CANNIBAL DWARF DETECTIVE
AN EPHEMERAL BEARDENING
By
Hayden Wiseman
&
Hunter Wiseman
Copyright
© 2014 by Hayden and Hunter Wiseman
All Rights Reserved.
Visit us on the web at: heycheckoutmywiener.tumblr.com
Thanks to everyone who made this stupid book happen.
Table of Contents
Part I: Tower Cop
Part II: A Fat Dump of Info
Part III: The Colonel and Their Factions
Part IV, V, &VI: Everything Is Revealed
Part VII: A Nanner, Octi, Cacti, and A Dwarf
Part VIII: Breaking Faces, Breaking Barriers
Part IX: Remnants
Part X: Chandaka
Part XI: Echo
Part XII: Janitorial Space Wizard
Part XIII: Full Frontal
Part XIV: Hot Dog Guy
Part XV: Sensual Lovers & Mysterious Mystery
Part XVI: Atop the Murder Floor
Part XVII: Brothers Betrayed
Epilogue: Dwarf Support
About the Authors
The following is based on a true story.
Events occur in real time.
Part I: Tower Cop
Chapter 1
His fat-fuck toe quivers at the presence of cosmic malevolence. Jeac Fernando, a gorgeous bald dwarf, emerges from a door at the highest point of the C.D.P.D tower.
The C.D.P.D is a skyscraper unlike any other. Where most cities are constructed as a sprawl, spread out with the occasional tower jutting skyward, the C.D.P.D started as a small cluster city and then, instead of building out, its people built up. Towers placed on towers, concrete slabs, roads, girders, intersecting and improperly formed creating levels between multiple cities and continuing upward like a junkyard Tower of Babel.
Jeac has climbed thousands of flights of stairs to reach this point and is sweating profusely. He peers over the side of the tower and sees remnants of similar city-scapes out across the Chandakan wastes. The planet is a desert for as far as he can see. Occasional bits of old highways peak out from under the sand in between the fallen shafts.
His pistol slips from his sausage-like fingers, but he doesn’t drop it. His grip tightens and he begins looking around the miles wide roof. The hot suns burn the blacktop and a single drop of sweat falls from his face, hits the ground, and evaporates instantly.
His perusal of the immediate area doesn’t last long before he sees what set his toe to throbbing: a pack of blood-thirsty killers who have captured a baby and are preparing to sacrifice it in some dark ritual. One of the perpetrators, Beatrice L. Humvee, an ex-member of the A.M.M.D is clutching the baby in her hydraulic arms and honking at the lizard men surrounding her. Jeac takes aim and fires off three shots at the lizard men before yelling, “C.D.P.D! Freeze!”
Two of the lizard men are dead and the others promptly turn and begin hissing at Jeac. Beatrice lets off a long foghorn sound which causes Jeac to cringe. He raises his weapon again. The bullets fly rapidly out of the pistol and bounce off the car-beasts forehead. Her eyes, more similar to the bright lights on a car, blink rapidly as she drops the baby, which explodes into a paste on the ground (but it’s okay because the baby is 42 years old and also a being made of liquid). Beatrice signals to her cronies and they start running away from Jeac.
“No!” Jeac yells and then jams his pinkies into his mouth in an attempt to whistle. He breaks out two of his teeth and the sound that he generates is not dissimilar to that of a thousand whoopee cushions being deflated in unison while a carload of warlocks burns to death.
Despite this, a scraping noise is heard seconds later and a velociraptor claws its way over the wall and onto the blacktop behind him. Jeac jumps onto the back of his loyal friend, Ranch Dressing, so named for his albino scales and blue head feathers.
He spurs the dinosaur and causes it to jump into the air, big-clawed toe foot thingy first. It lands on Humvee’s back and begins furiously clawing and biting, sparks flying everywhere and blinding the clan of lizard-like sanquinophiles. This causes them to start doing cartwheels, which everyone knows is how lizards clear their vision.
Unfortunately for them, they cartwheel to the sloped edge of the colossal tower -- the side with the slanted solar panels -- and plummet to their deaths. Jeac attempts to reload his pistol, but the turbulence brought on by the struggle between the vehicular being and his velociraptor causes him to drop the weapon. It falls their combined distance, nearly twenty feet below.
