Detective Dog - 3/18/24
Ethan Wang
Detective Dog was leaning against the apartment wall with the bottom of one foot against the vertical surface. He had his arms crossed, and in-between the fingers of his paw, he had a collector’s edition Camel Cigarette from Serbia that he imported with a 300% upcharge. He was wearing a pitch-black deerstalker and a long dark coat made from vicuna wool. In his pocket was a magnifying glass made of copper and accented with gold and next to that was a Colt Python pistol. Next to Detective Dog was his partner, Sidekick Salamander. He was wearing a blue suit with a green tie and pants that were too long. He was holding a large briefcase made from a cheap mesh material. The corner of the briefcase was stained brown from a coffee spill.
“Sidekick Salamander, light my cigarette for me,” he commanded without looking at his partner. Detective Dog was staring at the wall with a stoic expression.
“I don’t have a lighter.”
“Oh, that’s alright then.”
“Wait, maybe I do have one.” Sidekick Salamander rummaged through his pockets.
“Nope.” Detective Dog admired his unlit cigarette for a few moments and then flicked it across the hall.
As he walked towards one of the apartment doors, he declared, “behind this door, darkness awaits—my domain, my conquest, my justice.” He didn’t really know what that meant, but he had been practicing that line for the last couple of nights in front of his bathroom mirror, making sure to let that last note linger.
“Y-yeah! We’re going to kick some ass and-and find out who shot and killed your girlfriend!” Sidekick Salamander replied with his own quip. Detective Dog paused and turned around to face Sidekick Salamander.
“Dude. Come on.”
“Sorry.”
Detective Dog and Sidekick Salamander had been assigned to the infamous “Sticky Note Slayer” after Detective Dog pledged to get revenge for his beautiful, thoughtful, kind, and intelligent girlfriend. The Sticky Note Slayer had always left a sticky note behind at the scene of the killing. The first time it said, “I am going to leave a sticky note behind at the scene of the killing. Call me the Sticky Note Slayer!” The second time, the note read, “I really enjoy killing. Haha!” The seventh time, when the murderer had killed Detective Dog’s girlfriend, the note stated, “I ran out of things to write. I’m not the creative type.”
Detective Dog and Sidekick Salamander were in the kitchen, the only room in the house that wasn’t covered by police tape. Sidekick Salamander was sitting on a stool with his briefcase on the ground, and Detective Dog had a letter in his hand with information about the victim. Detective Dog decided to read the letter out loud:
Victim: Bum Bear (formerly Business Bear)
Date of The Murder: 3/10/24 (Approximately)
Bum Bear was discovered dead from a fatal stab wound on 3/24/24 after numerous complaints about a “rancid odor” coming from the victim’s apartment. The forensic team estimated that the bear had been dead for two weeks before being discovered, and that the bear had been killed while he was sleeping. Bum Bear had no immediate family or friends. He was not employed.
“This guy,” Detective Dog said as he pointed at the letter in his hand, “sounds like a total loser! Isn’t that right?” Sidekick Salamander was lost in thought and ignored Detective Dog’s question entirely. He slowly lifted himself up from his stool and stood up tall, pushing his small reptilian chest outwards for the world to see.
He announced, “Defending the innocent with a side of silliness, because justice tastes better with a sprinkle of absurdity! Together, we are Detective Dog and Sidekick Salamander!” Detective Dog stared at him with disbelief.
“What?”
“It’s a line I’ve been cooking up. I think it’ll be good for our brand.”
Detective Dog and Sidekick Salamander moved swiftly throughout the studio apartment, analyzing the various anomalies that the forensics team and initial investigators noted. On one of the walls was an unidentifiable fingerprint. A month-old chicken nugget had a bite taken out of it, and the markings were much different than the bite of a bear. Streaks of blood lined the toilet bowl making it look like an apocalyptic vortex. There was a sticky note above the location of the victim’s body with the “cool s” drawn on it.
“Salamander, read me the list of potential suspects.”
“Alright. We have Reporter Rabbit, Scientist Squirrel, Doctor Dolphin, Lawyer Llama, and Boss Baboon.” Detective Dog examined the chicken nugget with his copper and gold accented magnifying glass.
“Sort of looks like a baboon bite, right? Note that-“ He was interrupted by a crash that came from the balcony. Detective Dog and Sidekick Salamander rushed over to discover the silhouette of an animal perched on the balcony railing. The animal leapt into the air with a side somersault and landed gracefully in the moonlight, revealing an incredibly handsome Cebus capucinus. The animal stepped into the apartment.
“It was not the bite of a baboon, but that of a monkey! I am the Sticky Note Slayer, Murder Monkey!” Murder Monkey declared, as he raised both of his arms into the air to spell “victory.”
“First of all, baboons are monkeys. Second, your legal name is Murder Monkey?” Detective Dog asked.
