Sam and Will Do Some Investigating
By: Turboencabulator
The dusty wind howled through the dim twilight of the pre-dawn hours. Will winced at the gritty susurrations of sand impacting the side of his hastily-modified van as he sat in the back, peering over a bundle of papers and geodetic survey maps. Hickory lay on the dashboard, right in front of a defrost vent, sleeping in the warm draft of air and occasionally giggling to himself.
With an air of finality Will placed a mark on one of the maps, at the edge of an irregularly shaped blob of shaded-in territory known only as ‘Parcel 76-70’. Over five square miles of absolutely nothing, in the middle of the Dakota badlands. He traced the property line and matched its position on a survey map, finding the entire parcel was one big sunken region, walled on almost every side by cliffs and loose gravel hills.
He stood up and looked out the windshield, turning on the headlights. A meandering, pothole-laden chip-and-seal road descended down into the parcel in front of him, marked only with a fence gate long since removed, leaving only two posts behind. The sight made the back of his scalp itch, and his fingertips tingled.
After a moment of contemplation he reached down between the seats and took out a sidearm, carefully loading the weapon, before tucking it in an under-arm holster.
“Ey.” He said, giving Hickory a soft poke. The little fluff made a gurgly grumble and woke up, looking around.
“Wh. We hewe?”
Will sighed quietly. “Yeah I think so. Hard to tell, really.”
Hickory shuffled over to the passenger side and slid down the dash, landing on the fluffy-bed mounted in the footwell with a dull oof. He nosed open another warm-air vent and quickly snuggled up under it, drifting off again. Will watched him for a moment, contemplating, before opening his phone and shooting a text off.
Then, he started the van, clipped a section of map on his dash, and started slowly rolling down the road into the slowly-growing dawn.
Sergeant Belker glanced down as Sam’s phone bleebled out a Mario coin sound-effect. Sam glanced at it and sighed. “Yeah unfortunately that’s him now. He’s off doing some personal legwork. I’m sure Frankie and I can manage the whatever it is.”
“The whatever it is isn’t a whatever, Sam.” Belker said.
Sam squinted, mulling over the statement. “The… what?”
With a sigh Belker took out a notebook. “Look let’s start from the beginning. Where were you, and I need you to be specific, two nights ago, between the hours of 1900 and midnight?”
After glancing between Belker and the pad, Sam shrugged. “Ok. I was here.”
“The whole time?” Belker asked, taking down notes.
“The whole time. I was conducting a surgery.”
“Can anyone verify this? Other than Lightning. I’m afraid fluffies can’t be sworn in for testimony.”
A loud raspberry from under the desk signaled Lightning’s displeasure. Sam laughed once, and responded, “I have my recorded log of the surgery, I guess? Frankie was in and out a few times as well.”
Belker nodded a bit. “That should do fine, and Will?”
“He was already on the other side of Illinois.” Sam shifted in his chair, eyes narrowing. “Now. Off the record time?”
Another nod from Belker, before he finished his notes and tucked the pad away. “Mayor Greenblatt was assaulted in his home night before last.”
A beat, and Sam blinked. “When you say ‘assaulted’, are we talking like… vandalism and a punch in the face?”
“No.” Belker said, with a grimace. “He’s in the ICU. Someone broke into his home, he confronted them and at some point took a bat to the side of the head. His fluffies were found hung from a chandelier and given the pinata treatment.”
“Damn.” Sam said, leaning back further. “I suppose you had to ask about us because of the panel where he got a bit combative with us.”
Belker shrugged. “That and because your business card was found just inside the door. No prints of course but it is rather odd.”
“Business card?” Sam asked, pointing to the tray of cards on the counter. “You mean like one of those?”
After glancing at the card, Belker shook his head and took out a photocopy of a business card, setting it down in front of Sam.
Sam picked it up, staring at it, and slowly growing more confused. “This isn’t my business card. My last name is misspelled.”
Belker leaned over and glanced at the card again. “Huh. That’s weird, and it implies it was planted.”
“Trouble.” Sam said.
“Why do you say that?” Belker asked, glancing up at him.
“Because this was ostensibly made to look anti-fluffy. Greenblatt is a hugboxer and people in some circles think people who run terminal shelters are anti-fluffy pseudo-Nazi types. They specifically chose me because of my appearance at the hearings, I’d bet.”
“By why the mayor? Sure he’s high-profile but if he’s a fellow hugboxer…” Belker asked, trailing off in thought.
Sam snorted derisively. “He’s a hugboxer because that’s where the money is. If you look at his track record he ramps up the rhetoric whenever he’s getting close to a fundraiser. Some of the hardcore fluffists would probably look at him as a parasite and decide his sacrifice was worth it for the potential results.”
With a sigh, Belker nodded and continued writing. “You have any idea who these people might be?”
