Sherlock Sam's Orange Shorts

by A. J. Low

  Dun-dun-dun!

  Sorry, I had to do that. I’ll have to do it one more time later this episode, so keep an ear open for it.

  “But he’s the CEO of the MEGA-TECHNODESTROBOT Corporation,” Inspector Lestrade said.

  Didn’t I say that already? Oh, right, they can’t hear me.

  “He’s untouchable so long as he supplies Mexico City with all the cheap worker robots it needs,” she continued.

  “Nazhar works for Mr Watson,” Inspector Siva said. “He should be able to get us a meeting with him.”

  Inspector Siva made a quick phone call and, before they knew it, the two inspectors were in an elevator inside the tallest building in Mexico City, the Torre Reforma.

  When they reached the top floor, a girl with a messy ponytail and wearing a shirt and cargo pants showed them into Mr Watson’s office.

  “Would you like any beverages?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t mind an horchata,” Inspector Siva said.

  “I’d like an oolong tea,” Inspector Lestrade said.

  “Right away,” she said. “Mr Watson should be in shortly.”

  She left the office and the inspectors did what they supposedly do best: they inspected.

  Mr Watson’s office was quite large, with an oak desk in front of huge bay windows overlooking the city, as well as the Torre BBVA Bancomer, the second tallest building in Mexico City, which was right across the street. Mr Watson had put up art from all over the world on his expansive walls. The inspectors saw classical and modern art from Mexico of course, but also from Chile, Argentina, Honduras, and various nations in Europe, Africa and Asia.

  Inspector Lestrade was staring at a painting from China that featured many horses in various poses when someone said, “Beautiful-is-it-not? I-always-forget-what-it-is-called-though.”

  The two inspectors whirled around and found Mr Watson standing in the middle of the room. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a light blue tie under his large eye.

  The girl from before was standing next to him, holding the inspectors’ drinks.

  Some inspectors they are. They didn’t even realise someone else was in the room with them.

  “Miss-Wendy,” Mr Watson said. “What-isthename-of-this-painting?”

  “Oh, er…. It’s called One Hundred Horses,” the girl said as she handed the inspectors their drinks.

  “And-in-Mandarin?” Mr Watson asked.

  “Uhh… Baˇi jùn tú?” Miss Wendy said.

  Mr Watson shook his head. “Yourpronunciationis-still-atrocious-Miss-Wendy. I-am-sending-you-back-to-tuition. Nowpleaseexcuse-us.”

  “Yes, Mr Watson.” Wendy hung her head and walked out of the office.

  “Mr-Nazhar-did-not-mention-why-he-putthismeeting-on-my-schedule-Inspectors-soI-apologise-for-not-knowing-the-purpose-ofyourvisit.”

  “That’s my fault, Mr Watson,” Inspector Siva said. “Nazhar is a friend of mine, and I kind of forced him to set up this meeting.”

  “That-is-no-way-to-treat-your-friendsInspector.”

  “That’s what I’m always telling him,” Inspector Lestrade said. “He’s going to run out of friends soon, if you ask me.”

  Mr Watson walked around his large oak desk and sat in front of the large windows, so that the inspectors had to look at the setting sun behind him.

  “How-may-I-help-you?” Mr Watson asked, steepling his fingers under his eye.

  The two inspectors looked at each other as if they were communicating telepathically, though I can assure you they were not. This isn’t that kind of telenovela.

  “We’re investigating El Jefe,” Inspector Siva said. “And we have reason to believe you may have information pertinent to our case.”

  “I-see,” Mr Watson said. “And-what-is-thisreason?”

  “We can’t tell you that, Mr Watson,” Inspector Lestrade said. “It’s federale business.”

  “I-see.”

  “We’re hoping you can shed some light on how El Jefe operates in the city, who his lieutenants are, how he moves his stolen goods, that sort of thing,” Inspector Siva said.

  Mr Watson hadn’t moved since he’d steepled his fingers, but he dropped his hands and stood up. He turned his back on the inspectors and stared out his large windows.

  Which was a pretty cool move, frankly. He’s totally in charge of this conversation now.

