Terminus (Draft Version)

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic

James begins his investigation of the motorcycle murder. The gangs attempt to process recent events. May contain violence and coarse language (low).

Chapter 10 (v.1) - Deductive Unreasoning

Submitted: January 13, 2018

Reads: 116

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Submitted: January 13, 2018



Barracuda had just been filled in by Disco of the days’ events, and seemed fairly reserved. “What a shocking turn of events,” he said. “Let’s hope that Hedges and Jeof keep their cool.”

“I highly doubt that will happen. Oh, explosive personalities,” said Disco.

“Even if I’ve missed such a travesty, I feel as though my trip today was worth it. We should celebrate. Put on a show, my good friend.” He paused. “But don’t start a fire.”

“I don’t understand, sir, how can you have a fire-breathing show without the fire?”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, don’t burn down the building regardless of the fire in your show.”

“Ah, I think I understand. Don’t worry, sir, my fires will be on their best behaviour!”

Later in the evening, at the bar where the Motorcycle Gang hung out, Alfred Hedges was talking to some of his most revered men about how they should, and if they should, attempt to retrieve their motorcycle from the crime scene.

“It’s the tool of the murder. That makes it evidence. Attempting to retrieve it from the scene could be seen as an admission of guilt. It is also very likely that the incident caused a great deal of damage to the motorcycle, and it may be stained with blood. It might cost us a great deal to refurbish it, and even then, it will never be the same,” argued the gang’s legal advisor and lawyer, Hardy “Spends” Spencer.

“You make a very good case, Spends. But, and I ask you this, when have we ever compromised on the importance of our motorcycles? We have never once allowed someone to take off with one of them,” replied Hedges.

“And that is where the issue lies. Someone did. And so taking it back may implicate you in the committing of the crime.”

“And so what do you suggest? Letting one of our motorcycles be confiscated by authorities?”

“If they do confiscate it, which they will, then I assure you, taking it from their hands will be a whole lot easier and far less incriminating.”

The next day, Persimmon awoke and headed to work, only to find that the place was closed. The owner was outside, looking at the ground and cursing angrily.

“What happened here?” asked Persimmon.

“A freaking murder happened here, you–” began this man. “Oh, hello Persimmon. You know, I’m just glad you weren’t caught up in all this. It’s so tragic.”

“A murder? Who died?”

“Two customers, and…” He paused and started to weep. “I can’t bring myself to say it in front of you. I know you two have been friends for so long, so I just can’t…”

Unable to finish his sentence, he turned away and tried to collect himself. Persimmon had heard what his boss had said, and it was enough to reach the conclusion that Charleston had died. He asked if that was the case, and his boss nodded lamely. His head sunk and he was at a loss for words.

Two policemen came up to the owner to ask him some questions, while Persimmon headed back home, feeling the pain of losing a friend.

“Hello there, my name is Officer Cerulean, are you the owner of this establishment?” asked one officer.

“Yes. My name is Mortimer Delaware, though everyone calls me Mortadella,” he replied.

“Like the sausage?” asked the other officer.

“That is Officer Crimson, don’t mind him, he watches way too much TV.”

“The hell I do! You’re the one who refuses to admit how much of a ‘Good Cop’ you are!”

“We’ll discuss this matter later, Jerald.”

“Oh, how much later, Gerard?”

“Can you at least try to be professional, for once?”

“Er, whatever.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about what happened here?” Cerulean asked Mortadella.

It was fairly apparent that Mortadella knew very little about what had happened, apart from the fact that something had. With this knowledge in mind, the two officers thanked him for his time and went about their investigation. In the mean time, Mortadella headed off to a place he was told to go if ever anything amiss should happen. What the hell, Salvador? he thought to himself as he made his way over there.

Earlier that morning, James had awoken to see that Milangelo and Crock were watching television. The local news reported that the attack on Meals Eternal was now being investigated. James thought to himself, What does this mean for me? I want to investigate, but this isn’t for me to interfere with…

“Oh, good morning captain,” said Crock. “I know what you’re thinking– you want to go to the crime scene and offer to help with the investigation.”

