Irregular Days

Chapter 6: Cherry Herring

As her partner proceeded into the night to follow a lead, a restless Shere had decided to proceed into the night on an equally important task. As the soaked detective arrived at her destination, she pulled down the hood on her coat and approvingly peered at her quarry. The convenience store clerk gave her a familiar nod, for Shere’s late night quests for sugary sweets had become nigh ritual among the stress of her recent days. Shere procured a basket and went forth into the confectionery aisle with a peaceful smile and a frolicking gait. As she plucked treats from the shelf and plopped them into her basket, a familiar voice broke her stupor.

“Why if it isn’t my favorite lady detective!” called out an irksome voice full of misplaced pride.
Tulock strolled up to Shere and threw his arm around her with alarming familiarity. A fidgeting Shere squeaked out her reply.

“Hello Tulock. What brings you here?” Tulock swung his arm back to his side before raising both his thumbs up and gleefully jabbing them towards Shere.

“I’m here to pick up ladies of course. Ladies like you!”

“Like me?” Shere replied in confusion as she tilted her head to the side like a lost puppy. “I don’t think you could even lift me.”

Tulock’s smile flattened and his eyebrows scrunched into a V. Surely, he thought, a detective couldn’t be this dense. He quickly shook off the thought and returned to his mischievous grin. The denser the lady, the better chance he had. Before Tulock had time to deliver his next certainly smooth line, a look of worrisome realization washed across Shere’s face. Tulock could almost see the lights in her head come on.

“Weren’t you supposed to be with Mignon?” With the conversation moving towards business, Tulock realized his chances had been blown. His posture became a slouch, and boredom overtook him with record speed.

“The little flat one?” He replied with feigned disgust. “Not my taste.”

“She said you called her.” Shere replied. Wasting no time, Tulock snapped back.

“I certainly did not!”

Shere placed her finger upon her chin and stroked an imaginary beard. If Tulock wasn’t the one Mignon was meeting, what was going down? Had her partner lied to her, or was she too deceived?

“Something is fishy then, Mr. Pry.”

“Oh, sorry, that’s me.” Tulock stated as he casually pulled a moderately sized dark-red fish from his coat. “I was just at the wharf.”

Shere returned to the department of deep thought, as neither of the pair seemed to think the fish odd in any sense.

“Pry.” Shere said slowly aloud. The word tasted familiar on her lips, like it was more important than just the magician’s family name.

“Yes?” Tulock replied, but Shere paid him no mind. With the gears in her head working so hard that they may as well have begun producing a thick industrial smog, Shere flashed back to the killer’s note.

“Now away from prying eyes!” Shere shouted out. Tulock stepped back in confusion. “The theater! Mignon is walking into a trap!”

“Well,” Tulock began before Shere even had a chance to panic. “I may, theoretically, know a guy who accidentally took two machine guns from evidence after he was interrogated.”

Shere nodded exuberantly. Was there a rule against arming a citizen with a machine gun and charging into a theater without any kind of clearance? Shere believed it was most likely, but she was not one to leave her partner high and dry, or alone and wet, because of protocol.

“Sounds legit!” Shere yelled. “Let’s roll!”

Tulock and Shere raced forth, basket full of cherry-flavored sweets and herring in hand. First to the checkout counter, and then into the vacant streets and towards the corner theater that Tulock knew so well.

Chapter 7: A Heart of Order

On the other side of the city, a grumpy and rain-soaked Mignon stood under the glow of the lamppost near the empty theater. With none to bear witness, her default smile was gone and an impatient frown had crept out to replace it, like a criminal scurrying out of hiding after the police had left the scene. The ever-grinning object of her annoyance was nowhere to be found. While she cursed the name “Tulock” silently to herself a glimmer of motion caught the corner of her eye. It seems the derelict old theater still housed some secrets. Mignon shrugged, adjusted her cap, and pushed into the surprisingly unlocked theater door. The thump of footsteps echoed through her ears as something moved from beyond the ticket area and into the main stage. Mignon followed the sound and slowly opened one of the doors to the aisles. As the soft glow of lamplight diminished and gave way to the darkness inside, a fuzzy figure came into view. Streaks of moonlight from cracks in the walls betrayed a few features of the man standing still in the center aisle. There, as speckles of dust recently disturbed from their slumber danced in the light in front of him like dull confetti, stood Tulock Pry.

“Tulock, what do you want?” Mignon grumbled out while staring with disdain at the silent fool.