“Curse my dwarven stature!”
Beatrice L. Humvee reaches back with large, tirey-hands and swats the raptor and its miniature jockey off of her back. They hit the ground with a thud and slide down another more angular portion of roofing to the fire escape, which is rusted and likely to break. Ms. Humvee jumps onto the fire escape; her weight rattles the bolts holding it to the side of the ridiculously tall building.
“Oh, no! The fire escape is breaking! Run my Peruvian Ranch Dressing,” Jeac panics but is relieved when he sees that Ranch Dressing has sprouted wings and is gliding away to safety. “Bastardo, Wait! Had I known you could fly I’d have jumped with you!”
“Burn in hell, human!” Ranch Dressing yells… with words.
Jeac clutches at a loose bit of pipe as the scaffolding gives way completely. Beatrice falls to the ground below and explodes, causing thousands of dollars in property damage and killing nearly fifty people. As Jeac hangs from the side of the building and sees the explosion, he makes his best attempt at an action movie one liner, “So much for being… Eco-friendly.”
Suddenly, water drips onto the pipe Jeac is gripping. First causing him to slip and then to let go completely. He is surprised to find that he isn’t falling, but is being lifted upward by a liquid hand. A dwarf’s worst fear: Falling up.
Part II: A Fat Dump of Info
Chapter 2
“Fernando! What the hell happened back there!? Do you know how many people died because of that explosion?”
A bright yellow banana with rabies foams at the mouth as he berates his protégé. He holds a gun shaped suspiciously like a banana in his right hand… that is also made up of smaller bananas. Alfonzo B. Nana proceeds to slap the shit out of Jeac with a peel that he holds in his opposing banana hand.
Jeac sits in a leather-backed chair made of gorilla skins and cries. He suffers blow after blow without any form of resistance. His punishment lasts for nearly five hours and by the time he gets up to leave, his boss has had ten bathroom breaks and allowed his underlings the chance to beat Jeac in his stead. Jeac, tiring of this, shoots one of these men in the thigh and escapes out of the office window. Never mind where he got the gun from. This is a typical Wednesday.
After Jeac escapes Alfonzo’s office he walks around to the front of the police station and right in to debrief his real boss (this is a joke about Jeac taking off another person’s underwear), Alfonzo’s son, Armando, head of all departments of the C.D.P.D.
Strangely, Armando is completely human. Wearing a pin-striped suit, he sits with his mud-caked loafers up on his large, sturdy, mahogany desk and smokes a twenty foot long pipe that requires an assistant to light. The end of the pipe rests next to the door Jeac walks through. He nearly trips over it. Jeac hobbles on stumpy legs over to an overturned laundry bin and hops up onto it. He rests his hands on the desk in front of Armando and begins fiddling with a pencil.
Between puffs of smoke that Armando emits from his mouth and nose like a dragon, he asks, “So, what the hell ha
ppened, Jeac?”
“Oh, you know. Bada-bing. Bada-boom. Shit happens, boss. I took the usual approach to the confrontation.”
“Jeac, we both know your usual approach is to go in guns blazing with no regard for human or alien or robot or infant or zombie or aquatic or dinosaur life.”
“Yeah, and so I figured it’d work now, too. What’d I do wrong, boss?”
Armando takes the pipe out of his mouth and tries to gently set it on his desk, but the end by the door gets caught in a leather jacket, causing resistance, and he breaks his desk lamp and knocks over a mountainous stack of case files. The pipe violently snaps in half and the end bounces up and cracks the light bulb in the ceiling light. He sighs and replies, “Look. I know you meant well. We all wanted Humvee off the streets… even if she did end up on the streets during your assault, but the thing is… everything from floor one hundred and forty nine upward is out of your jurisdiction. The Sky-Cops are pissed. The whole department, hell, the city council, wants me to bench you. But I think I have a better plan. You’re going undercover, Jeac.” Armando leans over behind the desk where Jeac can’t see him and begins rummaging around under the pile of case files and looks up a moment later. “This might take a few minutes, Jeac. You got anywhere to be?”