“It’s a risky move, but you’re the captain, so it’s your call,” added Milangelo.

These words reassured James somewhat, and so he thanked his crewmates and decided that he would go to Meals Eternal and offer assistance on the case.

Aboard the ship, Cameron awoke in one of the men’s showers and thought, How did I get here? He thought he would have to ask Patricia and Karnilla about it, to see if they knew anything.

“You mean you don’t remember?” asked Patricia.

“Well, I can tell you what happened,” said Karnilla. She then retold last night’s events… they were playing card games until Patricia decided to throw drinks into the mix. When they were all drunk, they told Cameron to go take a shower and then when they did, he never came back. They went to bed and forgot about it, they also assume he fell asleep in the shower.

“Sounds about right. I should probably stop before I stumble off the ship or something. If you need me, I’ll be sleeping in my room,” said Cameron.

Cameron stumbled his way to his bedroom, thinking about the things that had happened on the first day. He was kidnapped. He ran into a gang of motorcycle enthusiasts. Both times he discovered new abilities within himself. He thought about what that would mean. What should I do? I don’t know whether or not my friends have anything to deal with right now. All I really know is that I have to sleep off this headache.

At a park located near the museum, James, Milangelo, and Crock had stopped by for a bit to get something to eat. There were a few vendors set up here and there, eagerly selling food without much else to worry about. James was sitting on the park bench, wondering whether or not he should investigate the murder at Meals Eternal. He knew he wanted to, but he was unsure if it would be ethical of him to interfere with the processes of the local authorities.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by an oddly-dressed person standing in front of him. “Um, hello? Excuse me?” said this person.

James looked up, to see this person betraying a confused expression on their face. “What is it?” he asked.

“Are you the detective who came in and poked around Meals Eternal yesterday?” he asked.

It was at this moment, James recognised the man as the chef who had been passed out on the floor from shock. “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if you could solve the case… or at least, look into all possible explanations. The police around these parts tend to be very… sloppy. But don’t tell them I said that.”

“You think the police won’t be able to do their job thoroughly.”

“I don’t think it’s because they’re incapable… it’s because they don’t care. They don’t want to catch the right criminal, they don’t want to eliminate gang violence. I’m not even sure what they want, to be honest.”

“Alright, I think I see how it is. I’ve seen all I need to at the crime scene, though. I think my next move is to follow leads and interview sources. Gather as much contextual information as possible. Let’s start with whatever you can tell me.”

As James began interviewing the chef who had come closest to being a witness to the crime as a living person could get, Mortadella had found himself near an abandoned garage. He looked around, and found a two-way speaker to the side of the garage door. He asked to see Salvador.

“Voice recognition: Mortimer De. Exception: Phrase-code is incorrect. Please try again later,” said a feminine voice.

Mortadella thought to himself, Dammit, Salvador. You go to these lengths to hide yourself away? I am not some common person that you can just throw around like a rag doll. Then he furrowed his brow, and said “The saviours of Kings will take their place, all glory to the Martyrs.” The tone of his voice suggested that he was tired and frustrated by having to say such an empty statement.

“Voice recognition: Mortimer De. Phrase-code accepted.”

The garage door opened to reveal an empty garage with a large hole in the floor, that seemed to lead to a tunnel.

“This is fucking nuts,” said Mortadella.

He made his way through the tunnel until he came to a cave, there, he saw Jeof and several other members of the gang at work and preparing for something.

“Ah, hello there, Mortimer,” said Jeof warmly.

“Don’t ‘hello there’ me, Jeof! You know why I’m here, and you should also know that I expect a full explanation!”

“Very well. Salvador should be arriving shortly. In the mean time, why don’t you come with me to the kitchen and have some tea? You don’t sound like someone with a soothed throat so the tea might help you with that.”

Mortadella reluctantly agreed. After tea, he met with Salvador to discuss the incident at his restaurant.

“Sometimes, you can’t foresee what might happen. This was one of those times, Mortimer,” said Salvador.

