knicks255
TMF Expert
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- Feb 8, 2012
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Another Jebediah Morten Mystery, except this time noone asked for it. Behold it's unwantedness!
"Gentlemen." The inspector pointed a large, meaty finger at the crowd of bystanders. "Ladies." Another point, this time with his left hand. "Ocean." The pudgy man raised his foot and pointed his toe behind him, visually struggling to hold the precarious pose. "Welcome to the Vanilla Coast Amusement Park!" he sputtered, clumsily hopping back to his feet. While Inspector Jeb Mort may have been fired from the police force, he had refused to give up his badge, which was now pinned firmly in place over his blue and white striped Cotton Candy Vendor uniform. Times were hard for Mr. Mort, forced to take a part time job selling colored sugary treats to people at the local amusement park. But that wouldn't be enough to stop the ringing in his ears, the ringing of the bells of justice. Jeb should probably have seen a doctor about that.
The coastal amusement park was a calm place. Children of all ages frolicked from ride to ride, teenagers held hands on first attempts at dates, and even the elderly visited to sit on the benches and rest their fragile old bones, watching the seagulls peck at breadcrumbs. Yes, it was calm. But it was also incredibly boring for a man of action like Inspector Mort. And so, it occurred that on one May 29th, Jeb Mort would find a secret that changed his life for the next few hours, give or take. As he sat against his metal backed chair, halfheartedly spinning the cotton candy machine, he scanned the horizon for potential threats. Enviously, he glared at Bob, the park security chief. How he hated Bob. Bob was ruggedly handsome, and using his charms to chat up a group of soccer moms by the Tunnel Of Love. Bob didn't deserve this job. He knew nothing of justice, and he was also dumb, stupid, and liked to suck on eggs, according to grafitti under the Hot Dog Cart that Jeb certainly knew absolutely nothing about. As Jeb glared enviously, his nose twitched and his nostrils flared. There was a peculiar smell. Smoke. Fire. Leaping from his chair, or at least as much as a man of his size could leap, Inspector Mort dash-waddled to the source of the smoke, the Soft Pretzel Stand.
"Hey Jeb!" The voice was from Janet, the park's Pretzel Artisan (She demanded this name be used.) "Whatcha up to?" "Janet," huffed the inspector, "I smelled smoke!" Janet blinked a few times, and then returned to her usual grin. "Oh, Jeb, don't worry bud, some paper just got caught in the oven. Just a little spark, nothin' else. Set off some smoke, but it's all cleared up now!" The justice sensors in Mort's head started to whimper and die...but suddenly rang with purpose once again as he noticed the hated face of Bob approaching the stand, soccer moms in tow. "I smelled smoke, Janet. And when there's smoke, there's fire. And when there's fire, there's oxygen. And when there's oxygen, there's people. And when people show up, so do CRIMINALS! You were the target of a foul arsonist! I know it!" The Pretzel Artisan gave him a worried look. "Jeb, sweetie, I'm pretty sure it was just a bit of paper blowin' in the wind, you don't need to-" "WIND!" Inspector Mort shouted the word with purpose, feeling his blood start to flow again. "And today, the wind is blowing south! Towards the stand, if you're coming from..." With a little pirouette, Jeb twirled to face his target. "THE FUNHOUSE PIER!" Convinced his little display had outshown Bob, Jeb strut confidently over to the Funhouse. With a sigh and a shrug, Janet and Bob followed him.
"The Funhouse. A house of fun," monologued Inspector Jeb Mort, "Or perhaps a house...of DEATH? The Deathhouse?" Bob placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Mort, please, calm down, I don't think-blahblahblahblahblahlookatmeblahblahi'mbobblahisuckoneggsforbreakfastNOONANDNIGHT" Jeb smiled, having successfully tuned out his rival. "Now, the funhouse takes approximately 10 minutes to walk through, so if we wait for 8 and a half seconds..." Dumbfounded, the crowd that had gathered to watch the fat man's investigation turned towards the funhouse, and stayed silent for exactly 8.5 seconds. "AHA! YOU!" As Jeb dashed towards the exit, the last occupant walked out, wearing a tight, black suit, and a look of fear etched across his face. "OH GODS IT'S YOU!" The man was none other than the only survivor of the Annual Butler Convention, Mort's last case. When last they met, Jeb had shot 5 men and sent him running away, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Why are you here?" Mort posed dramatically, pointing his finger with a flourish. "It was you, Mr. Butler Man, who let loose the scrap of paper into the wind, knowing it would fly into the pretzel oven and burn, burn in a blaze of burning...burners, destroying the boardwalk!" "B-but I can't read! Why would I have paper...why...why would I do any of that? You're insa-AGGGGH!" The pier fell into chaos as Mort lifted the old man high into the air. "JUSTICE MAKES THE CRIMINAL ALL WET!" With a silent giggle and self-congratulation at the pun, Mort hurled the elderly butler off the pier, into the water below. A young voice rang out from behind him. "Cool, grandpa's a diver!"
That day, Jeb Mort walked out of Vanilla Coast Amusement Park with his head held high. It was a shame the criminal had walked away, screaming and waterlogged. It was also a shame Jeb had been fired right after the incident. And it was the greatest shame of all that Bob never got injured. But none of these things could put a damper on the strut of Inspector Jeb Mort, as he had done justice's work. Even if nobody else thought he had.
