Detective Deplorable's Greatest Case

“Twelve thirty-two, you say?”

“Roughly”

“You can’t be rough about this we need specific times. Don’t tell me roughly, tell me smoothly”

“I don’t think that’s a thing”

“If I say it’s a thing then it’s a thing”. The detective smashed his hand down on the table and stared right into my eyes. He spent about two minutes doing it. I’m not sure if he thought we were having a staring contest or whether he’d just zoned out. I couldn’t tell.

“So six of them came into your bar?”

“Yes, I’ve already told you all this. I’m not sure exactly why you’re persisting in asking these questions. It’s as though you’re trying to explain it to someone who has been absent for the start of this conversation.”

The detective looked down at the floor. That’s when it struck me. I’d figured out who he looked like. It was Alf. He looked creepily like Alf. The man looked so much like Alf that if there were to be an Alf look-alike competition, Alf would come second - to this guy. I’m not sure how I hadn’t noticed before that I was being interrogated by Alf.

The plate on his desk read “Detective Deplorable”. I don’t know if this is a nickname or his actual name. Regardless, it was quite fitting as we’d been here for four hours and for two of them he’d sat eating nachos and playing paddle-ball. 

“So let me get this straight” he uttered.

“Again?”

“Yes, again.” his snorty trunk thing flopped down as he spoke. 

“So four men and two women came into my bar and I offered them drinks as I would usually do.”

“That’s not six”

“Four and two? That’s six. This is basic math, can you not add? I’m starting to get slightly concerned” 

“If you say so” he replied. He started to take notes, trying to shield them from me. He did a pretty poor job because I could very clearly see that he’d made a note to buy more nachos.

“Six people came into my bar, bought three rounds, and then punched me square in the face one at a time, took my antique moose head and left. It’s pretty simple.”

“Is it?”

“Yes”

“Well, if you think you’re so smart then maybe you’d like to take over this investigation. Oh wait, you can’t! You’re not the detective. Now shut up and answer my questions without the sass.”

“Alright”

The room was gigantic and had one small desk placed in the middle. I sat on a stool leaving the desk at about chest height to me. He sat on an exercise ball meaning that only his shoulders emerged from behind the wood. It was like arguing with a child. 

Four windows all of different sizes were placed sporadically along the wall to my left. It was as though somebody had tried darts for the first time and just put a window wherever their dart hit.

Only one window wasn’t boarded up and so a lone beam of light shone through. Lonely and sad, the beam of light collapsed on the ground. It didn’t cry because it was inanimate but if it could cry then it definitely would have done because it was alone, and sad, and alone again. 

Pigeons hung from the ceiling, swinging backwards and forwards from their tiny feathery nooses. I’m not sure how they tied them. They don’t have hands. That’s probably a defining characteristic of a pigeon - lack of hands. When I think of pigeons that’s the first thing that pops into my mind. 

Pigeons? No hands!

“Do you have any idea what they looked like?” he asked me with a smug grin.

“Not really, everything happened pretty fast”

“Did they look like…”

He lifted his hand up to his head and pulled off his ears to reveal smaller ears. His nose peeled away and his hair came out in one tug to reveal a completely new man.

“This?” his smug grin became smugger. That grin is in my top five smug grins.

“Maybe, I’m not sure, I already told you that I didn’t get a good look at the dude who punched me”

“OH MY GOD IT’S ME, I PUNCHED YOU, YOU IDIOT”

I didn’t know what to think. I had not seen this twist coming at all. The main reason for this is because it makes absolutely no sense. It’s the kind of thing somebody would make up when running out of ideas for the end of a short story. It’s the kind of thing somebody uses when they’re trying to find a way to meet the minimum word count without putting in too much effort because they’re tired and are regretting taking on this challenge.

I moved my hands back from the desk and stood up. He giggled and slowly began to walk around the table. The giggle really put me off. Kinda ruined the whole tone there but nevertheless, it continued.

He stepped around the corner and then slipped over on a pigeon corpse. His delicate head smashed on the side of the desk and he was dead. Red sprayed out everywhere. It wouldn’t stop. It was the most blood I’ve ever seen and to put that into context I once won a tour to a factory that makes black pudding so I’m pretty experienced. It seeped out across the ground and created a sticky carpet type thing. I got some on my shoe. It was super gross. I didn’t like it. 

I never did find that antique moose head that was stolen from me. I can only assume that it was set free and now lives in the wild amongst others of its kind. A peaceful valley of moose heads. It would be very pleasant.

As for me, I went back to my bar and continued to serve people. I got married, had three children, and won a subscription to Toothbrushes Monthly. It’s a really poorly titled magazine because I actually received a copy every fortnight so it’s quite inaccurate. Every issue comes with a free toothbrush. It’s actually a fairly good magazine. I’m very happy.