [Music] Three hours after the awkward discussion with his client, Mulligan Smith was standing in the building lobby of his only real lead, a behemoth of a fellow known locally as Ortez. Before the agreed upon time, the PI had taken the opportunity to speak with some of his appointments' neighbors, and the story given was consistent. Easily recognizable by his stature, the man suffered from a genetic condition which left him in generally ill health, and towering above those around him. He had apparently claimed his place in the years preceding gentrification, and, despite rising rent costs, he managed to hold on to his first floor apartment by subletting the extra space, and by accepting the occasional odd job to supplement his disability check. Although an aging woman in a pink jacket, out walking her Tibetan spaniel, had occupied Mulligan with a half-hour speech expounding on how Ortez was the last drugs of the old filth who'd lived there, and was also the herald of the area's re-descent into depravity, the arrival of the police to wheel away his deceased roommate, only a few days earlier, was apparently the first serious legal trouble anyone could recall the colossus having been involved in. Billy Winnipeg, Smith's friend, and massive in his own right, seemed, to the private detective, excessively eager to meet the man. Winnipeg's thumb gave the call button a third push, and finally a tinny welcome drifted from the entrance's speaker box. "Yeah, yeah, come in," said the distant boys. With a buzz, the lock popped open. The hallway carpet and white stucco walls had seen little of the upgrades that had swept the surrounding city blocks, and as he wrapped at the grey apartment door, Mulligan guessed it hadn't enjoyed a fresh coat of paint since before its renter had moved in. "Hi," said Smith cheerily, as the opening swung wide. He hoped the upbeat tone might help sway the coming conversation in his favour. Ortez nodded in response, and as his head bobbed, his vision was obstructed by the wall above the entry. Then he wheeled around, disappearing into the darkened interior. Turning to direct Billy inward, Mulligan realized the Canadian's face had taken on an odd glow, as if a mountaineer having just discovered a new unfathomably large peak in need of conquering. "We aren't here for a fight," Smith told him. Winnipeg's grin widened. "Sure," was his only response. The windows had been covered with sheets and an international array of ratty flags, but the largest of the makeshift curtains was skewed by a foot, allowing a breeze to enter the living room. In the corner, a television whispered secrets to itself. "Thanks for giving me a chance to chat," said Mulligan, wondering if he should risk sitting on the exposed stuffing of the couch. "Yeah," replied the Hulk, continuing to stand. Although Billy's size often left Smith feeling short, Ortez gave him some idea of the life of a little person. He could already feel his neck stiffening. "You've lived here ten years or so, right?" he asked. "Yeah." "How long were you and your pal sharing the place?" "Seven months." "Anything out of the ordinary the night he died?" "No," the examiner scratched his ear. "Did you know a Miss Brewer, Grisiella?" "No." "Well, you've heard about her in the papers or something, though, right?" "I think you should probably go," Ortez replied. "I think we should probably stay," said Billy. Mulligan tried to wave him off. Like two snapping dogs, the pair approached each other, bumping chests before Smith could put himself between them. Then suddenly, he was glad he hadn't. It was a short fight. Billy opened with a punch to the stomach, which seemed to do little, then received a cuffed the ear in exchange. The northerners staggered under the weight of the meaty hand, but managed to lash out a boot at the giant's protruding knee. The attached leg wobbled, and Ortez fell to the dark blue carpet. "That's my bad knee, dick," said the top of man. "Sorry, but really, you should be so bloody ignorant," when a pig replied. The still-standing combatant wore an embarrassed grin at the sudden discovery of his opponent's weakness. "Damn it, man," muttered Smith, pulling his companion away from the home's rightful occupant. Rubbing it as a appendage, the collapsed resident appeared winded, but otherwise unheard. "I apologize for the idiot," said Mulligan. "He has a different set of manners than most." "Nah, listen, I'm sorry. I was the one being rude." "I've been getting a lot of attention over what happened, and I already land plenty of guff from people thinking I'm some sort of monster." "Stoo, I'd like to see Alan's death figured out, and there ain't anyone who's picked a fight with me in quite a while." "You two obviously ain't cops," he smiled as he said it. Mulligan nodded. He considered attempting to assist Ortez to the couch, but he knew his efforts would be laughable against the man's girth. Instead, he told Billy to do it. "Get over there and help, punchy." One Goliath supported the other to the deflated cushions. "Huh, well nah," said the seated man. "I'll tell you what you want to hear. Just don't have your boy here rough me up again." He chuckled. "You cool, right?" Ortez asked. Before they could respond, he reached into his pocket, retrieving a film canister which appeared the size of a thimble in his palm. Also pulling forth a twist of wooden tubing, he tapped the black containers' contents into the pipe's bowl. Within seconds, the room smelled of burnt cannabis. "Uh, sorry," repeated Winnipeg. "I mean, uh, about your knee and, uh, your dead buddy." "Not to sound harsh," said Mulligan, pointedly ignoring his host in discretion. "But do you have anyone lined up for a spot?" "Nah, I'm doin' okay for now," replied Launter. Found a job behind the counter down at a coffee shop or bakery or whatever, two blocks open. I get to sit the whole shift and they get to place circuits a bit. I try not to do too much though, don't want the checks to stop flowing, you know. Still, I'm gettin' plenty of hours since the couple who runna got pregnant. "Funny, now that you mention it," said Smith. Guy I know was just telling me earlier that the place wasn't as reliable as it once was. "Ah, the customers are always complaining." "The boss usually, uh, stays busy, but, yeah, he's a little flaky lately." I keep my mouth shut, don't criticize, and like I said, I ain't had lack of time on the clock. As he took in another puff of smoke. Flashpulp is presented by HTTP colon slash slash Skinner dot FM. The audio and text formats of Flashpulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. [Music]