Episode 01x15 - Cockroach Warfare

Icepunk:

I prop my feet up on the desk and tip my stylish fedora back on my head. “Ah,” I say to Malex, who is also wearing stereotypical private detective gear. “This ain’t too bad. We just sit around and look cool. Forties cool, but cool nonetheless.”

“Indeed, my partner in justice,” Malex says. “There is yet one thing we lack.”

“And that would be self-respect?” I ask.

“Not at all!” Malex responds quickly. “We just need some customers before we can earn any money. Of course, earning the money and squeezing it our of their sorry hides are two entirely different matters... The low-life slime...”

A middle-aged, bald customer walks into our joint just as my pal Malex finishes speaking. He looks shady - real shady - like he’s hiding a piece somewhere on his obese person. His bald head looks around the room nervously. “You two the private investigators?”

Malex:

“Indeed we are,” said I. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“I’ve been receiving death threats, see, and-”

Without word or warning, an oversized cockroach swung down from the ceiling and onto the filing cabinets. “Ta-da!” it sang, took an elaborate bow, and promptly crawled out of sight behind said filing cabinets.

“Ah,” said our would-be-client. “Well, they’re only death threats... Nothing paramount...” and with those parting words, turned around and left.

“Well that couldn’t have been much worse,” Icepunk said.

“No, NO!” we heard just beyond our doors, “I’ve got a wife and kids! Well, actually, she wasn’t my wife and I didn’t really feel like supporting the kids, but... NO!” The screams were cut short by a loud bang, which was immediately punctuated by the rhythmic thumping of a body going down the stairs.

“Maybe,” I postulated, “you should avoid making such sweeping statements... You never know when the powers-that-be will decide to prove you wrong.”

Icepunk:

I blink. “Whoa. Wonder who bit it.”

“The dude who just walked out, perhaps?” Malex asks, raising his eyebrow at me.

“No, sounded like a middle-aged bald guy to me,” I reply skeptically.

“Why Holmes,” Malex gasps at my intellect, “how astute of you!”

Whilst I puzzle over the meaning of the sounds we heard, I hear a munching sound. I turn and see a fat cockroach chewing on a lump of soggy drywall. The roach swallows its mouthful and dips the remainder of the chunk in my coffee. Again I hear the munching sound as the creature stares up at me with big brown eyes.

I reach my hand towards it. “Aw! Look at it, Malex! It’s so-”

It bares its fangs and growls menacingly. “What are you lookin’ at, cracker?!”

I whip out my trusty .38 and blow a rather large chunk out of my desk, completely missing the cockroach.

“Shoot it! Hurry! It’s waddling away!” Malex screams.

I fire a few more rounds in the general direction of the retreating vermin. It swears and and says, “You’ll pay for this! We’re not gonna let you have a moment’s peace!” before it squirms into a hole in the wall and disappears.

Malex:

As I assessed the damage from Icepunk’s inaccuracy, I came to the conclusion that there was no way in Hades that we would succeed at business with a troupe of malevolent cockroaches infesting our office.

“Icepunk,” said I, as I crouched over the hole into which the vermin had retreated, “we’re going to need to do something about this.”

“I am,” said he.

“What’s that?” I asked, and immediately dove for cover as a shot rang out.

“Target practicing,” said he.

I recovered, slightly, and looked back at him as he took aim at a hastily-scribbled target on the opposite wall. “I can see that.”

Another shot.

“I dare say. Taking potshots at the wall may not be the smartest thing you’ve ever done... I mean, you never know where that bullet will end up.”

“Uh-huh,” Icepunk responded. “Whatever.”

I sat back in my chair and pondered our situation. We needed an office if we were to continue doing business, and it needed to be fairly cheap.

Another shot.

Unfortunately, this cheap office was infested with cockroaches who had apparently chosen to make our lives miserable by keeping us from doing any business. I sighed and began looking out the window of our office. It was so peaceful. The silhouette of buildings against the setting sun was really quite remarkable. A flock of geese was even flying past. How wonderful.

Another shot.

Several of the geese screamed loudly and plummeted to the earth. I sighed and put my head down on my desk.

Icepunk:

I pull out some crayons and a coloring book of some of my favorite cartoon characters and begin drawing a battle plan. Those cockroaches are going to die, slowly, and possibly painfully.

I show the map to Malex, who nods and looks confused.

“Okay...” he muses after a minute of reflection over my strategy. “If I interpret your plan correctly, we stab the effeminate mouse in the face with an arrow, draw a circle around the stupid duck for witchcraft purposes, and, most ingeniously, capture the talking dog - tying him to a fiery stake and erecting several spitting, dancing stick figures around him.”

Malex looks up at me seriously before continuing, “I must say, I would never have expected work of this caliber from you.”

Malex then screams something about the legitimacy of my conception, pounces on me like a lame donkey, and starts pummeling my beautiful mug with his pudgy fists. I retaliate by using a suicidal head bash, knocking us both out for a bit.

Malex:

After soundly beating Icepunk for his shenanigans, we resumed pondering our difficult situation.

Eventually, we came to the conclusion that nothing short of a well-placed Molotov Cocktail would do the trick.

Icepunk assembled the device quickly and efficiently. Icepunk’s ingenuity when it comes to highly-destructive, vaguely-illegal things never ceases to amaze me.

We prepared ourselves, lit the wick, and jammed it into the wall.

Without warning, hordes of the demonic cockroaches began swarming away from the artificial inferno - and right into our faces. Fortunately we had prepared for just such an occurrence, and began blasting them away with record-breaking efficiency.

The resulting mess was, needless to say, quite nasty. We cleaned it up as best as we could, but the combination of fire and cockroach-gut-removing solvents left a permanent mark. The landlord - quite incensed when he discovered the problem - kicked us out and demanded compensation for the damages.

It was a dark day for “Good Guys For Hire”, and we were sad. We were not, however, going to give up. We were going to be private eyes if it was the last thing we did.