“Not really. My ride, uh, flew off… and yelled at me.”
“Ranch Dressing is capable of speech?”
“Yeah, I’m as surprised as you are. Today has been a day full of new experiences… Wait, why aren’t you surprised that he can fly?”
“Man, I grew that dinosaur in a test tube before I gave him over to you. Raptors are standard issue for all detectives in our department, but you knew that because you work here. This is really more of a pointless info dump in case some bizarre outside force is witnessing our conversation. Anyway, you not knowing he could fly is more of a surprise to me than my father being a banana,” Armando says as he continues to shuffle papers around. After a few more minutes he sits up and slams two large bits of metal down on his desk with a pair of pants and what appears to be a fake mustache. Jeac reaches over and grabs the pants and, holding them up to inspect them as he stands on the laundry basket, says, “These things are way too freaking long. No way can I wear these. No idea how this’ll keep me from getting benched anyway. Nice try, Armando.”
“Maybe check these out first,” Armando responds and tosses the lengths of metal into Jeac’s still outstretched arms. “Gotta tell you, though, there is a condition here. I have to take your gun and badge, Jeac.”
“Wait, what!?”
“It’s not as bad as all that, really. I take your gun and badge and I tell the city council you’ve been suspended or murdered or whatever. You put on that disguise and I bring you in front of the department and tell them how you’re… Well, for lack of better words… Your own replacement.”
“I’m gonna be my own replacement?” asks Jeac, the breeze coming in from the window rustling his eyebrows. “What a twist!”
He eats the pretzel.
Part III: The Colonel and Their Factions
Chapter 3
Jeac and Armando are walking through the back hallway that resides behind a large auditorium used for police meetings and boring presentations. Jeac says, “I still can’t believe you’re making me pay for your pipe.”
“I think you’re missing the point, Jeac. Jeac Fernando owes me pipe money. In a few minutes you’re going to be Colonel Feac Jearnando. Feac doesn’t owe me any money at all. The debt dies with you, “his boss replies. “Nice touch with the afro, by the way.”
Jeac reaches up and strokes his hand over his head before saying, “Shit. I knew I forgot to shave before I left my apartment this morning.”
They continue to walk until they reach a large blue door next to a curtain. On the door someone has written, “Slag all cops!” An old cop in-joke. Only cops ever wrote that on anything. Regardless, the city’s one police tower has been divided into eight warring factions: the Sky-Cops; the NYPD, which stands for Networked Yodeling Professionals Department; the Mafia; the Ronin (they prefer swords to guns and have a penchant for tsujigiri); the Picassi (huge fans of artist Pablo Picasso who traded in their guns for spray cans filled with toxic-aerosol sludge); the A.M.M.D (Auto-Mobile Murder Division); the Banana Brigade (of which Alfonzo is the leader and sole/peel member); and the R.B.G.O.A.T.R.O.T.C.I.T.D.W.D.C.E.T.W.T.S.O.I.F (Really Big Group of all the Rest of the Cops in the Department Who Didn’t Care Enough to Want to Split off into Factions). R.B.G.O.A.T’s for short.
Armando places his hand on the blue door and looks up at the now stilt-equipped dwarf with the fake mustache and epic fro and asks, “You ready for this? That room is going to be filled with cops from every level of the tower.”
“I think I’m ready, chief. It’s about time Jeac died.”
“I try as hard as I can to control all the groups and get them to work together, but they still vie for control of the tower. Your goof up is just one more political scramble for the Sky Cops to gain a foothold in the lower levels. They want your blood. Don’t let that fake mustache drop off your face.”
Jeac nods one last time, indicating he’s ready for the press conference, and they head through the door. They walk on stage together and look out at the crowd of cops before them. The Sky Cops with their gold-plated helmets, jetpacks, and short shorts sit in the front row yelling obscenities about Jeac and asking where he is. The Ronin sit silently in the back with their katanas at their sides and the Banana Brigade, or rather, Alfonzo, sits facing the wrong way. The Picassi are vandalizing the backs of all the chairs in the room but stop as soon as they see Armando approach the center-stage pedestal.
