Literature and Murder

Chapter 2 - Not Your Usual Kind Of "Good Luck"

Monikawa Offices. 11:54 am. Monday 15th, April 1947

 The ceiling fan in the Monikawa Private Investigation offices spun lethargically, the place itself filled with smoke. Not from cigarettes, but because we tried to fry hamburgers in a portable grill and burned them. I laid seductively in the piano Monika, my partner, was using to produce a nostalgic soft jazz melody that made mellow remembrances echo silently in my heart.

Monika: ...cuz we ALL JUST WANNA BE BIG ROCK STARS AND LIVE IN HILLTOP HOUSES DRIVING FIFTEEN CAAAARS!!

 I quickly stood up from the piano and kicked the detective in the stomach, sending her away from the piano and saving my eardrums from death.

Touko: UUUNNNGGGHHH!! You imbecile! I was doing my best to create a Noir mood in this sorry office and you went and ruined it singing Nickelback!

Monika: Wait, that was Nickelback!? I thought it was Marina and the Diamonds!

Touko: Y-you'de be more successful at creating a successful detective-story-based narrative by cleaning cat fur from your suit...

Monika: ...

Touko: Which is a bad thing!

Monika: Look, you can bathe in your atmosphere all you want, but we won't be true hard-boiled detectives until we get more cases, so what's even the point!? Oh, sorry, I forgot you don't bathe, so ignore my analogy.

Touko: Gh-!! T-the only case you've solved so far is the mystery of how low can a detective go in an already pathetic life!

Monika: Oh you did not say that!

 Just as my trusted partner and I were about to brawl, a fight that I would've won given my far superior physical condition and dashing looks, a green-haired wheelchair-bound child entered the office, crying and making a big fuzz.

Monaca: WEEEEEEH!! D-detectives, Monaca needs your help!!

I let go off my partner's lapel and she in turn retracted the fist about to punch my face. After tidying up our clothes, I approached the young girl and crouched to look at her directly.

Touko: Look, little girl, this isn't a lost kid center at a mall. We're not even police. So please, m-make your way out, because the grownups are having a serious conversation here.

Monaca: Huuuh?? A serious conversation? That looked more like a fight to Monaca. Geez, guess that's how grownups solve their problems anyway.

 Apparently scared of my overwhelming superiority and femininity, every tear disappeared from her face, in which I could see a twisted and cynical expression for a brief second before she turned around and slowly started leaving.

Monaca: Meeeh... and here Monaca thought she had found someone who could help her solve her friend's murder. But forget about it, you don't look like you're capable detectives anyway.

Monika: Not capable detectives!? You've got a lot of nerve, punk! Point us to the direction of the body, and you'll see how we solve it lickity-split!

 The kid turned around once again, this time facing us with a bright smile.

Monaca: You two will help Monaca? Yaaaaay!! Monaca's so happy! Your kindness shall not be forgotten!!

Monika: Ha! See, Touko? That's how you talk to a kid. You have to be kind, but imposing.

Touko: I-I wonder what deranged part of your peanut-sized brain farted the thought that calling a wheelchair-bound kid "punk" was kind.