“Don’t give me that, you said my restaurant would be forever protected. I named it Meals Eternal in memory of that.”

“You expect the impossible out of a mere man. That being said, I am deeply disturbed by the events that have transpired. Someone wishes to turn me against the Motorcycle Gang.”

“But what are you going to do to help restore my restaurant?”

“Nothing. Fix it yourself, Mortimer. I still haven’t forgotten the man who joined our ranks. He was a lost, ex-military type, and his offering was too good for you to refuse. He tried to turn my grandfather’s organisation into a cult, and you helped him.”

“You have to know, I was indoctrinated. I wasn’t thinking clearly. You can’t keep blaming me just because–”

“You were his right hand man! You helped him foster a culture of fear and insular thinking! I remember that poor boy– Wallace would go so far as to torture his own son for stepping out of line! I can’t imagine ever thinking that being so vile would be okay!” Salvador was red in the face from shouting. He sat back down and asked for a glass of water, which he promptly drank. “Listen well, Mortimer. If you want to redeem yourself, that is fine. But from now on, leave me out of it. Having you here brings back too many bad memories.”

It was with that, Mortadella apologised and left them. Jeof thought to himself that he had never seen Salvador get angry like that before, but he knew that the history of the Martyrs Gang goes way back, and there were many things he would never learn. Salvador collected himself and then headed back to his prison cell, and Jeof stood in the kitchen, cleaning up, when he decided to have a talk with their computer system.

“Booting up: Hello. I am your Artificial Companion, Sunday.”

“I’d like to initiate a conversation.”

“There are many topics of conversation within my databanks.”

“You pick one.”

“Very well, sir. How about, today’s Fish Foresight?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

At the bar frequented by the Motorcycle Gang, Alfred Hedges as his crew had come to an agreement that they would wait until the motorcycle had been confiscated before getting it back. Hedges then dismissed those he was having a meeting with, and asked a man named Mitchell to retrieve the wanted posters from the Rough-House Pirate stack. After being handed the bundle of posters, he looked through them. He looked for any two he did not recognise, as he knew that there were two new bounties among the lot. He soon found the two that he was looking for: Zander and John Dory. The latter stood out to him, though.

“Hey, Davidson!” he called. Once he had Davidson’s presence and attention, he asked, “Who was with you on guard duty?”

“There was just me, Handlebars, and this new guy.”

“And what was the new guy’s name?”

“It was… John… something. I don’t think he gave a surname.”

“And where is he now?”

“He seemed to have gone missing right after…”

He was about to finish his sentence when an apparent member stumbled into the bar, shouting “I was mugged! I think they took a motorcycle!”

James had finished interviewing the chef, and now knew that his next lead was the one chef who had been a close friend to Charleston, a man named Persimmon. Crock recalled an old man who said something about someone who left to become a chef, and asked if he could follow that lead on a hunch. James agreed because even though he found it illogical to chase hunches rather than evidence, he was not Crock, and so there was no way it could be a bad thing for his investigation to have a crewmate follow a loose thread.

Persimmon had been coming to terms with the loss of his friend, and with the fact that he would not be at work today. He thought about everything he had done up until this point. He knew who he was, what he wanted, but he felt a lump in his throat every time he thought about what Charleston wanted.

In the old warehouse that served as the hideout for the Rough-House Pirates, Barracuda was enjoying a show that his friends, mainly Disco, Cavefish, and Guitarfish, were putting on, while checking to see who was on standby. It appeared that only Needlefish and Coelacanth were on stand-by, and obviously not to perform, but to fix any unforeseen problems.

When everything was wrapped up, he complimented Disco on keeping the fires under control, and voiced his relief that there were no broken props or people. He then collected today’s newspaper from Beardfish, who was content to wait until the afternoon to read it, and turned to Today’s Fish Foresight.

12 October: Today’s Fish Foresight

The coal-fish are less abundant than yesterday, and there are multiple rare species of fish being caught. Today is a day of grief, bad news, and aftermath. In this writer’s opinion, it is no surprise considering the awful events of yesterday.

© Copyright 2018 roogymirror. All rights reserved.


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