Without a word, Sam stood up, walked to a closet, and hauled out a pair of banker’s boxes marked ‘Hate Mail’, setting them on the counter with a theatric flourish.
After sitting down and slouching into the chair, Sam grumbled. “You can have these. I don’t want them back.”
“Well,” Belker said, with a grimace. “I was planning to keep my face shut about something, but given the business card is a plant, and assuming you didn’t get a screwy business card made to throw the trail off, I figure I should inform you that one of his fluffies was overlooked.”
Sam sat up a bit, a keen look developing in his eyes. “Did it see anything?”
“Not as such…”
Will pulled the beat up van into a lean-to shelter, blasted of paint until it was a uniform dust grey, anchored next to a drab poured-concrete building in the middle of nowhere. The temperature had gone from below freezing to boiling in the space of a few hours and Hickory stared dully out the windshield, eyeing the rippling heat mirage with disdain.
“Dis wook wike a piwe of suk.” Hickory said. “Wan stay in cool.”
“Come on dude, might need you to scout ahead. It should be alright once we’re in the building.” Will said from the back, rummaging through one of the secret compartments tucked away in the van’s bodywork.
“Ughhhh otay.” Hickory grumbled, before nosing on a tiny pair of sunglasses and sucking down the remainder of a bottle of Diet Barq’s root beer.
“I’m going to set up a perimeter, you hold tight and once I get the door open I’ll come back for you.”
Hickory grumbled his assent before jumping over to the driver’s side and looking out the window. “Yu spektin peopwe?”
“Yeah, I got a bad vibe.” Will said, before hopping out the back with a large haversack, strolling back along the dusty barely-there access road.
Hickory watched him go through the back window, before an amethyst spark lit in his eyes, and he cast his vision far beyond the horizon.
Sam and Belker sat by one of the raised playpens, an open carrier in the middle. The sound of quiet sniffling and shifting came from within.
“Hey, it’s ok.” Said Sam, leaning over to the carrier door. “You can come out?”
“Nu wan.”
Belker nodded, and spoke quietly. “Little guy’s traumatized.”
“Nu am stawwion.”
“Sorry,” Belker corrected, “Little gal’s traumatized.”
Sam sat back and sighed, then looked down as he felt a tug on his pantleg. Lightning spat the hem of his chinos out and sat up in the ‘uppies’ pose. “Wet Witenin’ twy, Daddeh.”
Sam shrugged and lifted Lightning into the pen. With a little prance and pop Lightning went over to the carrier, stuck in his head, and let out a cheery “HEWWO!”
EEP
“Is otay. Yu hab nu fwadies hewe.” Lightning said, and clambered into the carrier, giggling. “Cum on wets go get yu sum nummies and sum wa-was and da wittabawks an mebeh daddeh make us cwepes!”
A plump, ice-blue mare with a white mane tumbled out of the carrier, whinnying in consternation as Lightning gently boosted her into the playpen. She quickly scrambled up, half-crouched, looking around with filmed-over eyes.
Lightning emerged from the carrier. “Wut wong?”
“Lightning.” Sam said, facepalming quietly. “I believe your new friend uh… what’s your name?”
“Snowfwake.”
“Your friend Snowflake is a no-see-fluff.”
“Ohhhh.” Lightning said, and romped up to her, putting his shoulder to hers. “Is otay, Witenin hewe.”
Belker quietly removed the carrier as Lightning happily babbled at Snowflake, guiding her around the pen, and helping her find the litterbox.
“Not as such. Dickhead.” Sam said under his breath, earning a rare grin from Belker.
Belker leaned on the edge of the playpen. “Snowflake, do you know what happened to your daddy?”
She paused from her drink at the water bowl. “Nu, heaw big loud noisies an wowstest owwie sounds. Is daddy otay?” She asked.
“Your daddy got hurt when some bad people broke in your house.” Sam said, gesturing Belker to let him handle things. “I’m afraid you’re the only fluffy who isn’t forever asleep.”
Sam quickly plugged his ears, earning a look of confusion from Belker.
Then the wailing started.
A thumping sound caught Will’s attention as he plodded back from his tour around the building. He looked over to see Hickory tapping fervently on the windshield of the van, and pointing along the trail they came in. Taking out his binoculars, Will looked the way they had come, spotting a rising dust cloud betraying the arrival of unexpected company.
Will nodded, and walked over to the van. Picking up Hickory and a heavy case, he locked the van and headed for the concrete building.
“Dey wook wike bikews, Daddeh.” Hickory said, nervously twitching his tail back and forth under Will’s arm. “Dewe uh. Uh. Wun, twoo, fwee… six? Six.”
“Alright, Hic-” Will said, then stopped as he saw the broken lock on the building’s door. Pushing it open with his toe, standing out of the way of the frame, he peered inside until he just saw the barrel of a rigged shotgun come into view.