  “I-used-to-be-a-poor-robot-from-the-barrio-barelyscraping-by,” Mr Watson said. “But-Iworkedmy-way-out-of-that-situation-andnowI-am-the-richest-robot-in-all-of-Mexico. Possibly-even-the-world.”

  He continued to stare out the window as the sun dipped below the horizon. Even though it was night, Mexico City was possibly brighter now thanks to the brilliant lights that stretched across the biggest city in the world.

  Even I have to admit it’s quite the breathtaking sight.

  The Torre BBVA Bancomer was lit up as well, though a few floors were still dark. Presumably those guys had gone home already.

  “Now-I-admit-I-had-to-dirty-my-hands-onceina-while-when-I-first-started,” Mr Watson continued. “It-is-almost-impossible-not-to-whenyouare-that-poor. But-now-that-I-am-the-richestrobotin-Mexico-why-would-I-jeapordise-thatbyassociating-with-a-criminal-element?”

  Inspector Lestrade glanced at Inspector Siva, who nodded.

  “We don’t think you’re associating with El Jefe, Mr Watson,” she said.

  Mr Watson turned to face them again. “Then-why-do-you-think-I-would-know-theanswersto-your-questions?”

  “Because we think you and El Jefe are the same person,” Inspector Siva said.

  I literally have no idea why he would think that. They are the worst detectives.

  Meanwhile, right outside Mr Watson’s office, Miss Wendy and Nazhar were trying to listen to the conversation going on inside.

  “Oh my gosh!” Miss Wendy said. “They just accused him of being El Jefe.”

  Nazhar pushed his glasses up his nose. “They did?” he said. “I have to go.”

  “What, why?” Miss Wendy asked as Nazhar walked out the door. “Do you think Mr Watson really is El Jefe?”

  But Nazhar hadn’t heard her last question. He almost ran into the stairwell and checked to make sure no one was using it. He pulled out his handphone and dialled a secret number that only he knew.

  “Hello, sir,” he said, once the other person picked up.

  “Report, Mr Nazhar,” the other person said.

  “It’s gone better than I could have hoped for, sir,” Nazhar continued. “I simply hoped to confuse the investigation, but they’ve just accused Mr Watson of being El Jefe!”

  At the other end of the line, the man chuckled softly. He walked around his desk in one of the darkened floors of the Torre BBVA Bancomer. He had a very good view of Mr Watson and the two inspectors discussing their accusation.

  The man lifted his hand to his luxurious moustache, and tried to twirl it like one those old-timey cartoon villains, but managed only to grasp at it as it was moulded to his face.

  “Little do they realise just how close they actually are to El Jefe, and that their best friend works for him.”

  Dun-dun-dun!

  I told you I’d be doing that again.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  And that’s the end of this episode, ladies and gentlemen. We’re 108 episodes down, with only 237 left.

  …That’s a lot more than I was expecting. My life is a sham.

  Next week on…

  Inspectors Siva and Lestrade are thrown out of the Torre Reforma as their accusation doesn’t go over very well with Mr Watson. He may not be El Jefe, but he is a powerful robot, and he’s now quite angry with them, so good on our heroes for making another enemy.

  Inspector Siva’s best friend Nazhar pretends to console the two of them while actually trying to get more information.

  All this while the real El Jefe continues to amass power in the shadows, and keeps trying to twirl a moustache that will never, ever move.

  I am Eliza, and I have been your v
ery reluctant narrator. Have a better day than I’ve been having.

  THE END

  A caped shadowy figure perched near the top of the art deco building Parkview Square, next to one of its large stone men. In the dark night, he surveyed the city below, keeping his eyes and ears open for any crimes being committed. He didn’t need to wait long.

  The man was across the street at the mall, shifting suspiciously in front of the locked door. He waited until the man made his move, then jumped off the building. He dived towards the plaza in front of Parkview Square at a dizzying speed. The bronze statues of various historical figures rushed to meet him. At the last second, however, he extended his cape and glided forward, missing the floor by centimetres. He flew through the arch leading to the street, and expertly manoeuvred around the traffic, landing quietly behind the man. He crouched down a bit and lifted his cape to further hide his face.

  “Excuse me, citizen, but I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to be doing that.”

