Part 1 of 1
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Tonight, Mulligan Smith meets a fellow conspirator while watching for a corpulent criminal.
The Skinner Co. Network
132 - Mulligan Smith and The Navel Gazer, Part 1 of 1
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp episode 132. Tonight, we present Mulligan Smith and the Naval Gazer, part one of one. This week's episodes are brought to you by FlashPulp on iTunes. You may need to buy a new iPhone every year, but a FlashPulp is forever. To subscribe, point your browser to http colon slash slash bit.ly/9Z2EH0. Find it via the in-program search or click the link at skinner.fm. [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 meets a fellow conspirator while watching for a corpulent criminal. Mulligan Smith and the Naval Gazer, part one of one, written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Pope Nax, and audio produced by Jessica May. [music] Security at the building was tight. Mulligan had already been asked to leave twice, and he suspected his picture was now hanging behind the reception desk, or beside the bank of monitors that tied together the boxy cameras mounted on every corner and in every hall. He'd been led to the rental condos by a snail's trail of paperwork that followed his accountant turned embezzler target. But the nature of the 26th floor tower, a home for out-of-town businessmen and government workers who required lodging while visiting the city to complete lengthy projects, meant the staff were well paid to root out anything that might make the occupants uncomfortable. Smith, with his black hoodie and prying eyes, had fallen into that category. Still, he knew the rotunda accountant was somewhere inside, and the employees could do little about the PI spending his time in the small park adjacent to the rear of the building. Although it made a great selling point for the rare family who rented space in the glass and cement structure, it was on public land, and Mulligan was left alone to maintain his vigil with an unobstructed view of the tenants sedans and SUVs. It was his third day, and he was beginning to feel like he'd memorized the face of every resident without having come across a match for the man whose receipt signatures had led him to his stakeout. He'd spent much of the time accompanied by a silent eight-year-old who busied herself with a pair of cracked folding opera glasses, which she used as binoculars, and a multi-pronged pocket knife, which made Mulligan nervous for her fingers. On a previous evening, he'd matched the urchin to her parents, a suit, and a drunk, who let her run wild as soon as the workday began. Neither had the mustachioid look of the wide mouth and beady-eyed CPA. The girl's clothing appeared costly but unwashed, and her nails were grimy from the hours she spent hunkered down in the sand pit that provided a soft landing to the playground's winding yellow slide. He'd never seen her climb the plastic steps. She'd simply use the pit to lower her profile as she'd surveyed the same door he pretended not to be watching from his paint-flect picnic table. They'd successfully ignored each other for the most part, but on that third afternoon, the stringy-haired blond spy took a seat on the bench across from his own. She tore the plastic from a package of luncheples and offered him a cracker with cheese and pepperoni. "No thanks," he replied, retrieving his own brown paper bag of food and fishing out a half-eaten PB&J. The stack of sodium went down in a single bite, and she eyed him as she prepared the next. "Are you here about the clone?" Suppressing a laugh was a talent Smith had learned young, and he returned the stern look of consideration that she gave him. "What do you know about it?" he asked. Her gaze widened. "I used to like to swim in the basement, but last week I saw him. I probably wouldn't have noticed, but he was yelling at me because I was running beside the pool." She completed her cracker sandwich and scratched an errant itch at her temple. "I know I'm not supposed to, but he could have said it nicer." Mulligan cleared his throat. "Listen, normally you shouldn't talk to strangers in the park. You've been here a long time, and you look okay. It doesn't matter. You shouldn't talk to strangers." As he spoke, her face slid into dejection. He felt compelled by guilt and curiosity to fill the growing hush. "But, uh, you saw a man in the pool who you think is a clone?" "Yep. We gave you the impression that he's the result of some terrible science experiment gone awry." "Huh?" "Why do you think he was made by a mad scientist?" "He's got no belly button. I've seen that on TV." "So you've been hanging out here watching for him?" "I'm investigating. And waiting." She ripped open the Kit Kat bar, provided for dessert. "I ain't swimming with no clone." Smith nodded. "A good plan." This seemed to be enough to affirm her theory, and they finished their lunches in silence. As he swung the leg out to deposit his trash in a proper receptacle, the girl stood with a sudden exclamation. "Holy corpoli! There he is!" She dived to the turf as a tanned man in a breezy tropical shirt made his way out of his crisp black Cadillac, entirely oblivious to either of them, and entered the condominium. Mulligan covered his annoyance with a string of muttered pseudo-cussing. "Frecking Shazbot, that effing a-hole!" He noted the high cheekbones and lanky face on several occasions during his wait, but it hadn't truly registered until that moment. An hour later, as two uniform police officers led the gaunt man from the same doors the PI had been surveilling, Smith congratulated the excited amateur sleuth. "You're pretty sharp to have noticed his missing navel. And it isn't your fault you didn't know that a tummy tuck could also remove his 'inny' or 'outy.' Next time you can Google it. My clients have been looking for this guy for a long time, and I'm guessing a laptop might be the kind of reward that would help keep you out of trouble. Just don't bring him with you into the pool. And seriously, don't talk to strange men hanging out in parks. Whatever they may look like. 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]