“Yeah, why?” Murder Monkey replied. Detective Dog turned his head to look at his partner.
“We are getting paid way too much.”
“Why did you kill the bear!?” Salamander screamed at Murder Monkey, completely ignoring Detective Dog’s comment.
“It’s a long story. So basically, me and his Dad, we go way- “ Detective Dog swiftly drew his Colt Python pistol at his hip like a cowboy and fired three shots towards Murder Monkey. The first bullet landed firmly in Murder Monkey’s thigh, the second one grazed his hip bone, and the third one narrowly missed his leg. While the bullets were soaring through the air, Murder Monkey unveiled his own weapon, a Stainless Camper Buck Mark, and fired a shot in response. Murder Monkey’s bullet flew past Detective Dog’s ear. As Murder Monkey dove behind a leather armchair, Detective Dog fired the last of his round, and missed by half a meter. He had no more ammunition for his pistol. Sidekick Salamander kicked over a coffee table so that it was on its side, and the two dropped to the ground to hide behind the wooden surface.
“You know, this table is awfully thin,” Sidekick Salamander commented. A 0.22 LR bullet was traveling 1,000 feet per second before it entered the back of Sidekick Salamander’s chest, piercing through his epidermis, lunging through his muscle tissue, peritoneum, and coelomic cavity, until finding a home in the middle of his heart. He was so dead. Detective Dog shook his partner for a moment to confirm that he was no longer in this world.
“You were the best of us. Now I’ll finish what we started, for you,” Detective Dog stated. Detective Dog had workshopped that line many times for this occasion. He was hoping he could’ve used it much sooner. Every night before bed, Detective Dog thought about all the weird things Sidekick Salamander would say and concluded that the number one reason why his quality of life had decreased so drastically was because of his partner, even on the day his girlfriend was murdered.
Detective Dog planned to make an escape to the kitchen. In the kitchen was the mesh briefcase that Sidekick Salamander had left and inside the briefcase were gadgets and gizmos, some trinkets, widgets, and other handy devices. He was still behind the table and behind him was a couch. In front and towards the left of him was the armchair that Murder Monkey was hiding behind, and the entrance leading to the kitchen was across from the room, towards the left. Here is an illustration of the situation:
Detective Dog was in a dilemma. It was obvious that Murder Monkey was a skilled marksman just from his quick draw technique, so it would be impossible to run across without injury. The seconds were ticking by, and Detective Dog could hear Murder Monkey reloading his gun. Detective Dog took a deep breath and threw the pistol towards Murder Monkey the same way a professional baseball player would pitch a fastball. For a millisecond, Murder Monkey was confused and thought Detective Dog was incredibly stupid for tossing away his weapon. In that time, Detective Dog initiated a triple backflip over the couch, dodging multiple bullets, and charged through the thin dry wall with the force of fifteen lions. He landed on the tile floor in a pile of calcium sulfate dihydrate and lunged towards the briefcase without bothering to get on his feet.
“When bullets rain, I break boundaries – even if it means tearing through drywall to survive,” Detective Dog grunted out. He smiled at his clever one liner and then winced in extreme pain. Inside the living room, Detective Dog heard the uncapping of a sharpie marker and the fluttering sound that comes from running a finger over a pack of sticky notes.
“I’m going to write my sticky note now, so, if I don’t come in for a while, that’s why. You know, I really wish I didn’t do this whole sticky note thing. I just don’t know what to say, you know? You probably don’t since…” Murder Monkey continued to ramble out loud to Detective Dog as he worked on his sticky note message. In the meantime, Detective Dog was frantically sorting the gizmos inside the briefcase for anything that would save him. He pulled out a hearing amplifier, blow dart, deck of cards, confiscated heroin, fifty-hundred-dollar bills, and some other junk until arriving at an Epipen that Sidekick Salamander kept in case of an allergic emergency. Detective Dog injected it into his arm while noting that Salamander’s peanut allergy might have been his best quality. Finally, Detective Dog found an experimental weapon that the department has been working on – Piercing Orbital Operative Sentries or P.O.O.S. They were a collection of five small silver spheres that, when activated, grow tiny wings, and deploy a poisonous spike attached to its face.
“Target: the monkey in the other room. Activate,” Detective Dog whispered into the spheres.
“Target not found. Please provide the name of the target.” Apparently, there was also a speaker attached to the device.
“What are you doing?” Murder Monkey inquired from the other room. “You are thinking of doing something devious, are you? Something a little goofy, even?” he asked teasingly. Detective Dog thought that he was really weird.
“Shit. Um, try Murder Monkey,” Detective Dog said desperately.
