Terminus Part I: The Journey There (Draft)

Chapter 10: Deductive Unreasoning

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!"