7. Peaches

On his way to the sleazy part of town, Frank remembered the taste of peaches. Peaches were fresh and vitalizing, a soft and oh so welcome boost of energy and life at any time of the day. Seeing this poor man slain in murderous rage at the boathouse had drained him, left him limp and lifeless. Going to smack some thug around would without a doubt be both informative and revitalizing.

The sight of Squeaky's run-down, crappy apartment complex disgusted Frank every time he climbed its sticky stairs and made his way through its stinky corridors. Fair enough. That only enhanced his relish in kicking in the little rat's door. "I hope you're home, Squeaky", Frank shouted in a dark voice as he stampeded into the dwelling. Not only was Squeaky home: the little slob was still in bed. He let out a girlish scream when the front door flew open, and another, even higher-pitched one - which Frank had at first deemed impossible - when he saw who had come to visit. With a trembling voice, Squeaky uttered a half-arsed, fake joyful laugh.

"H... hey Frank! Gogogogogosh I haven't seen you in a wh... wile", he stammered, sweat on his forehead, propping himself up against the ugly, stained back wall of his smoke-reeking bedroom.
"How have you been?", Frank asked. "Looking peachy." Mmmmmm, peaches. "Still on the wrong side of the law, huh?"

"But Frank, you know that..."

"Well, I don't care actually... as long as you're on the right side of my fist", Frank went on calmly. He grabbed Squeaky's pajama - or rather, what Squeaky would have called his "pajama" - and pulled the little rascal up to his eye level. "I'll need some information, lad."

"But I ain't no know nuthin believe me!", the little slime ball shrieked.
Frank sighed.
It was always the same routine. You ask nicely: they lie. A punch in the stomach: the little worms try to wriggle their way out of the noose with petty excuses. Shoot a random household item: they waver. Threaten to shoot a few body parts off: they talk. Frank was tired of going through it again and again, but if he had to, he had to.

As always, it worked. Squeaky chirped like an adorable little sparrow. Apparently, that filthy fortune cookie miscreant was lodging in Park View Hotel under the assumed name Louis Armstrong. Frank found it preposterously shallow to use the name of a 20th century musician as a cover, and he gawped at the stupidity of all those cultureless philistines that didn't get suspicious at hearing the pseudonym.

Off he went.

6. The Plot Thickens

"Chinese food?", Richman retorted.
"Hey, don't worry lady", Rupert explained. "We know exactly what we're doing. We've dealt with that sick feculent reprobate nefarious instane stinky-ass damn son-of-a-bitch degenrate clod of disgusting green sloth mucus before." To make his point unmistakably clear, he snorted a raunchy snort and coughed his dirtiest cough. "You see, the last time we dealt with that corrupted filthy foul moronic games-playing persnickety fortune cookie jerkoff prick bastard from Hell, he just barely slipped his slimy buttocks through our fingers."

"You don't have to use that kind of language", Richman said, appalled. "Oh, that's all right", Rupert answered. "I don't mind."
And neither did Frank. As a matter of fact, he greatly appreciated Rupert making an utter arse of himself in front of that sexy lady: anything that would make him, Frank, look better. "You know what, Rupert? Why don't you go figure out which restaurants the first part of this message could point to?"
And so Rupert turned his attention to the killer's note.

"What my maladroit affiliate is trying to explain, Miss Richman, is that this particular culprit, the Fortune Cookie Killer, has a signature method of playing Cat and Mouse with his persecutors... or shall I say Chinese Guy and Peking Duck, heh heh heh." Since no roaring laughter arose, Frank went right on explaining. "He must have known you would call us, because this time around, he didn't leave any instructions. So here's the deal: this note here will contain hints to Chinese restaurants all over Nova Pera and the surroundings, and if we find the right restaurant, there will be a fortune cookie hidden somewhere inside it, dyed blood red, that contains a message about where to go next. In the meantime, we have to expect the culprit to strike again. He has a pattern to whom he kills, yet we haven't been able to figure out how he picks his victims. There might be a connection to how he expected your poor victim here last night."

Rupert didn't even need five minutes to find the restaurant they were looking for. "It's called 'Dawn', and it's on 4136 Despereaux Street. Fire up the engine, mate. Who's going with the police clowns?"

"You are, Rupert. Tag along with the force and get that damn devilish cookie, and get it good. I'll pay a nice visit to our little informant Squeaky and kick some info out of him." No need for hot policewomen when there were thugs to kick. "I'll catch up with you in no time."

"All right!", Rupert answered, and they knocked their fists together.
"Knuck it!"

5. Death Wish

"By Golly..." said Rupert, as he read the note handed by Frank. His collegue threw in confused eyes, eager to know what sick poetry the killer had left the night of his blood party.

"What is it?"

"German... I can't read it."

Frank sighed. "You've got to be kidding..."

"As a matter of fact I am" replied Rupert with a smile. In the following seconds, he had a whack behind the head, and a good reason to get serious. This was serious after all.

"Relax... Here we go:"

Yesterday is gone,

Over the stars,

Unimportant night.

Less' the blood pay,

Out you shall be,

Vulcan death,

Ever cold.

Cry away,

Hope no pain,

Inside you suffer,

No gain,

Ever so dead,

So forgotten,

Ever so gone.

Fill the box,

Outmatch game,

Order around,

Die tonight.

Rupert took a pause after reading, still uncertain of what he had in his hands.

"Oh crap."

Frank reacted. "You're right. This makes absolutely no sense."

"No. 'Oh crap' as in 'It does'."

"What?"