“Searching database… Target acquired.” Detective Dog put the palm of his paw to his face. In front of him, the spheres’ engines whizzed. They floated in the air until they were hovering a few inches off the ground, and then darted around the corner into the living room at extreme speeds. Sphere one, two, and three reached Murder Monkey in 0.3 seconds, and Murder Monkey responded by doing a spinning hook kick, utterly dismantling the three spheres with a single move. They were sent flying across the room into the drywall. The fourth sphere was surging towards his skull, and he uppercut it into the ceiling. The final sphere, afraid after seeing what happened to their brethren, attempted to escape, but Murder Monkey thrusted his jaw forward and caught the ball in his mouth. He crushed it with his mandible, spilling the electronic guts onto the floor. Detective Dog poked his head around the corner, and after witnessing the destruction of his secret weapon, his jaw dropped.
“Looks like your gadgets need an upgrade, Detective Dog. Maybe next time, bring a banana instead.” The two animals looked at each other for a couple of seconds.
“Because I’m a monkey,” Murder Monkey clarified.
“No, yeah, I get that,” Detective Dog said as he slowly went back around the corner.
“Hey, come back.” Detective Dog got up onto his feet and went into a wrestlers’ position. As Murder Monkey turned the corner, Detective Dog charged towards him, slamming him against the wall. Murder Monkey fired one shot and it landed straight into Detective Dog’s shoulder, but because of the epinephrine from Salamander’s Epipen, the bullet traveling through his clavicle felt like a gentle kiss from his late girlfriend. Detective Dog tackled Murder Monkey onto the floor and dislodged the weapon from seven of Murder Monkey’s ten fingers. The final three fingers were wrapped around the grip and trigger, and Murder Monkey fired upwards towards Detective Dog. Another bullet lodged into his shoulder, another kiss. The force of the struggle caused the gun to fly out of both of their hands, clattering to the ground beside them. Amidst the chaos, Murder Monkey slammed his head upwards, destroying Detective Dog’s nose, and he shoved him aside. Detective Dog held his face, and then collapsed to the ground, barely conscious. His vision was blurry both from the lack of blood in his body and from the blood lathering his face from his bleeding nose. He clawed the ground for anything to save him, for any life left. Right as Murder Monkey reached the pistol, Detective Dog wrapped his fingers around the blow dart that he tossed away earlier. He put the device to his mouth, begged God to give him guidance, and blew as hard as he could. The dart missed completely.
“Did you just try to shoot me with a blow dart? That is really funny.” Police sirens blared in the distance.
“I’m going to throw you out the window.”
“W-what?” Detective Dog muttered. He couldn’t process what was going on.
“Yeah, I’m going to throw you out the window. You were fun, and I want to do something silly,” Murder Monkey replied. Murder Monkey scooped up Detective Dog, carried him over to the kitchen window, and then tossed him out of it.
As Detective Dog fell through the air, he couldn’t see anything because of the blood in his eyes. He couldn’t feel anything because of the epinephrine surging through his veins. He could only hear- the sound of Murder Monkey’s giggles, the sound of sirens in the distance, the sound of a bird’s wings flapping… A bird’s wings! Detective Dog mustered all the energy he had left and whistled with his entire reservoir of oxygen. A crane circling the apartment complex dove one-hundred feet and caught Detective Dog by the scruff of his neck.
“Detective Dog, I always knew you had a nose for trouble, but I didn't expect you to go airborne for it. Don't worry, I've got feathers to spare, but let's try to keep our paws on solid ground from now on, alright?” Constable Crane quipped.
“Dude, just take me to a hospital,” Detective Dog murmured as he passed out.
Three weeks had passed, and Detective Dog was sitting in a hospital bed examining a corkboard covered in dozens of strings, photographs, and different notes.
“Everything look okay?” Partner Panther inquired. He had prepared the investigation board at the request of his boss, Detective Dog.
“Uh, yeah. Looks good. Keep up the great work,” Detective Dog replied half-heartedly. He had no idea what any of it meant.
“Okay, well, if there is anything you need, let me know. By the way, I was reading about the operation you did in ’07. Wow, that is just brilliant! Like, I know people have utilized-“
“Look, I’m a little tired right now. Could we talk later?”
“Yeah, of course boss. Remember, anything you need, I gotchu.” Partner Panther backed out of the room while doing finger guns pointed at Detective Dog. When he was gone, Detective Dog sighed and cursed the police department. He had requested to no longer have a partner because he was “still grieving about Sidekick Salamander,” but they had given him a “young, bright talent from the academy” anyways.
Detective Dog had a notepad in his left paw and a pencil in his right. He cleared his throat and began to read:
“Caught you with your tail between your legs, Murder Monkey. Time to trade your bananas for a dose of reality.” Detective Dog felt proud that he had written such a bad ass line, and as he was drifting off to bed that night, he dreamed about the day where he gets to say that line to his archnemesis, Murder Monkey.