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Tonight, Mulligan Smith, PI, finds himself in a principal's office for the first time since his youth.
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122 - Mulligan Smith and The Custodian, Part 1 of 1
[music] Welcome to Flashpulp, episode 122. Tonight, we present Maligan Smith and the Custodian, part one of one. [music] Sunday is gloomy, my hours are number left. Give it the shadows I live with are number left. [music] [music] What do you get when you have a mysterious bounty hunter called Frank? A dead but alive hitman, paired with an alive but should be dead thief. An escort girl, and a devil. You have boiling point, a free serialized novella which is volume one of Frank by author, Neil Kullhoon. Find out more at neilkullhoon.com and remember, please stay alive. [music] [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, Maligan Smith PI finds himself in a principal's office for the first time since his years. Maligan Smith and the Custodian, part one of one. Written by J.R.D. Skinner. Art and narration by Opoponax. An audio produced by Jessica May. [music] [music] Maligan hadn't been inside a principal's office since the age of fourteen when he'd been on the receiving end of Christopher Nelson's Fist. This particular office wasn't that different than the one he'd last been in. It seemed to contain the same bookshelf, the same wilted houseplant, and the same battered carpet. Even the whitewashed cement block walls felt all too familiar. "You understand that this isn't something I usually do," Principal Phillips was saying. Her suit was prim, if a little old, and there was a red button with yellow text exclaiming, "Redang it, pinned to her lapel," Smith nodded, and she continued. "I mean, we do a police check when they sign on to be sure they aren't a sex offender, and Jackson's record is spotless. Normally, I'd never consider bringing in a private investigator. Honestly, you're the first one I've ever met." "Not that I'm ungrateful for the money," Maligan replied. "But if Mr. Evans is only part-time, why not just fire him?" "Well, it's simply that he's so good at it. He manages to accomplish about the same in a few hours on the weekend as what old Kevin gets done in three days of trundling around behind his cart. As she paused, she tapped her nose with her index finger. And besides, he works for almost nothing. Frankly, it's the budget money he saved that's allowing me to hire you." "Really, it's not even like he's done anything wrong. He's just... he's odd." The situation became increasingly complicated, as Maligan began poking around. It required almost no effort to determine that Evans had a day job as a cosmetic surgeon, and an expensive one. His clients left enthusiastic comments on his website, and his work had been featured repeatedly in the local paper, usually relating to pro bono work he'd carried out on an underprivileged burn victim. Smith also hit upon an article naming Jackson Evans, MD, in a "win a date with a local eligible bachelor charity auction." The PI had wondered aloud what such an apparently driven and well-off fellow was doing a single at the age of 48. Maligan's attempt at calling the organization for a new client intake exam was politely refused with an offer to add his contact info to the extensive waiting list. If there was a lineup for the operating room, it seemed unlikely that the doctor was carrying on his weekend work for the extra pay. If money was out, the motivations shrank to sex, drugs, power, or revenge. He preferred when it was money. After two wasted weekends of passive observation, Smith decided it was time for a conversation. He tracked Evans down in a third-grade classroom, where the man was sitting in silence with glassy eyes on a chair intended for an eight-year-old. "Reminiscing about the old days?" asked Maligan. As he waited for a reply, he kept a lock on the man's pupils and wondered if the blank look might be an indication of an unsavory addiction. Clearing his throat, the doctor stood and tucked the yellow plastic chair under the desk at which he'd been resting. "I was just taking a moment. I'm about done my shift," the janitor collected himself. "Are you one of the parents? I haven't seen you around the school before." "Do you have permission to be here?" "I'm sorry, but only authorized personnel are allowed on the premise during weekends." Mrs. Phillips is aware of my presence. Internally, Maligan chided himself for allowing the janitor to pull rank, then made a move to retake the conversational high ground. "I'm actually here to ask you a few questions. Consider it an employee satisfaction survey, Jackson." "Fine," replied Evans. "Every response was dispensed in the same flat tone. Smith began to understand what the principal meant by "odd." It wasn't that he was a centric. It was simply that the man was utterly humorless. "Please, don't take this the wrong way, but why are you working here?" "Why does anyone work anywhere?" "Well, Dr. Evans. Mostly, they do it for the money." The interviewee raised an eyebrow with the mention of his alternate occupation. "Is there something wrong with the fact that I have another job?" "No, but it does bring me back to what I was inquiring." "Why are you wiling away your Saturdays trawling the primary yard for rotting apple cores and changing out fluorescent bulbs instead of cutting open middle-age housewives with poor self-esteem?" "For love." "Love," Smith asked, mentally weighing the need to file a police report. "Love of the job?" "No." "The love of the boy who sits at this desk." "Molly on the side." "Uh, care to explain?" "I've worked long hours my entire life. I thought I was doing what was best, really, but..." When Kaylee asked for a divorce, I knew exactly what she'd say. "That I was always busy, always preoccupied." "I apologize, but she didn't care by then. She wanted cash." "And, Jase." The lawyer she hired was good enough to get her both. "The PI interrupted the account with an exclamation which immediately felt inappropriate given his surroundings." "Sorry, continue," he said. "Custity's pretty stringent. I get to see Jase once a month and alternating birthdays. Instead, I come here and work myself raw so that I can have a few moments to stare at his blotchy paintings." Evan's motion towards a wall of airplane pictures carried out in bright primary colors, or to linger at his desk and wonder if he ever sits here thinking about me. As Evan's turn to hide the tears draining down his cheeks, Mulligan retreated from the room. His final report, combined with principal Philip's budgetary concerns, would ensure the custodian his position for as long as he wanted it. 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]