Chapter 1
Murder in Manhattan - Chapter 1
Note: The main character, Rolland, is a Mightyena, if any of you are wondering, I didn't get far enough into the story to start describing him. Also, all Pokemon in this story are anthro.
August 23rd
A plethora of emotions. Fear, hate and misery all hit me at once as I read each eerily protruding headline on each Manhattan newspaper. I've been reading all night. Researching, trying to discover the reason, if any, for the events that occurred last night. I couldn't help but play the scene over and over in my mind. It left me in a mesmerizing trance. A void between the real world and my imagination. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something stood out to me last night, but what that was, remained a faint illusion.
My train of thought was broken when there was a knock at the door. I wasn't expecting company, so I cautiously placed one hand on the weapon concealed beneath my hat on my desk. "What is it?" I yelled. "Delivery!" a man yelled as a tan package fell through the mail slot. Just the mail. I removed my hand from the weapon and walked over to the package. It read "Crawner Inc." I laughed a little. It's just my new hat. I removed the packaging and tried the baby on. Perfect fit, as usual. I gotta remember to thank Franky for another job well done. I've been on my toes a little too much lately, still frightened from what could become of last nights episodes.
I walked back over to my desk and took my seat. I just need a good rest. That's all. A good rest, and maybe a drink or two. I got up and searched around for something to drink. Nothing. Great. I sat back down, plopped my legs on my desk and observed the tiny, single-story room. There was an old shag carpet spread out directly in front of me, near the door, with two small windows to the left of me. The windows were concealed by a pair of old shades. It was a tight fit, working in here, but the place served its purpose for the cheap third story apartment I called my office.
I looked upon my desk. Newspapers strewed everywhere, all sporting a similar headline. One stood out to me however. "Murder in Manhattan - August 23rd" it read. "Murder in Manhattan" I said aloud to myself. That's gotta nice ring to it. I downed the glass on my desk. That's some damn good rum. Before going to sleep, I couldn't help but notice a peculiar shadow emitting from one of the windows. I reached for the gun on my desk until I realized that it waved back and forth consistently. Damn trees. I just need a little rest.
Shortly after, I fell, almost involuntarily in to a deep sleep.
August 15th - 1 Week Earlier
Eleventh inning, 5-6 Cardinals, the Mets were at bat. 0-2 count, 2 outs and a full house. Strike one. "Goddammit DiMaggio! Swing the bat!" Strike two. "We lost. Stop being a damn pansy DiMaggio!" I spun my chair around and reached for the paper, awaiting the loud uproar of "Booing." Suddenly, the room erupted with noise. All at once, the telephone rang, someone knocked on the door and DiMaggio hit a grand slam. Startled, I abruptly fell out of my chair and crashed to hardwood floor below. I never noticed how dirty this floor was, until I face planted onto it, of course. I wearily scrambled back into my chair, picked up the still ringing phone and called for the man at the door to come in. "Rolland DuFrain, Private Eye" No answer. Damn prank calls. I've gotten way too many in the past few days. A short, raggedy old male Scyther entered the room with a bag of cheap Chinese food. "Finally, your here. What the hell took you so long?" I asked. "Sorry buddy, I got held up by the Mets game. People are going nuts out there. I hear DiMaggio hit a grand slam." I thought back to my face plant. "Yeah, I was.... surprised, to say the least." "That'll be five bucks" I pulled out a ten. "Here ya are, keep the change." "Wow, 5 dollar tip? Thanks a lot buddy, take care of yourself. Ok?" "Yeah I will, thanks."
