Mister the Suspicioid
The Storm Anyu
Age: 8 years, 2 weeks
Born: October 8th, 2011
Adopted: 2 years, 9 months, 4 weeks ago
Adopted: December 25th, 2016
- Level: 40
- Strength: 101
- Defense: 100
- Speed: 105
- Health: 100
- HP: 100/100
- Intelligence: 71
- Books Read: 71
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
“Where are we going now?” asked Cosette, confused.
“Back into Carole’s, Cosette, weren’t you listening?” Tramp snapped. Luckily, they hadn't made it far from the bakery.
Cosette paused, shook her head, but continued to hurry after him.
Tramp shoved his way into the bakery, past the counter and into the back room. “Carole!” He shouted, “get out here now!”
The ontra popped out of one of the rooms, bottle in hand, looking flustered.
“This is a disaster, Tramp. One bootleg dream is bad enough, but all of them... I don’t know what to do,” she said hopelessly. “I might have to go to the council, but it will ruin me.”
“I know,” he replied. “Where’s Lidia?”
“She left, the poor girl was so flustered, I thought she needed to go home and have a stiff drink-”
“No!” He shouted, making the ontra and archan jump. “It’s been her all along, Carole, she was working with Lou. We need to find her.”
“That’s not possible,” replied Carole. “She’s the sweetest girl, and so loyal, she would never-”
“She did,” he said abruptly. “Where does she live?”
Carole narrowed her eyes at him. She said nothing, but she dropped the bottles and made her way to the front of the shop and out the door. Locking it behind them, she began to head down the street. Tramp and Cosette followed.
They didn’t walk too far, the apartment building was only a few blocks from the bakery. Carole pulled out a key and let herself in. “Lidia gave this to me just in case,” she commented. “Real criminal mastermind that she is.”
Tramp rolled his eyes, and Carole shrugged and made her way up the stairs. They stopped after a few flights, and came to a door. She looked at him once more, and then went to unlock it.
The three entered, and all they could hear was sobbing. Tramp followed the sound, eventually entering the bedroom. The kora was sprawled out across the bed, crying hysterically.
Carole rushed to her side, and put her arm around Lidia to comfort her. She glared at Tramp once again.
“Lidia,” Tramp said, “I need you to tell me what happened.”
Lidia hiccuped, and looked nervously around. “What happened? I told you everything, sir. I swear it.”
“You lied, Lidia,” he replied. “There’s no point in keeping up the charade.”
“You loved Lou. He didn’t love you, but you thought you could make him. You thought he would leave his wife for you, if only he noticed you. So you helped him. He had a habit, and he ran out of money. You didn’t want to let him go to the bootleg dens, but you didn’t have the money to pay to help him. So you, or he, I’m not sure, went to the Zone mafia.”
“You knew Carole always brought in high quality Dreammaker dreams, she was proud of her business. So all you had to do was to go purchase some bootlegs, then sell the high quality stuff to the mafia and give the cheaper stuff to your clients. Carole would never know, they were good dupes and she trusted her attendants.”
“But his habit got worse. Three days wait for his appointments wasn’t enough. He needed some dreams to go. So you gave them to him. But you must have done something to them, what, added your own little touch to the dreams? Maybe added a little of yourself to them, so he would dream about you?”
He stopped, and looked at the kora. She looked miserable, but defiant. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said cooly. “I wouldn’t possibly be involved with that. You have no proof.”
“But I think I will in a second,” replied Tramp. He ducked down and took a quick look under the bed. He was right. There was a stash of dream bottles under there. “You probably should have thought of a better hiding place,” he commented.
“Here’s the thing, though, dollface. You aren’t supposed to mess with Dreammaker dreams. But you did, you couldn’t resist. But in doing that, you killed him. Dreammaker dreams are too specific, too potent for adjustment. Not even a junkie can handle that. And definitely not so close to coming down from a high. You thought a junky would listen to you and wait a day for his next fix?”
The kora slumped. “What do I do?” She whispered. “It was an accident, I didn’t mean to, I loved him... if only he’d gotten away from his useless wife, I could have saved him...”
“Cosette, go call the police please.” Tramp said to the shocked archan. “Tell them we’ve got a murderer on our hands they need to come and get.”
Tramp returned to his office hours later, pockets clinking from the ample payment Cosette had provided. He’d had to report to the cops, but now, now he could kick back and relax. He locked the door, put his feet up and sighed.
The phone rang.
He ignored it. It could wait for a day or two.
Other Monster stories: Sweetpea, Vivika, Ponder, Maynard, Sabine
Survivors Handgun with Holster
Police Shoulder Holster
Flashback Wild One Cigarette
Survivors Last Cigar
Hustler Money Clip
Box of Love Letters
Torn Out Lined Paper
Art Student Chewed-Up Pencil
Special Order Coffee
White Fast Food Wrapper
Smushed Paper Coffee Cup
Box of Mixed Doughnuts
Shot of Whiskey