The Let's Play Archive

Hopkins FBI

by davidspackage

Part 4: Episode 4












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quote:





A CASE OF MURDER
a Hank Headbutt mystery
by J. Hopkins


It was a cold night. A hard night. Hank Headbutt, Crime City's number one private detective, was sitting at the bar. He looked at the pack of cigarettes in front of him, and sighed. He'd quit smoking -- but the smoking hadn't quit him. Sighing again, he lit one up and called for the bartender.
"Give me a drink." he croaked. "And make sure there's lots of alcohol in it."
The bartender nodded silently. He knew Hank liked lots of alcohol in his drink.
Hank surveyed the other barflies, always on the lookout for bad news. They were mostly fat, stinky old men who looked drunk and sad and fat. None of these fat old men looked capable of committing a crime… but Hank knew from experience that appearances can be deceiving (because he was a detective).
His drink was served. Hank looked at it with distaste. He'd had enough of the drink - but the drink hadn't had enough of him. He swallowed it in one big gulp and grimaced. He could taste it had lots of alcohol.
Life had been unfair to Hank. He was drinking up his last cents here, the rent was due, and he hadn't had a case in weeks. Absently, he wondered if his arch-nemesis Doctor Tetanus might be up to some crimes tonight.
His thoughts were disturbed by a hand softly patting his shoulder. Hank turned around on his barstool and saw a beautiful woman standing before him. There were tears in her eyes, and she was obviously a rich woman who normally never came in these kinds of digs. She had a dynamite body, and legs that went all the way up to her chin, which was an unfortunate physical deformity that made her look like an egg balanced precariously on a pair of pencils.
"What do you want?" Hank grumbled, feeling ill-tempered.
"Mr. Headbutt?" the woman asked. "My name is Catherine Dollarbourne -- I require your help."
"I think you're barking up the wrong tree, Kitty-cat." Hank replied, turning back to his drink. "When a dame as classy as you has a problem, she calls the cops. Fuzz."
"I've already been to the police!" Catherine said, now almost crying. "They couldn't crack the case. Mr. Headbutt, please… my husband has been murdered. You're my last hope."
Hank considered the request for a moment. Then, without looking around, he barked:
"Details on the case. Give them. Quick," and finished barking.
"My husband was shot," Catherine stammered nervously, "The police suspect with a gun. It happened in the evening, when I was away to visit my mother. He was killed in the living room. The killer was probably with him at the time."
"I've heard enough." said Hank, and he spun around on his stool again. "This case is mine."
"Oh thank you!" Catherine exclaimed, and threw herself into his arms, which was rather unfortunate as Hank had been developing a considerable erection over the course of her tale. Murder always had that effect on him. It was kind of gross.
They broke their embrace embarrassedly, though as she drew back, there was something lustful in Catherine's gaze. Hank knew the way women felt about him, and it mattered little.
They went outside the bar and called a cab. As they entered the cab, it occurred to Hank that he had a case. A case of murder.

To be continued