I took the food and sat back down in my chair. Fried rice and pork. It may be lousy, but cheap and effective. The phone rang as I dug my fork into the paper carton. Goddammit. I dropped my fork and yelled into the receiver. "For the last time damnit, stop calling m-" I was interrupted. "Mr. DuFrain? What the hell are you going on about?" a voice came from the receiver. It was a voice of a Grumpig. Great, no work in weeks, and I get a job on the day the Mets win the World Series. On top of that, I'm getting this one from a snobby pig. Just my luck. "I'm sorry sir. I've been getting a lot of prank call-" I was cut off by the mans agitated voice. "I don't care about your life story. Just shut up so I can tell you what I need. I'm the one who pays your ass anyway." Well, he's already starting to irritate me, but I really need the cash, so I have no choice but to be a brown noser, and I think he knows it.
August 18th
I've been tracking Mrs. White for quite a few days so far, with no luck on any useful pieces of information. I ran through the situation in my mind again. I've been hired by the asinine Grumpig Mr. White to investigate the suspicion that his Flareon wife was having an affair. I've seen no proof in the past days, and there has been no immediate contact with any significant male other than Mr. White. It's beginning to look like a dead suspicion from a selfish/overbearing husband, but I was hired for the entire week, so I had to keep on it. Standing on the corner of 15th and Jameson, I kept a close watch on Mrs. White's every move. She was currently sitting on a park bench fixing her makeup. What a tramp.
I'm actually slightly surprised that I haven't caught her doing anything suspicious these past few days. She's either really smart, or excessively stupid. I had to admit though, she was a pretty good piece of work. The Flareon girl wore a low cut red and pink floral swing skirt (that purposely showed off her cleavage) with pink gloves and red heels. She topped it all off with a pair of expertly crafted diamond earrings. As for her physical features, she had a perfectly balanced/rounded complexion, with a very distinct hourglass body shape. She looked up and scanned the area around her, leaving me to retreat my stare and look back down at my newspaper in hand. She went back to her self-maintenance. One more quick stare showed off an almost perfect ray of light from the sun reflecting off her golden blond hair and rich scarlet colored fur.
And then something remotely interesting happened. A young male Houndoom, maybe in his early twenties, dressed in a well tailored suit, stepped off a nearby bus, looking left to right cautiously as if he did not want to be seen or followed. He walked slowly past the park bench Mrs. White was sitting on, but stopped abruptly, took a step back, and sat down. It would have been next to impossible to look any MORE suspicious. I took another look at my paper, but in the corner of my eyes, I caught a glimpse of Mrs. White saying something to the Houndoom. Normally, I'm pretty good at reading lips, but what she said seemed to be in a different language. Not a moment sooner, the Houndoom nodded, looked away and got up, leaving a small paper where he was once sitting. This is it, this is the clue that I've been waiting for.
I couldn't make a move yet, not with the Houndoom still in the vicinity. A black car with heavily tinted windows drove up soon after, and the Houndoom stepped inside, eying Mrs. White before getting in and driving off. Immediately, I crossed the street and waited for Mrs. White to take the paper. She did, and began to walk in my direction. I pretended not to notice her and swiftly made a sharp turn directly into her path causing an inevitable collision. As we collided, I skillfully slid the paper right out from under her nose. "Oh, I'm real sorry Miss. I didn't mean to bump into you, I'm in quite a hurry you see." I exclaimed. "Oh that's alright honey." she replied. I winked at her and quickly walked in to the nearest alleyway and climbed onto one of the fire escapes, allowing me a quick passage to a nearby rooftop. Now we're getting somewhere.
A clambering on the fire escape below cut my victory short.
Disclaimer:
All characters depicted in this story are completely fictional. All Pokemon belong to Nintendo.Chapter End Notes:THIS CHAPTER IS REALLY SHORT, I KNOW.I wouldn't consider this one of my best works. I procrastinated writing this for too long and couldn't put a lot time into it, which is one of the reasons the first chapter is so short. I figured I'd just give it a shot, as I like the 50's theme. Hope you all enjoy it anyway. I will be continuing the series (with longer chapters :D) as I had a good time writing this.Note: As of 2/7/08 the story has been reformatted to correctly show paragraphs.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended, and is applicable for all consecutive chapters that follow.
