Plans for Tomorrow
To any and all law enforcement officials. The following is not a confession and cannot be used as such in a court of law. I must insist that you desist reading at this point.
I’m going to kill him.
Supposedly he gets killed all the time and ‘gets better’ but I have no evidence of this. Just to be sure though I am going to kill him extra hard, in the face.
As usual I started work by unlocking the door at nine, we never have any clients but it’s a matter of principle. An hour later Salmmy staggered out of his office.
“What time is it?”
“What day is it?”
“Why isn’t there coffee, don’t we open at nine?”
I was going to throw something at him but the phone rang. I hate that thing.
I can’t talk so basically I just listen to someone become increasingly desperate for a response until they hang up, then I tell Salmmy who I think it probably was, it’s not a good system.
This time it was Franklin on the phone, he knows the routine so he just waited quietly while I buzzed his name into the intercom.
..-. .-. .- -. -.- .-.. .. -.
I transferred Franklin and headed over to make coffee. We have an absolutely absurd and wildly impractical bezzera that Salmmy refuses to learn how to use. Since he drinks his bodyweight in coffee every day I make a LOT of coffee and have grown to hate it fiercely.
I hate it because that giant gold tube is almost as tall as I am and sits on a really low table so all the cups and stuff I need is just out of reach. That and the fact that I’m not a damn waitress. I didn’t go to university for this! I studied archeology. I studied art history. Now that I see that in writing I realize I am sort of lucky to have a job at all.
I blew a bunch of steam on the handle of the cup after putting it on the tray to make sure it was really really hot and headed into his office. The window on his office door is frosted so I couldn’t actually see Salmmy coming until the door flew open and threw the tray and coffee all over me.
“No time for coffee Moll, we have to go to the morgue.”
That’s another thing, he refuses to say my name. It’s MOLLY you jackass.
‘Why?’ I sign.
“I swear this time there is actually a dead body.” He assures me.
‘So what! You just want to waste a day hanging out with your weird friend Mike, why should I come?’
“This one was murdered.”
‘Fine, let me go change.’
“No time, you look fine.”
‘I’m dripping coffee!’
“Good point, here take my jacket so you don’t get any on the seats.” He threw his coat at me and bounded off down the stairs. It’s kind of odd but I have noticed recently that he moves differently when there are other people around. It’s like a kind of forced nonchalance. When it’s just us he makes no effort to hide the fact that he is an idiot kid posing as an adult.
Not wanting to walk down six flights of stairs I walked up the wall to my apartment and changed while I waited for the elevator. A few minutes later I got to the basement to find Salmmy sitting in the car revving the engine.
The first few times I saw him do this I thought he was being impatient, that was until I opened the car door before he saw me and heard him making car noises as he cranked the wheel around. Now I realize he is just… lets go with eccentric.
As soon as I sat down, before I had a chance to even close the door, he roared off into the street. It’s a great car I have to admit. He stole it from this weasel about a year ago when he somehow, and I am quoting here, killed his old car with a bookshelf. I have no idea what that means but trust me when I tell you that getting him to explain something is almost never worth the effort.
We pulled to a stop in front of a fairly disreputable looking ice cream parlour. I didn’t think there WERE disreputable ice cream parlours until I saw this place. The metal shutters were locked closed with several different rust covered locks, the shutters themselves were covered in graffiti, and the most disturbing sign was actually the sign that claimed they sold “Ice cream.” Those quotes made me fairly nervous.
‘I don’t want ice cream, I thought we had to go to the morgue.’
“We do, but I need to see someone first and it will look pretty suspicious if I don’t get ice cream. So what flavour?”
‘Strawberry I guess.’
The fact that this was easily the sketchiest possible place to get ice cream didn’t seem to bother him, neither did the complete absence of other customers. Which of course rendered his argument about looking suspicious completely pointless but he had already left before I had a chance to point it out. A few minutes later he saunters out of the door carrying two cones of chocolate ice cream.
‘Pretty sure I said strawberry.’
