Some Things Can't Be Solved With Just Clues

Chapter 11: Pardon Me

Deciding to take a break from the case, I head to the nearest bar to have a drink. I had called Con and told him to meet me here, to which he had grunted, "Soon."

As I drink my Bloody Mary, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Excuse me, are you investigating Devan's murder, sir?"

"That depends, who's asking?" I say, curious, cringing at his attempt to be formal with me - I mean...  just look at what he's wearing...

"Oh, why sure, sir. I'm Kailua Pork. Call me Shredded Dough. I have been looking for you, homie."

"I'm getting excited. What information have you got?"

"I heard your name passed around town. You are investigating Devan's death, right? He was a, whatchamacallit, one of those people who takes their clothes off for some cha-ching?" He explains, rubbing his fingers together.

"He was a stripper."

"Yes! Anyway, I have some information I bet you'd like to hear."

    "Really?" I ask, my interest peaked. When he didn't say anything, I cough and say, "So... what do you have?"

    "Information comes with a price, you know," he winks, doing that unusual rubbing finger motion again.

    "Y - You want boogers - ?" I stutter, confused.

    Shredded Pork, I think, straightens, "No! Money, man. I'm talking about money," he says, irritated with me.

    I whip out a Hamilton, fresh, and crisp, his beautiful face making me more gay, staring at me through the green linen paper, and I sadly hand it over.

    He shakes his head. "Nah, I meant the Benjamin's, man."

    I reluctantly whip out another Hamilton from my wallet.

    He continues to shake his head. "Maybe eight more Hamilton's."

    "Bitch I ain't that rich."

    "Then no information," Shredded Dough replies triumphantly.

    "Die."

    "Bro, you just fucking triggered me."

    "Bro, give me the information."

    "Bro, I will never do that."

    "Bro, I don't think you know who you are dealing with."

    "R - Really, I bet you ain't that tough, Mr. Investigaytor."

    I reach into my coat pocket and show him the tip of the fake tazer I carry around to scare people. I motion for him to sit down next to me at the bar.

    "C - Can I buy you a drink?" He stutters nervously, eyeing my coat pocket.

    "That would be nice," I snicker, laughing inside.

    "... What do you want to know?"

    "Well, you knew him, so had he been acting strangely recently... ?"

    "Yeah. We were really close, actually. Anyways, nothing strange at all. He's always been his loner, quiet self. Nothing new."

    "So... you're saying that he's always been quiet and a loner?"

    "Yeah, no one's more depressing than him. Yet, he always found out ways to support me. He spoiled me like a banana on Sunday."

    "What does that even mean?"

    "I'm not sure myself."

    "What's your relationship with him... ?"

    "... I... don't feel comfortable with explaining that."

    "Why not? This is really important. I need this."

    "I just... don't want him to be disappointed in me for what I've become, despite all his support."

    "What do you mean?" I question.

    "Nothing, never mind." He looks away, as if trying to hold back his tears, "maybe... I'll tell you when I'm ready. I just need a moment, sorry. I really want to find who killed him, but I- I... "

    I comfort him, patting him gently on the... hand... that lies on this cheap ass table. "It's alright, you don't need to tell me. Call or text me whenever." I sneakily (wowza) slide my business card over the table. He hesitates for a moment, then he snatches it up and puts it in his shirt pocket.

        I walk out of the store like a boss, though tripping over some little kid's car toy. Why is there a toy car in a bar?    

    As I walk to my car, I realize I had missed a very important clue from right under my (dong) nose. Drugs... I start going over the suspects in my head. "Milra!" I say out loud, slapping my fist into an open palm. I rush over to my car and quickly drive over.

    When I get to her store, I knock on her door and ring her doorbell repeatedly, waiting.

    From inside the store, I hear her yell, "Calm your tits! I'm coming! God...dammit I miss Harambe."

    The door squeaks open and a hurl of smoke rapidly came out the shop. Milra stands there with her arms crossed, "What?" she squawks, annoyed that I had come to her meme shop so late at night.

    "You sell drugs, right?"

    "Why?" She says, her curiosity peaked, "You lookin' for some?"

    "N - No, I never will be interested. I'm an investigaytor, after all, not a druggie. There was a person who bought drugs right before Devan's death, correct? Who was it?" I say, leaning over her glass desk, trying to act superior.

    "That's classified, dude. I can't just give away who bought my drugs. You're an investigaytor, remember? It would seriously disturb my rep if it got around I was telling the officers about my buyers."

    "This is seriously important. You knew Devan, right? Isn't he important to you in any way? I thought he was like a brother to you? Please. I need this."

    "... Why is it so important to you?"

"According to the autopsy report I got yesterday, he had drugs injected into his bloodstream. Something happened. You're the only person I know that would sell drugs. There's no other drug dealer in town."

"So what? This'll ruin my shop. If word got out - "

"69 bucks."

"Deal. It was Ms. Sy, our local cockie maker."

"W-What the hecky, man? Are you for reals?"

"I don't lie dude. Here's the list." She shows me the list, covering all her other buyers' names with Post-Its.

"Thank you so much, I really needed this. Bye!" I rush out of the store. Milra tries to yell out something, but I have to hurry, there is no time to waste. I turn around, reading her lips, saying, "Frick him," or at least something along those lines.

Sudden POV Change; Milra

After I tell him who bought the drugs, he runs out my store, not holding up his end of the deal. "Frick you!" I yell at him, but he doesn't hear me.

~

PinxNote: Haha, lol.