  The man nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “Chicken Wing!” the man shouted.

  Chicken Wing dropped his dark brown cape and stood his full height. The red comb atop his head swayed slightly in the breeze. He peered through his brown mask, the yellow beak glinting in the city light.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said, “I didn’t know you were here.”

  Chicken Wing bent down and picked up the empty bottle the man had thrown. “You shouldn’t litter regardless of whether I’m around.” He handed the bottle back to the man.

  “You’re right, of course,” the man said. “I’m so sorry.”

  The man ran off to find the nearest dustbin.

  Chicken Wing sighed as the man ran off. “What I wouldn’t give for some real crime to fight.” “Now I know you don’t really mean that, Samuel,” a voice said in his ear. Chicken Wing sighed. “No, I don’t, ChiliOne, but it’s pretty boring to just keep going after litterers. The Dark Defender gets to fight her villains every day.”

  Chili-One was Chicken Wing’s eye-in-thesky and ear-on-the-ground. She was based in their secret lair, the Chicken Coop, monitoring the Lion City for any and all crime using the state-of-the-art Wingputer. She made sure Chicken Wing was always where he was needed most, and never missed taking down an evildoer.

  She was also Chicken Wing’s mom.

  “I’ve been pretty bored over here too, you know,” Chili-One said. “I’ve been watching the Korean drama and telenovelas your dad and Commissioner Siva have been recommending.”

  “Please use code names, Chili-One,” Chicken Wing said.

  Chili-One rolled her eyes. “Fine, I mean I’ve been watching the Korean drama and telenovelas Chili-Two and Kopi-One have been recommending.”

  “Thank you,” Chicken Wing said. “And that’s great for you, but I’m still stuck out here scolding litterers instead of taking down any real crime.”

  “That’s what happens when you defeat the greatest villain in the world,” Chili-One said. “Or would you prefer the Mastermind be let out of the asylum to threaten the city again?”

  “No, of course not,” Chicken Wing said. “I like the Mastermind right where he is, at Changi Asylum, but maybe they could let out one of the easier-to-handle villains so that I can chase them across the rooftops.”

  As if on cue, Chicken Wing noticed a shadowy figure jumping from roof to roof, bounding across the city skyline.

  “There might be a situation in the Bugis-Bras Basah area, Chili-One,” Chicken Wing said.

  “Yes, I’ve just intercepted a message that the jewels on display at the National Library Building as part of the ‘Treasures of Southeast Asia’ exhibition have been stolen,” Chili-One said.

  “Activate Side-One and Side-Two, and have them meet me at Marina Bay Sands.”

  “Marina Bay?” Chili-One asked. “You don’t think it’s—”

  “I do,” Chicken Wing said. “Though I’m not sure why she’s suddenly operating again.”

  Chicken Wing took his grappling hook and aimed upwards. He pressed the trigger and was soon being pulled through the air. He deployed his Chicken Glider when he reached the top of his jump, and headed towards the brightest building in all the Lion City.

  Marina Bay Sands was an integrated resort that had long been run by the closest thing the Lion City had to organised crime, headed by ex-cat burglar, the Tiger. Everything in MBS was legal or semi-legal, so Commissioner Siva could never go never get the necessary warrants to go in and investigate the Tiger’s dealings.

  Chicken Wing had never needed warrants.

  He climbed up to the highest balcony in the centre tower and perched.

  “Chili-One, where are Side-One and SideTwo?” Chicken Wing asked. There was movement inside the room. Chicken Wing counted three people on the other side of the closed glass doors and thin curtains. They were all wearing immaculate black suits. He quietly shot the glass with a vibration detection device.

  “Wait, Eun Tak is about to pull the sword,” Chili-One said.

  “Chili-One.” Chicken Wing frowned. The three people inside were arguing about something.

  “Fine,” she said. “Luckily, Chili-Two bought the DVD set, so I can pause.”

  “The Sides, Chili-One.”

  One of the three people had started yelling, and Chicken Wing could hear him clearly.

  “It was a score too good to pass up, Tiger! Not taking it would have been like letting some ang moh tourist walk out of the casino with all his money after he’d lost it in a poker game.”