Note: The main character, Rolland, is a Mightyena, if any of you are wondering, I didn't get far enough into the story to start describing him. Also, all Pokemon in this story are anthro.
August 23rd
A plethora of emotions. Fear, hate and misery all hit me at once as I read each eerily protruding headline on each Manhattan newspaper. I've been reading all night. Researching, trying to discover the reason, if any, for the events that occurred last night. I couldn't help but play the scene over and over in my mind. It left me in a mesmerizing trance. A void between the real world and my imagination. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something stood out to me last night, but what that was, remained a faint illusion.
My train of thought was broken when there was a knock at the door. I wasn't expecting company, so I cautiously placed one hand on the weapon concealed beneath my hat on my desk. "What is it?" I yelled. "Delivery!" a man yelled as a tan package fell through the mail slot. Just the mail. I removed my hand from the weapon and walked over to the package. It read "Crawner Inc." I laughed a little. It's just my new hat. I removed the packaging and tried the baby on. Perfect fit, as usual. I gotta remember to thank Franky for another job well done. I've been on my toes a little too much lately, still frightened from what could become of last nights episodes.
I walked back over to my desk and took my seat. I just need a good rest. That's all. A good rest, and maybe a drink or two. I got up and searched around for something to drink. Nothing. Great. I sat back down, plopped my legs on my desk and observed the tiny, single-story room. There was an old shag carpet spread out directly in front of me, near the door, with two small windows to the left of me. The windows were concealed by a pair of old shades. It was a tight fit, working in here, but the place served its purpose for the cheap third story apartment I called my office.
I looked upon my desk. Newspapers strewed everywhere, all sporting a similar headline. One stood out to me however. "Murder in Manhattan - August 23rd" it read. "Murder in Manhattan" I said aloud to myself. That's gotta nice ring to it. I downed the glass on my desk. That's some damn good rum. Before going to sleep, I couldn't help but notice a peculiar shadow emitting from one of the windows. I reached for the gun on my desk until I realized that it waved back and forth consistently. Damn trees. I just need a little rest.
Shortly after, I fell, almost involuntarily in to a deep sleep.
August 15th - 1 Week Earlier
Eleventh inning, 5-6 Cardinals, the Mets were at bat. 0-2 count, 2 outs and a full house. Strike one. "Goddammit DiMaggio! Swing the bat!" Strike two. "We lost. Stop being a damn pansy DiMaggio!" I spun my chair around and reached for the paper, awaiting the loud uproar of "Booing." Suddenly, the room erupted with noise. All at once, the telephone rang, someone knocked on the door and DiMaggio hit a grand slam. Startled, I abruptly fell out of my chair and crashed to hardwood floor below. I never noticed how dirty this floor was, until I face planted onto it, of course. I wearily scrambled back into my chair, picked up the still ringing phone and called for the man at the door to come in. "Rolland DuFrain, Private Eye" No answer. Damn prank calls. I've gotten way too many in the past few days. A short, raggedy old male Scyther entered the room with a bag of cheap Chinese food. "Finally, your here. What the hell took you so long?" I asked. "Sorry buddy, I got held up by the Mets game. People are going nuts out there. I hear DiMaggio hit a grand slam." I thought back to my face plant. "Yeah, I was.... surprised, to say the least." "That'll be five bucks" I pulled out a ten. "Here ya are, keep the change." "Wow, 5 dollar tip? Thanks a lot buddy, take care of yourself. Ok?" "Yeah I will, thanks."
I took the food and sat back down in my chair. Fried rice and pork. It may be lousy, but cheap and effective. The phone rang as I dug my fork into the paper carton. Goddammit. I dropped my fork and yelled into the receiver. "For the last time damnit, stop calling m-" I was interrupted. "Mr. DuFrain? What the hell are you going on about?" a voice came from the receiver. It was a voice of a Grumpig. Great, no work in weeks, and I get a job on the day the Mets win the World Series. On top of that, I'm getting this one from a snobby pig. Just my luck. "I'm sorry sir. I've been getting a lot of prank call-" I was cut off by the mans agitated voice. "I don't care about your life story. Just shut up so I can tell you what I need. I'm the one who pays your ass anyway." Well, he's already starting to irritate me, but I really need the cash, so I have no choice but to be a brown noser, and I think he knows it.