Meanwhile, the few attending Mafiosi are extorting members of the R.B.G.O.A.T.R.O.T.C.I.T.D.W.W.C.E.T.W.T.S.O.I.F (I am so done with this acronym) who are standing by the food and snack services table, gorging themselves on all manner of donuts and coffee with excessive amounts of creamer.
One large member of the A.M.M.D sits parked in the far left back corner of the auditorium, crushing two thirds of the N.Y.P.D under its still rotating, chainsaw-like tank treads. One member both yodels and defecates as he passes into oblivion, solidifying the name of their faction beyond any reasonable doubt.
“Attention, everyone!” Armando taps the microphone on the pedestal and it makes an annoying, high-pitched static sound. An A.M.M.D member seems offended by the noise and, rearing up, smashes through the brick wall and drives away. “Well, almost everyone. I see the only people paying attention here are the Sky-Cops.”
Still facing the wrong way, Alfonzo shouts, “yep!”
“Where the hell is Jeac, Armando?” A Sky-Cop so overweight his armor has had to be re-fitted four hundred times asks. “He came up into our jurisdiction. He’s ours. Punishment for illegal cross-jurisdictional violence without the proper permits is death by repeated kicking from all members of the Sky-Cops.”
“And I know that, Sky-Cop 010234. But I have some bad news. Grave news in fact. Jeac died! Eaten by his own Peruvian raptor, which then flew off, never to be seen again. So, as you can see, you and your Sky-Cop Brethren can’t have Jeac. Because he’s dead.”
“That all sounds rather convenient, chief. Are you sure he’s dead? I mean, who’s that tall guy with the ‘stache and sexy fro standing next to you? Looks a lot like a taller, harrier version of Jeac if you ask me.”
“You’re fired!” Armando shouts as he pulls the trigger on his massive .45, blowing a hole through the head of the Sky-Cop. “One. Don’t ask stupid questions! Two. A harrier is a jet. This man is more hairy. Sky-Cop 010235, you’re now leader of the Sky-Cops. This guy standing next to me is not Jeac-Fernando. His name is Colonel Feac-Jernando. See? He’s different because he’s not only taller and more hairy, but also a colonel. So let’s all just welcome him to the force and then promptly leave the room and head back to our respective floors.”
Sky-Cop 010235 looks at his compatriots before flicking a comically large red switch on the s
ide of his jetpack and standing up. The power of the blast from the packs causes a shockwave that knocks over their seats and sends them ricocheting around the room. The cops crash through the ceiling and debris falls everywhere. They continue upwards, smashing through additional floors of the city-building. Artificial light from the cities above shines down. At the farthest point, a pin-prick of white light like a solitary star closes into darkness as the Sky-Cops vanish. The remaining police factions leave in far less asshole-ish fashion.
Part IV, V, &VI: Everything Is Revealed
Chapter 4
Part VII: A Nanner, Octi, Cacti, and A Dwarf
Chapter 5
Feac wakes up with the most intense hangover a dwarf can possibly have. He’s surrounded by literally all the toilet paper from the bathrooms and personnel lockers in B-sec. The room is so thick with it he can’t see out of his window, which he couldn’t see out of anyway because the brick wall of the adjacent building was blocking it. Instead of calling the janitorial precinct he decides to take matters into his own, hotdog-like hands, and he wraps himself in as much of the toilet paper as possible.
Looking like a mummy, he waddles towards a second, un-blocked window and opens it. He pulls himself up onto the sill and then dives headlong into the darkened city below. The toilet paper he’s wearing begins to unravel but he’s wrapped it around his arms in such a way that it opens like a parachute. He gently touches down… on a cactus patch.
The toilet paper catches on the tallest of the cacti and he begins furiously swinging his arms in an attempt to escape the paper holding his body. As he writhes in pain, the paper grows tighter like the muscle-laden coils of a boa constrictor tightening around a baby or a kitten or something equally cute that people care about.
Cannibal Dwarf Detective: An Ephemeral Beardening Page 1