  “There are two very important differences,” the Tiger growled. “Taking money a tourist lost in poker, one, is legal and, two, doesn’t bring superheroes to my window.”

  “On the way, Chicken Wing,” Chili-One said. “In fact, Side-One should be—”

  Chicken Wing didn’t hear the rest of ChiliOne’s sentence as a screaming all-white blur shot past him and crashed through the window.

  Chicken Wing watched the Tiger leap over her desk and land in front of her two henchmen as Side-One crashed into the recently-vacated chair.

  Undeterred, Side-One jumped up immediately, grinned a ridiculous grin, and said, “Have no fear, Egg is here!” Egg wore an all-white bodysuit equipped with an all-white gliding pack. The wings retracted into the pack, making him look much bulkier.

  “I guess you haven’t learned how to land,” Chili-One said from the Coop.

  “Egg,” Chicken Wing said, “secure both men. They stole valuable jewels earlier this evening.”

  Before Egg could move towards the man, the Tiger said, “Leave, both of you. I’ll handle this.”

  The two henchmen looked at each other, then made for the door.

  Chicken Wing threw two Wing Darts, which hit the wall in front of both men’s eyes, stopping them in their tracks.

  “Eliza, don’t do this,” he said, stepping off the railing and walking into the room.

  “And good evening to you, Wing,” the Tiger said.

  Chicken Wing stood next to Egg. “We’ve never seen eye-to-eye, Eliza, but you promised me you’d stop your thieving if I left your casino alone.”

  “I haven’t stolen anything,” the Tiger said, “yet here you are, in my casino.”

  “But they have,” Egg said. “And you’re protecting them.”

  “You have no proof of that,” the Tiger said.

  “I heard them confess,” Chicken Wing said.

  “And you’re willing to testify in a court of law?” the Tiger asked.

  Chicken Wing didn’t answer. “Side-Two in position,” Chili-One said in his earpiece.

  The Tiger shrugged. “That’s the problem with being a masked vigilante, Wing,” she said. “Like I said, you have no proof.”

  “Oh, no!” Chili-One suddenly shouted.

  “What’s wrong?” Chicken Wing asked, not taking his eyes off the Tiger.

  “Eun Tak can’t grab the sword!”

  “Now is not the time, Chili-One.”

  “T
hat’s what I thought.” The Tiger cocked her head, and her two henchmen made for the door again. Chicken Wing did not stop them this time.

  When they opened the door, two yellow fists came through, knocking both henchmen backwards.

  “Did somebody order an Omelette?”

  Chili-One groaned in Chicken Wing’s earpiece. “I thought we agreed you’d stop using that horrible catchphrase, Omelette.”

  “I didn’t agree to anything,” Omelette said, stepping through the door. “I think it’s a fantastic catchphrase.” He wore a dark yellow sweatshirt with the hood up. The yellow spraypainted hockey mask covered his face entirely.

  “You’re wrong, Nazhar,” Chili-One said.

  “Code names, please,” Chicken Wing said.

  The two lunged towards Omelette, knocking him on his back.

  “Egg, go help Omelette,” Chicken Wing said.

  “Really, Wing,” the Tiger said, taking off her black jacket and straightening her tie. “The jewels would have been returned anonymously by tomorrow morning.”

  “Why defend them?” Chicken Wing asked. “Our deal was mutually beneficial. Not having to worry about you and what you might be up to let me focus on the Mastermind so that I was finally able to defeat him, and it let you grow your fortune in a legal way.”

  “They might be idiots, but they’re my idiots,” the Tiger replied. “As a good employer, I protect my idiots, even when they’re being extra idiotic.”

  Chicken Wing kept an eye on Egg and Omelette. They were handling themselves well enough. Egg was still tripping all over himself, but it seemed to always work out in his favour. Omelette, on the other hand, was still pulling his punches.

  “We don’t have to fight,” Chicken Wing said. “You could just stand aside. We’ll take these two to Commissioner Siva, and even tell him they couldn’t have been caught without your help.”

  “Is that the best deal you’ve got?” the Tiger asked.

  Egg tripped over one of the henchmen’s legs, but somehow used that momentum to knock the other henchman down. Omelette used the confusion to knock out the other henchman.