Detective Hollywood Ford in: The Great Seed Heist

One Mordant Mallard

A plume of steam billowed from Hali's coffee mug, momentarily blurring the scene before her - The Roost was in its usual midday frenzy. At the counter, Pip, a blur of feathers and youthful enthusiasm, navigated the breakfast rush with practiced ease. Hali, perched in her usual booth, couldn't help but notice the way Pip's wings moved – efficient, almost graceful. It was a far cry from the clumsy pigeon she'd initially imagined.

Suddenly, the diner's door swung open, shattering the morning symphony. A large mallard, waddling with an air of intoxicated entitlement, lumbered in. His voice, loud and abrasive, sliced through the chatter like a dull knife. The mallard demanded his usual "caviar omelet," a dish that never graced Gustav's menu and never would.

Gustav, a man of routine and culinary integrity, bristled. His normally fiery amber eyes narrowed under his toque blanche. Hali braced herself for the familiar volcanic eruption – Gustav's legendary temper simmering just beneath the surface.

But before Gustav could unleash his verbal tirade, the unexpected happened. It was Pip. The young pigeon, usually so quiet and reserved, puffed out his chest, a tiny feathered David facing a Goliath of a duck. With a surprising burst of courage, Pippin grabbed the gleaming ice water pitcher. Time seemed to slow down as he launched himself into a graceful arc, the water a shimmering weapon.

A perfectly aimed jet soaked the Mallard from bill to crest. The duck's bluster evaporated, replaced by a comical sputtering. Silence descended on the Roost, broken only by the dripping mallard and Pippin's ragged breaths.

Then, a ripple of laughter started. A chuckle here, a guffaw there, until the entire diner erupted in applause. Gustav, a rare smile flickering across his gruff face, addressed the dripping duck. "No caviar omelets here," he declared, his voice firm but tinged with a grudging respect. "And frankly, sir, you're far too... indisposed... to be served anything at all. Banned, one year. NO SEEDS FOR YOU."

The Mallard, feathers ruffled and dignity thoroughly drowned, sputtered some threats before waddling out, leaving a trail of damp footprints and a newfound respect for the little pigeon with the icy aim.

As the applause subsided, Hali couldn't help but be impressed. Pippin, the pigeon she'd dismissed as a street urchin, had displayed courage and quick thinking that surprised them all. This wasn't just about the water – it was a silent defiance against prejudice, a small act of heroism in a world that often overlooked pigeons.

Hali met Pippin's gaze for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something new passing between them – a grudging respect, perhaps, or the seeds of a burgeoning partnership. Maybe, just maybe, this unlikely pair, a gruff detective duck and a courageous pigeon, could crack this case together. But first, Hali needed coffee. Strong coffee.

"Another refill, Pip?" she rasped, her voice gruff but sincere. Pippin, a newfound confidence in his step, nodded with a grin. As he scurried away to fetch the coffee, Hali couldn't help but smirk to himself. This case was about to get a lot more interesting. After all, who knew a pigeon could be such a valuable asset? Unless, of course, they showed up late.

The busy machinations of Gustav's restaurant began anew.

—----------------

Hali was in rare form the next morning. Her normal order was late, the coffee seemed weaker than usual, and she just couldn't put two threads together...

Her sharp critique felt like a thousand pecks to Pippin's already bruised confidence. He was just about to snap back with a retort that would surely shatter any chance of earning her respect when a memory surfaced from earlier in the week.

"Wait," Pippin blurted, interrupting Hali's tirade. "There's something I need to tell you.

Hali's focus shifted instantly. Her sharp eyes, usually focused on seed imperfections, met Pippin's. "Caviar Omelette?" She leaned in, a newfound intensity in her voice.

"Yeah," Pip continued, heart pounding. "Well, I couldn't help but overhear a bit of their conversation. They mentioned a name... Clarence Mallardy?"

A heavy silence descended upon the shop. The usual bustle of the city seemed muted. Hali's expression remained stoic at first, but Pippin saw a flicker of something in her eyes - recognition, perhaps even a touch of fear.

"Clarence..." Hali finally muttered, her voice barely a whisper. "That changes everything, doesn't it?" Her gaze hardened, but it wasn't directed at Pippin. It held a new purpose, a steely determination.

"Tell me exactly what you heard," Hali demanded, her usual gruffness returning, but laced with something more. Anxiety? Urgency?

Pippin recounted the conversation he'd overheard, piecing together the fragments of memory. The mallard had mentioned a "big score" and a "pigeon connection" that was supposed to "bring the whole shebang down."

Hali listened intently, her brow furrowed in thought. When Pippin finished, the silence stretched even longer.

"Ducks and pigeons working together?" Hali finally scoffed, but the doubt in her voice betrayed her words. "Sounds like a recipe for disaster, even for them."

She straightened up, the piece of straw in her mouth bristling. "But that changes the game entirely, Pip. It's not just a missing duck anymore. This could be something much bigger." She met his eyes, and for the first time, Pippin saw a flicker of something akin to respect. "Looks like we have a real investigation on our hands now, wouldn't you say?"