"Gentlemen." The inspector pointed a large, meaty finger at the crowd of bystanders. "Ladies." Another point, this time with his left hand. "Ocean." The pudgy man raised his foot and pointed his toe behind him, visually struggling to hold the precarious pose. "Welcome to the Vanilla Coast Amusement Park!" he sputtered, clumsily hopping back to his feet. While Inspector Jeb Mort may have been fired from the police force, he had refused to give up his badge, which was now pinned firmly in place over his blue and white striped Cotton Candy Vendor uniform. Times were hard for Mr. Mort, forced to take a part time job selling colored sugary treats to people at the local amusement park. But that wouldn't be enough to stop the ringing in his ears, the ringing of the bells of justice. Jeb should probably have seen a doctor about that.
The coastal amusement park was a calm place. Children of all ages frolicked from ride to ride, teenagers held hands on first attempts at dates, and even the elderly visited to sit on the benches and rest their fragile old bones, watching the seagulls peck at breadcrumbs. Yes, it was calm. But it was also incredibly boring for a man of action like Inspector Mort. And so, it occurred that on one May 29th, Jeb Mort would find a secret that changed his life for the next few hours, give or take. As he sat against his metal backed chair, halfheartedly spinning the cotton candy machine, he scanned the horizon for potential threats. Enviously, he glared at Bob, the park security chief. How he hated Bob. Bob was ruggedly handsome, and using his charms to chat up a group of soccer moms by the Tunnel Of Love. Bob didn't deserve this job. He knew nothing of justice, and he was also dumb, stupid, and liked to suck on eggs, according to grafitti under the Hot Dog Cart that Jeb certainly knew absolutely nothing about. As Jeb glared enviously, his nose twitched and his nostrils flared. There was a peculiar smell. Smoke. Fire. Leaping from his chair, or at least as much as a man of his size could leap, Inspector Mort dash-waddled to the source of the smoke, the Soft Pretzel Stand.
"Hey Jeb!" The voice was from Janet, the park's Pretzel Artisan (She demanded this name be used.) "Whatcha up to?" "Janet," huffed the inspector, "I smelled smoke!" Janet blinked a few times, and then returned to her usual grin. "Oh, Jeb, don't worry bud, some paper just got caught in the oven. Just a little spark, nothin' else. Set off some smoke, but it's all cleared up now!" The justice sensors in Mort's head started to whimper and die...but suddenly rang with purpose once again as he noticed the hated face of Bob approaching the stand, soccer moms in tow. "I smelled smoke, Janet. And when there's smoke, there's fire. And when there's fire, there's oxygen. And when there's oxygen, there's people. And when people show up, so do CRIMINALS! You were the target of a foul arsonist! I know it!" The Pretzel Artisan gave him a worried look. "Jeb, sweetie, I'm pretty sure it was just a bit of paper blowin' in the wind, you don't need to-" "WIND!" Inspector Mort shouted the word with purpose, feeling his blood start to flow again. "And today, the wind is blowing south! Towards the stand, if you're coming from..." With a little pirouette, Jeb twirled to face his target. "THE FUNHOUSE PIER!" Convinced his little display had outshown Bob, Jeb strut confidently over to the Funhouse. With a sigh and a shrug, Janet and Bob followed him.
"The Funhouse. A house of fun," monologued Inspector Jeb Mort, "Or perhaps a house...of DEATH? The Deathhouse?" Bob placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Mort, please, calm down, I don't think-blahblahblahblahblahlookatmeblahblahi'mbobblahisuckoneggsforbreakfastNOONANDNIGHT" Jeb smiled, having successfully tuned out his rival. "Now, the funhouse takes approximately 10 minutes to walk through, so if we wait for 8 and a half seconds..." Dumbfounded, the crowd that had gathered to watch the fat man's investigation turned towards the funhouse, and stayed silent for exactly 8.5 seconds. "AHA! YOU!" As Jeb dashed towards the exit, the last occupant walked out, wearing a tight, black suit, and a look of fear etched across his face. "OH GODS IT'S YOU!" The man was none other than the only survivor of the Annual Butler Convention, Mort's last case. When last they met, Jeb had shot 5 men and sent him running away, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Why are you here?" Mort posed dramatically, pointing his finger with a flourish. "It was you, Mr. Butler Man, who let loose the scrap of paper into the wind, knowing it would fly into the pretzel oven and burn, burn in a blaze of burning...burners, destroying the boardwalk!" "B-but I can't read! Why would I have paper...why...why would I do any of that? You're insa-AGGGGH!" The pier fell into chaos as Mort lifted the old man high into the air. "JUSTICE MAKES THE CRIMINAL ALL WET!" With a silent giggle and self-congratulation at the pun, Mort hurled the elderly butler off the pier, into the water below. A young voice rang out from behind him. "Cool, grandpa's a diver!"
That day, Jeb Mort walked out of Vanilla Coast Amusement Park with his head held high. It was a shame the criminal had walked away, screaming and waterlogged. It was also a shame Jeb had been fired right after the incident. And it was the greatest shame of all that Bob never got injured. But none of these things could put a damper on the strut of Inspector Jeb Mort, as he had done justice's work. Even if nobody else thought he had.