“Tulock?” Mignon again asked as she crept closer still. A motionless Tulock still refused to speak. Mignon reached out to tap him. The cardboard cut-out of Tulock harmlessly fell the the ground with a soft thud. A “kathunk” echoed out below her feet and in that split second, despite the absolute absurdity of the situation, Mignon knew exactly what was about to befall her.

“Well this is just embarrassing.” Mignon stated without a hint of emotion while staring out at nothing in particular. The ground gave beneath her as the trap door released and she plummeted into yet another level of darkness: pitch black. Mignon hit the floor with about as much grace as one could expect a person falling an unknown distance in the dark to achieve. Accompanied by a yelp of pain, her legs gave and her shoulder and head smashed into the carpeted ground. As she felt her consciousness fading, Mignon’s hand searched the darkness for her hat and feebly placed it back upon her head. If she was the be found dead, perhaps even as a skeleton years into the future, she was going to be found at her most stylish. With the task of hat retrieval finished, her body gave up the fight and her mind retreated into her subconscious.

As one’s life flashes before their eyes, the bits that stand out speak volumes for what is truly important to them. Mignon’s mind raced into the past, a past she had long since hidden away. Fresh faced and barely in her teens, Mignon sat in the cleared out back of a van. She nervously shifted her weight back and forth and drummed on her knees in an effort to beat back the first-job jitters. Her partner, sitting silently on the opposite end of the compartment, was barely an adult, but the peace found upon his face told the story that he was an old veteran.

“So this is an easy job, right? Just smash and grab?” Mignon asked the stranger she was to aid.

“…”

“Right right.” Mignon squeaked out as her nerves began to build up. “Who we doin’ this job for anyway?”

“…” The man remained silent. A twitch of the nose moving his immaculate mustache a centimeter up was the only sign that he was not frozen in time.

“Strong and silent type, huh?” Mignon replied to the silence with a weak smile, her heart beating so fast she began to think it might burst. “I can dig that. That’s cool.”

Mignon fidgeted with her holster, the weight of which still felt odd at her side. Her partner glanced over, Mignon caught his eyes and made a weak smile. The man knew he was partnered with an amateur.

“So what are you packin’?” Mignon asked the stoic man, not really expecting a response. However, this time he decided to indulge her. He opened his coat up to reveal twelve pistols. Mignon’s keen eyes noticed a different zodiac sign etched into the barrel of each.

“Oh my.” Mignon said as she glanced between his arsenal and her single weapon. This man must be twelve times the criminal she is. “I just reload mine. Experimental tactic pioneered by the Japanese a few years back.” Her partner was not amused by such tomfoolery.

Time flashed again. This time Mignon lay against a garden wall, blood oozing out her side as her right hand struggled to cover the wound. The yelling of men and the barking of hounds filled the air due to the chaos caused by the theft of their quarry, now contained within the bag at Mignon’s side that had taken the place of her missing weapon. Her partner peered around the wall and reached into his coat for a new pistol. The one he would procure was #12: Pisces.

“One.” He stated calmly.

“One bullet?!” Mignon yelled weakly. Her partner simply nodded in response. “You and your stupid gimmick! We’re dead, Ragna! So dead!” Ragna looked at her with a calm yet grim expression and motioned for her to stand up. Mignon struggled through the pain in vain, but was simply in no shape to stand. Ragna peered around the corner again before kneeling down beside Mignon and pulling the bag off her shoulder. He stood up and began to make his getaway.

“D-don’t leave me.” Mignon pleaded as her vision began to blur. Any facade of strength she had put up was gone now, and tears began to well up in her eyes. Ragna paused briefly before glancing back at her. Their eyes met. He knew she was dead weight. She knew she was dead weight. Ragna looked at his feet for a split second before clenching his fist in resolve. He quickly heaved Mignon onto his shoulder, burst around the corner and fired his last shot.

With her vision faded in the past, she began to stir in the present. Now dimly lit, the room was revealed to be decorated with red velvet curtains covering, or perhaps acting as, the walls. The carpet was the same shade of red, causing the entire entire room to glow an eerie red. Without a spec of dust to be found, bar the bits carried with Mignon from above, this immaculate room felt far removed from the old theater.

“What was a trap door even doing there?” Mignon grumbled to herself as she sat up on her knees.

“Glad you could finally join us, my darling.” Called out a soft and gentlemanly voice from behind. Mignon whirled around to discover the source of the voice and found that she was far from alone in this strange room.