August 18th
I've been tracking Mrs. White for quite a few days so far, with no luck on any useful pieces of information. I ran through the situation in my mind again. I've been hired by the asinine Grumpig Mr. White to investigate the suspicion that his Flareon wife was having an affair. I've seen no proof in the past days, and there has been no immediate contact with any significant male other than Mr. White. It's beginning to look like a dead suspicion from a selfish/overbearing husband, but I was hired for the entire week, so I had to keep on it. Standing on the corner of 15th and Jameson, I kept a close watch on Mrs. White's every move. She was currently sitting on a park bench fixing her makeup. What a tramp.
I'm actually slightly surprised that I haven't caught her doing anything suspicious these past few days. She's either really smart, or excessively stupid. I had to admit though, she was a pretty good piece of work. The Flareon girl wore a low cut red and pink floral swing skirt (that purposely showed off her cleavage) with pink gloves and red heels. She topped it all off with a pair of expertly crafted diamond earrings. As for her physical features, she had a perfectly balanced/rounded complexion, with a very distinct hourglass body shape. She looked up and scanned the area around her, leaving me to retreat my stare and look back down at my newspaper in hand. She went back to her self-maintenance. One more quick stare showed off an almost perfect ray of light from the sun reflecting off her golden blond hair and rich scarlet colored fur.
And then something remotely interesting happened. A young male Houndoom, maybe in his early twenties, dressed in a well tailored suit, stepped off a nearby bus, looking left to right cautiously as if he did not want to be seen or followed. He walked slowly past the park bench Mrs. White was sitting on, but stopped abruptly, took a step back, and sat down. It would have been next to impossible to look any MORE suspicious. I took another look at my paper, but in the corner of my eyes, I caught a glimpse of Mrs. White saying something to the Houndoom. Normally, I'm pretty good at reading lips, but what she said seemed to be in a different language. Not a moment sooner, the Houndoom nodded, looked away and got up, leaving a small paper where he was once sitting. This is it, this is the clue that I've been waiting for.
I couldn't make a move yet, not with the Houndoom still in the vicinity. A black car with heavily tinted windows drove up soon after, and the Houndoom stepped inside, eying Mrs. White before getting in and driving off. Immediately, I crossed the street and waited for Mrs. White to take the paper. She did, and began to walk in my direction. I pretended not to notice her and swiftly made a sharp turn directly into her path causing an inevitable collision. As we collided, I skillfully slid the paper right out from under her nose. "Oh, I'm real sorry Miss. I didn't mean to bump into you, I'm in quite a hurry you see." I exclaimed. "Oh that's alright honey." she replied. I winked at her and quickly walked in to the nearest alleyway and climbed onto one of the fire escapes, allowing me a quick passage to a nearby rooftop. Now we're getting somewhere.
A clambering on the fire escape below cut my victory short.
Disclaimer:
All characters depicted in this story are completely fictional. All Pokemon belong to Nintendo.Chapter End Notes:THIS CHAPTER IS REALLY SHORT, I KNOW.I wouldn't consider this one of my best works. I procrastinated writing this for too long and couldn't put a lot time into it, which is one of the reasons the first chapter is so short. I figured I'd just give it a shot, as I like the 50's theme. Hope you all enjoy it anyway. I will be continuing the series (with longer chapters :D) as I had a good time writing this.Note: As of 2/7/08 the story has been reformatted to correctly show paragraphs.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended, and is applicable for all consecutive chapters that follow.
Date:Nov 21 2012 Chapter:Chapter 1