“You did, and it was a great guess, but it turns out you were wrong.” Then he hands me a cone. Since I use my hands for talking and there is nowhere to set the damn thing there is nothing I can say.
Almost instantly he inhaled his entire cone and spent the next two minutes pounding his fist on the dash and shouting every piece of profanity he has ever encountered. Finally when the ice cream headache passed he started driving to what I assumed would be the morgue. I was wrong. Somehow he managed he accelerate every time I tried to take a bite of ice cream so I ended up with frozen chocolate impacted into my snout.
When we stopped he looked over and laughed as though it wasn’t completely his fault and then hopped out of the car. I was in no hurry to catch up so I took a moment to clear my nostrils and fix my face. When I did step out of the car I realized we were not actually at the morgue. We were at an optometrist’s office for some reason.
Neither of us wears glasses so I assumed he was asking about the case. Just as I was about to go in and see what was taking him so long he bounded out of the door and started whining about delays and how I should have been waiting in the car. I thought about shooting him right there in the parking lot but he was already in the car being impatient.
Finally, mercifully we got to the morgue. He stopped the car and actually waited for me, which made me suspicious.
Molly tends to get a little caught up in typing and will write down anything she hears. It’s weird and makes this next bit a little confusing.
“NOOO!!! You’ll ruin it, Tim make her stop, she’ll ruin it.” Salmmy whined upwards.
“Ruin what, Molly what are you doing?” Tim replied from the couch where he couldn’t possibly see my hands.
“She’s telling them the morgue thing!”
“Ok, so what’s the problem?”
“You’ve listened to her stories, they’re terrible.”
“I think you got to say enough in the book.”
“Tell her to make coffee and I’ll finish it.”
“You can’t type though, you mean you’ll keep complaining until I finish it don’t you.”
Salmmy began poking Molly in the shoulder with the tip of his tail.
“Same thing, hey you, make coffee.”
Molly stormed off snoofily.
“Hey I think she got ahead of herself, she wrote that she stormed off… and the stuff I’m saying right now… I’m scared.
As somewhat explained in the above bit of strangeness I will be finishing the story due to Salmmy being a whiny jerk.
Salmmy held the door for her as she went in, she eyed him suspiciously the entire time. The bodies are kept three stories down in a refrigerated room that seemed to lack vents. The smell was in a word unpleasant.
“Hey Mike.” Salmmy chirped happily, he was always slightly too enthusiastic about this part of the job.
“What?” The shabby mouse, known to his friends as Mike despite the nametag that read Charles, seemed to have been sleeping.
“We’re here for the body.”
“That gang thing?”
This didn’t seem right to Molly, she couldn’t say exactly why but this had all the hallmarks of one of Salmmy’s ridiculously complicated lies that seemed funny only to him.
“Yes, also shut up.”
“Uhuh…” Mike opened the drawer and slid out the exceptionally flat body of a guinea pig.
“So Moll, what do you see?”
She absolutely hated this game, it was just an excuse for Salmmy to gloat over some trivial detail she had overlooked.
‘It’s Molly.’ She signed before looking closely at the body.
‘Well, two sets of tire tracks, not the front and back tires though.’
Molly looked at Salmmy waiting for a response. He just nodded back towards the body.
‘The tracks are from the same car though, whoever drove over him circled around to hit him again?’
When she looked up she saw that Salmmy had produced from somewhere a set of dark sunglasses that he proceeded to take off dramatically as he spoke.
“So you might say he was, re-tired.” His smile was short lived when no one made any indication that they had found this funny. Molly threw his coat off her shoulders and hurled it at him before storming off.
“C’mon, that was funny.” Salmmy pleaded with Mike. “I’ve been holding onto that since Franklin told me about this guy this morning.”
“Aren’t you worried she’ll leave without you?”
Salmmy reached into his coat pocket intent on smugly displaying the car keys. His pocket though, turned out to be empty.
He reached the parking lot just in time to see his car, and his secretary, roaring off into the street.
Plan 23 Sierra.
Something absurd followed by why do we even have drills if you’re not gonna pay attention.