Rupert showed the paper, and pointed out each line's first letter to Frank.

YOU LOVE CHINESE FOOD

"Oh, bite me!"

"What did I say?" said Rupert, triumphant.

Both of them knew they were once again dealing with the Fortune Cookie Killer.

"Who's up for Chinese tonight?"

4. Crime Scene

A beautiful young policewoman opened the door. She smiled when she saw Frank and Rupert. "You must be the blokes from 'Lucidity Investigations'." Frank smiled back, but at the same time, he was annoyed to see, from the corner of his eyes, his indecent partner fiddling around in his cigar box once again for one of those disgraceful smoking sticks.

"Mister Clearwater, I presume", the policewoman went on. "My name is Sandy Richman." As she led them into the house's living room, she observed: "I really like your style, Mister Clearwater - the hat and coat. You know what's missing to perfect your outfit?"
"No, what is it?"
"A cigar!", she said and smiled. God damn it. "Gimme that", Frank said harshly and grabbed a cigar from Rupert's box.

The poor victim was lying in the middle of the main room, where on regular days all kinds of people would bustle about, checking out brochures and buying boating tickets. Miss Richman explained that the deceased David Clarendon was found murdered by his wife - who was now sitting behind the counter, her head in her hands - early in the morning when she came down to open the premises. "What was he doing downstairs?", the woman sobbed when Richman explained that part. "What... was he doing downstairs in the middle of the night?"

"To top it off, the killer must have expected him here", Richman continued. "Next to the body we found this note, presumably written by the killer. What do you make of this?"

Frank took a quick look at the piece of paper, and his eyes widened. "Rupert. Take a look at this."

3. The Assignment

"It's a straightforward task", said Frank as they sped along the streets of Nova Pera. "Take us to South City Rowing Club. The woman that called - her name is Janet Clarendon. Her husband has been killed. She is in shambles. She is at the crime scene, the police are already there. They asked her to bring us in."

Aaaah. Another police request. Rupert loved those... The kinds of cases that exceeded police routine. It was a sign of exceptional times when lawful forces were calling in private dicks to do the shady, filthy chores. This was likely to turn out exciting and unpredictable.

"Always glad to help out", Frank said, and the two began to snicker.

2. Wild Mustang

Rupert grabbed a cigar and jumped out of the window. It was cool, they were on the main floor. Frank caught up to him in a minute, taking the front door of their office. "Couldn't you just take the door like all socially acceptable people?" he asked. Rupert gave a frown, stared at his partner for a second, and ignored the comment, grabbing his keys. As they went around the corner to the parking lot, Frank once again asked: "And what's with the cigar? I never knew you smoked." As he got to the driver's door of a black mustang 2030 - the finest in the region - Rupert stopped and turned around, lifting his shoulders in confusion. Frank knew. "You need to throw these away Rupe, they are absolutely not stylish. They went out of style when your grandmother was born." To which Rupert simply replied: "Just take your goddamn seat."

They both got in the car. As soon as Frank was sitting in the passenger's seat, Rupert threw a magazine to his face. On the front page, a young sexy lady was shown with a cigar in her mouth. Frank grabbed it out of confusion, and sighed at the sight. Rupert looked at him with a told you so look, and as quick as thunder, Frank pulled the cigar out of his mouth, throwing it outside. "HEY! That's like, super expensive! You can't just throw it away!"

Frank gave no answer and just stared.

After a long pause, Rupert mumbled a fine and gave the pedal a kick.

And like a bullet they were gone, again.

For the most unprofessional adventure of their lives, ever.

1. The Cloak And The Dagger

When the phone rang, Rupert Spring didn't even bother reaching for it. In a matter of seconds, Mister Glorious Private Eye had snatched it up. "Lucidity Investigations, Frank Clearwater speaking." Rupert watched and listened, but as always, his partner's interaction with the unknown caller was cryptic at best. Frank merely reacted to what the person said. Rupert had asked him hundreds of times to buy a projection phone, but noooo. Mid 20th century technology it was. After all, this was about keeping him second in line.

Finally, Frank hung up and reached for his coat and hat.
"Get your gear, Rupe", he said. "We're on a mission."

Dénouement.

...or: unravelling arborescent narrative threads detrimentally interconnected in impervious gallimaufry.

This project is not dead! It's only closed until further notice.

The reason is that the first improvised novel we've been working on has gone overboard with complexity to the point where it confuses the crap out of everybody who tries to read it. It featured four interwoven storylines that we tried to integrate into one overarching plot. Along the way, each of us was coming up with a plethora of ideas, new characters, twists and turns, and we had to construct increasingly elaborate explanations to fit them into the larger context of the plot. Add to this that it was skipping back and forth between the four storylines, and you'll see that losing track was ineluctable. If that was true for the writers, it was sure to alienate any reader.

Feeling that this has become not a story about four characters, but four stories about one character each, we are revamping this project. In the not too distant future, one new story (at a time) will unfold in these hallowed halls of Doomsmile. It shall be straightforward, dark, funny (most probably in a sick way) and exciting. So here it is...

ANNOUNCEMENT 1: Doomsmile will be back with a new storyline.

What we have written so far, however, will certainly not disappear in our trashcans. There are spin-offs in the making, each of which will focus on one character. These "Chronicles" will feature the storylines from the old Doomsmile story, plus new adventures. Links will be added to this site as soon as spin-offs go online.

ANNOUNCEMENT 2: each character will have their own "Chronicles" spin-off.

Click here to see the first edition of Doomsmile (PDF):
It's Doom! Smile! - The First Story.