5
« on: May 02, 2009, 10:31:09 AM »
Prompt: Howard gets attacked by monkeys.
Please take no offense with the following story, I had very little to go on when I wrote Howard. Your podcasts are awesome and I have nothing but respect for you guys! My goal was to write without planning, I just wanted to have fun and get some practice. Enjoy.
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I suppose this story starts off like any other story. It was a rainy night, in a dirty town. I was at my favorite watering hole, the Sunken Sailor. Whiskey on the rocks. A bitter drink for a bitter man. My name is Charles Stone. I'm a PI, Private Eye, whatever you want to call it. A lot of people call me Bedrock. Why? I dunno, guess they think I'm a solid kinda guy. All I know, my night was going swimmingly, until he showed up.
He came in through the front door, drawing everyones attention. Dripping water formed a puddle under his feet. First thing I noticed was his head, shining in all its balding glory. Two beady eyes peered from behind a pair of small glasses, broken in the center and missing one lens. Through the smokey haze of the dirty bar I watched him scamper over to the closest drunk. He had a twitchy bearing, as if every noise spooked him. He spoke to the drunk, briefly. Apparently he didn't get what he was looking for. Hop skipping to the next patron, he mopped his lustrous head with a dirty handkerchief, smearing grime across his forehead. Darting eyes attempted to watch everyone in the bar while he hurriedly inquired with his newest acquaintance. The bar bum hitched his thumb over his shoulder, straight at me.
Great, now I'd have to be polite.
As he hurried over to me, he attempted to straighten what little hair he had left, as though to compensate for his disheveled state. As he neared, I noticed scratches crisscrossing his fantastically polished pate. All along his neck, arms, and it appeared his legs as well. Small tears covered his muddy clothes, and a water logged notebook stuck up awkwardly from his pants pocket. He stopped in front of me, silent for a moment. He adjusted his glasses with ink-stained fingers.
"Ahem..." he started. "I'm told you are Charles Stone?" His voice reminded me of a strung out librarian.
"You were told correctly...unfortunately." I muttered.
"Ah, great...er, what was that? you trailed off at the end."
"Nothing, my streamlined friend, nothing. What can Charles Stone do for you?" I asked.
"Ah... yes. of course. yes...well, my name, good sir, is Howard Tayler, I am and author and an artist...uh...yes, um, I have need of your reportedly exception detective skills."
The entire time he spoke his eyes flicked rapidly around, searching for some unknown danger, and wringing his hands. Something had spooked this man something fierce. Perhaps this case would be interesting after all.
"What is it exactly that you require of me?" Who knows, I thought, Maybe this could be my big break.
"Well, uh, you see, Mr. Stone, uh...well...I was attacked earlier this eve, and uh...need your help finding the fiends who perpetrated this heinous uh...crime. yes."
"Well, lets see Howard. What can you tell me about these attackers?" I took a long drink from my Jack, waiting for his answer.
"Uh, yes...well. uh....they were monkeys, if I recall correctly."
Why do they call me Bedrock? maybe its because it takes a whole lot to make me crack. Howard Tayler cracked me up so thoroughly I nearly choked to death on an ice cube I started laughing so hard. Good thing for me he was a sport and clapped me on the back 'til I coughed it up.