He set Hickory down, and crouched. “Right, this is gunna be loud.”
Hickory covered his ears and Will finished pushing the door open. A loud crack sounded, and Will felt the wind of a twelve-gauge slug passing overhead.
After a check inside, Will tapped Hickory. The duo crept inside and looked around, Will swearing under his breath.
The middle of the room had been cleared and a pair of desks pushed together under a sheet of thick plywood, now laden with plastic tubs full of individual baggies of what appeared to Will’s expert eye, rather shit-grade methamphetamine. He looked around, shining a flashlight in the dim room, and breathed a sigh of relief as the rest of the building looked undisturbed.
Hickory’s ears perked up and he looked back to the open door. “Daddeh. Bikews neaw.”
Will nodded quietly, shrugging off his jacket and pulling on a bulletproof vest from the case, before hefting out a hastily acquired sub-machine gun. “Yup. This could get nasty, so you park your butt somewhere you’re safe and cover your ears.”
A taped pair of magazines were firmly inserted, and the charging handle was slapped closed.
Clyde and his five brothers-in-arms rode through the noon sun towards the drug cache, deep in unuseable land. One of the prospects at the gas station had phoned in someone was heading out there. Dead man walking.
The intruder’s van was parked under the sun-shelter, and the door to the bunker-building was standing open. There was movement, and a single pop of muzzle flash. Even over the rumble of the bike’s engines he could hear the flat crack of a gunshot, and one of his mirrors exploded into shards.
That was a tooth he was takin, he swore to himself. The crew slowed down and stopped, letting the bikes rumble and idle for a bit. Scare tactics, get them tense. Then with a hand signal, the bikes went quiet. Everything was quiet.
“Right!” He shouted, leaning back and taking a swig of whiskey from a hip flask. “Why don’t you come out of there and we’ll just kill you a little bit.”
“Sorry, Friend.” The intruder said, staying back in the shadows. “You’re trespassing, either way, but how about you get your meth out of my building and I can go about my business here. Nobody needs to be inconvenienced.”
The others laughed, and Clyde chuckled along with him. “Sure, sure, let me guess, you get a cut of the crank and a pair of big swollen balls since you ripped off the Crows.”
There was a brief pause, then. “The Crows. Jesus Christ what happened to biker gangs picking good names.”
The laughter was long gone, and Clyde leaned forward, teeth bared in anger. “You know it’s a good thing I brought along Meat. Meat’s a class-A faggot, and I’ve got half a mind to let him have you before I stomp your fucking skull in.”
“I’m still giving you the option to take your meth, all of it, and get off my property. This entire area is legally mine and I have no interest in your drugs.”
Clyde pulled out a revolver, only to yelp as the man in the building shot it out of his hand. Everyone else drew as well.
“I wouldn’t do that, friends.” The man said, slowly coming out into the light. Clyde first saw the MP5 he was carrying, pointed at the crew.
“And why the fuck not?” Billy, one of the prospects asked.
The man grinned, a decidedly unpleasant expression on his face, and held up a claymore clacker.
A glance around and Clyde saw at least four half-buried mines. He went pale, and lifted his hands, slowly waving at his compatriots. “Oh Christ, shit, shit, put them down boys, put them…”
Billy cocked the hammer on his gold-plated Beretta.
The man in the building ducked back and behind the wall. “Wrong choice.”
Then there was noise, and blackness.
Hickory winced at the sudden loud noise, clenching to not make bad poopies. He peered out of the doorway and saw several smoking, tangled wrecks of metal, and a lot of blood.
“Ew.” He said, looking up at Will. Will looked down at him and sighed, then looked back in the building.
“Hickory, you stay in here. If you can find any maps that would be very useful. And uh. The powder on the table is bad, alright?”
“Awrite, Daddeh.” Hickory said, and floated himself up onto one of the other work desks, pawing through papers and sneezing from the dust his spongy hooves poofed up.
Will went out and surveyed the wreckage, checking for pulses. Hickory jumped as a single gunshot was let off, the echo ringing into the dead, grey sky like a funeral bell.
It took nearly twenty minutes for Snowflake to calm down to the point she was coherent again, dejectedly munching on some kibble and sniffling to herself.
“Snowflake, I know it’s not nice to think about, but do you remember anything about the people who broke into your house?” Belker asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
She sat down heavily, and wheezed a little sob once. “Dey were woud. An tawk funny.”
Sam tapped Belker on the shoulder, and held up a hand for him to hold off for a moment. “Snowflake, can you remember how many voices you heard?”
After a pause and a little toot, she sat up a bit more. “Dewe fouw? Thwee stawwions an a mawe. De mawe kep sayin ‘fow suw’.”