The voice came from a man sitting upon a red recliner. Facing away from Mignon, his only visible feature was his hand, clad in a thin black glove, placed on the shoulder of a strange young girl to his left. The girl, who looked to be no older than ten, wore a simple white dress. She stood with a slouched and oddly inhuman posture, her limbs seeming slightly too long for her body. Her face stared at Mignon with hollow eyes and expressionless lips. In fact her face was so plain, so devoid of features or emotion that it seemed to blend right into her head, as if she had no face at all. To the reclined man’s right stood two more occupants. A tall and thin man with slick backed hair, who wore a long-nosed and smiling-faced masquerade mask, and a dull purple suit with bow-tie that gave of the air of a magician. Next to him was a midget wearing a tuxedo the same shade of red as the walls, causing him to merge with the scenery. He stared Mignon with an excruciatingly wide grin, and hungry eyes with pupils smaller that the norm. His left hand scratched his unkempt and mullet-like hair. To Mignon’s right lay a woman crumpled to the ground, chained down and unconscious. A thin woman with long blonde hair and a business suit. Mignon presumed this to be Ashal.

“I have a gun!” Mignon shouted as she scrambled to her feet, somewhat taken aback by her new predicament. She scrunched her face to hide any signs of fear before drawing her gun and continuing. “Someone start explaining!”

“Be calm, Ms. Varrow.” Cooed the voice behind the chair. “Manners make the woman.”
Ashal began to stir, but Mignon remained focused on the man behind the chair. “I’m not messing around!”

“I assure you, neither are we.”

Without changing her gaze, Mignon aimed at the shortest of her foes and fired. The midget hit the ground and lay still for a moment. The others barely so much as flinched. The midget clutched his bloody face and got back to his feet.

“I can see you are a pleasant lass!” He said with a grin. Mignon took a step back in surprise. This was new.

“Are you quite done?” asked the man behind the chair through gritted teeth. A hint of annoyance permeating his previously calm voice.

“You have gained my undivided attention.” Mignon replied.

“Good. I am pleasantly surprised to see you, Ms. Varrow.”

“Surprised? You people called me.”

“How curious,” chimed in the man in the mask as he stroked his elongated nose. “A wild card!”
Mignon relaxed her arms, but kept her gun out. She had little idea what was going on, but knew violence wasn’t going to solve this particular problem.

“Now who are you?” Mignon asked forcefully to the man behind the chair.

“We are the good guys, Ms. Varrow.”

“Good guys? Hah!” Mignon scoffed at the idea. These must be the ones whose deeds have been attributed to the Kadabra Killer. “You murder people!”

The man behind the chair stood up, but still did not face Mignon. The gray haired gentleman took a step forward.

“Do you think twice when swatting flies, Ms. Varrow? It’s quite similar.” The man turned to face Mignon, and gave a slight bow. He wore a pristine suit and had a well-kept mustache. He was the very picture of a gentleman. “Besides, I happen to know you aren’t the saint you pretend to be.”

Mignon smirked at the man. “And how do you know that?”

“You ask this after shooting my disheveled friend?” The man replied while motioning towards the tiny victim of Mignon’s aggression. “I see again why you failed our test.”

“Failed what?”

“You have a despicable little heart of order!” the man explained with a judgmental grin, his hatred for Mignon becoming more and more palpable. “You couldn’t even see what was right in front of you when it didn’t conform to your perfectly patterned view of this world.”
“You don’t conform to my perfectly patterned view of making any damned sense!” Mignon yelled back. “What the hell are you on about?”

“You see, we are searching for someone.” He stated as he proceed away from Mignon, pulling the girl with him by the hand. He pulled back the velvet curtain and opened the door behind it. “Someone who possesses a certain trait.”

“Better bait, you would make.” The man sang out as the others filed out of the room. “What do you say? Your life for hers? Think about it.”

The man exited the room and Mignon and Ashal were left alone. Mignon turned to the Speaker and offered out her hand. Ashal accepted and was helped to her feet.

“You alright, Ms. Ashal?” Mignon asked, having now returned to her default smile.

“Yeah…” Replied the politician, clearly a bit shaken up. “Why did you pick the midget? Pretty sure that constitutes a hate crime.”

Mignon’s smile widened. “Unresolved childhood issues.” Ashal wasn’t sure if this was a joke or not. “I’m Mignon, your friend Shere’s new partner.”

“A friend of Shere is a friend of mine.” Ashal replied while flashing a weak smile. The two shared an awkward moment of silence. Mignon felt slightly uncomfortable around Ashal, and she figured Ashal felt the same. There was something similar about the two, as if they were kindred spirits. Mignon however wanted nothing to do with someone like herself.

“I’ll take your place here.” Mignon stated, breaking the silence. “Find Shere when you get out.”

Filed under:
Mignon and Shere, Short Stories by Tawny