Belker cocked his head, thinking a bit, and glanced at Sam. “You mean like this?” He said, and switched to an exaggerated Wisconsin accent. “Did she have a talkin’ way like this?”
“Yeh!” Snowflake said, bouncing on her forehooves once. “Dey aww tawk funny wike dat.”
“Huh.” Sam muttered. “Ok, so out of state.”
He gave Snowflake a gentle boop on the nose. “That’s really good, do you remember anything else about how they sounded? Or smelled?”
“Wun of dem smewwed wike dose nasty smokey-sticks Daddeh hated.”
Belker took down a note. “Cigarettes?”
“Nu da bigguns, cawwed dem Assids?”
“What?” Belker muttered, but looked up as Sam bumped him.
“Acid Cigars.” He said, with a sigh. “Very common, godawful flavored cigars.”
“Well it’s something.” Belker said, and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling in thought. “So we’re looking for a guy from Wisconsin who smokes Acid cigars and was in Indianapolis.”
“Lightning, Belker, why don’t we let Snowflake have some sleep. She’s had a big few days.” Sam said, picking Lightning up.
“Bai Snowfwake.” Lightning said, and blew a little raspberry. Snowflake giggled and carefully navigated her way back to the bed, which she fell onto like a tree falling over, punctuated by another little poot.
The three went out just as Belker’s pager went off. “Oh great. Well, might be back. Keep a light on for me, I have the feeling this is going to be another case where I drop off fluffies. I seem to be being pigeonholed for them.”
“Sure thing.” Sam said, watching as Belker stomped off and got in his car.
After a moment, Sam wandered into the intake area and set Lightning down by a padded, warmed bowl of chirpies, all snuggled together in a pile. He barely registered the sudden shrieks and peeps as Lightning had his dinner, his attention entirely focused on warming up his old skills and performing some investigation independently of Belker.
Will and Hickory peered over a cluster of maps, trimmed, overlapping, and hastily taped together.
“So, according to the stuff from the box, there should be another building here.” Will said, tapping the paper right in the middle. “But it doesn’t show up on the survey maps.”
“I wook.” Hickory said, looking around the blank concrete walls. “Uh…”
Will sat a compass on the table, and then pointed. “That way.”
“Otay!” Hickory said, his eyes sparking amethyst again.
It only took a few minutes for Will to set up a field stove and begin cooking an evening meal. Hours had been spent carefully burying the corpses and motorcycles, disposing of the meth, and finally searching the files in the building, which were mostly transcripts of weather reports, geological surveys, and several large, poorly-bound volumes of the migration patterns of the native fauna. Maps were found though, and not a single one showed any structures in Parcel
76-70 other than the squat concrete building they currently occupied.
“Daddeh. Dewe is a big wun out dewe. But it nu wook wike dis wun.” Hickory said, confused. “Wook wike wawehousie.”
“Hm. Can you get a peek inside?” Will asked, taking out a fresh onion and silently making a note to thank Sam for insisting on taking fresh food.
“Dewe nu wites.” Hickory said, eyes looking around at sights a long distance away. “Big heavy doows. Wike fwum a bank. An a big ewwevatow goin down at an angle. Jus a floow tho.”
“Like a big cargo platform. Hm.” Will said, cooking. “Can you tell how far down it goes?”
There was silence, and Will looked over to see Hickory was back in his own head, nervously shuffling. “What is it?”
“Nu wan wook down dewe.” Hickory said, muttering. “Dewe bad fings down dewe.”
Sam looked up from his work as Belker’s car pulled back up, and sighed as he got out with a fluffy carrier. He got out from behind the desk and unlocked the front door, leaning out. “Hey buddy we’re closed.” He said.
“Uh-huh.” Belker said, following Sam in. “Got another surrender from a case. This one’s a real piece of work.”
“Yu a piece of wowk yu niggew-wuvvin fagdik!” The fluffy inside shouted, stomping around. “Wet Josef go! Wace twaitow!”
Sam stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned, looking into the carrier with a smile that set Belker’s teeth on edge.
“Oh my. We have a special one indeed.” Sam said, and crouched in front of the carrier. “Your daddy. Aryan Nations?”
“Dat wite, wespek da powah.” The all-white fluffy inside said, a little ‘88’ dyed into his chest fluff.
Sam stood up and gently took the carrier from Belker. "Don’t worry, Belker. We’ll handle this one specially.
Lighting poked his head up from where he was laying in the afterglow of a good chirpy numming, listening to the tone of Sam’s voice. One he knew well. He grinned, his sharp little teeth gleaming white in the light. He watched as Sam set the carrier on the desk, and peered in, having to lower his head a little to see the face of the fluffy inside.
“Hewwo dewe.” Lightning said. “I heaw yu have a pwobwem wiff bwownie fwuffs.”
There was a dull whimper from inside, and a very quiet. “Oh poopies.”