OTF Murder Mystery Ch. 9: "The Conspiracy Revealed"

TheOriginalHappyGoat

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Oct 4, 2010
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Margaritaville
Previous installments linked here:
Chapters 1-5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8


Chapter 9
"The Conspiracy Revealed"


I honestly don't remember how long I was in Bloom's kitchen, sitting tied to a chair, while this over-muscled and yet still somehow effeminate douchebag named "Money" wailed at me best he could with those manicured hands of his. The only thing this pansy knew how to beat was himself, that I was sure of. But it did wear on a bit. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't going to cave in. If I did, and still somehow survived, my reputation would be ruined permanently. And, as I figured I was going to end up face down in some OTF alley, anyway, I saw no reason to speed up my own death by being cooperative.


Still, I'll admit I was at least a little relieved when Bloom came into the room and told his minion to stop.


"I hope you're enjoying the hospitality, Mr. Goat," he said, pulling up a chair and sitting directly in front of me.


"Honestly, I've had better."


"Hospitality? Or beatings?"


"Both," I said, sneering at this Money and watching his nostrils flare. "Your boy here might as well have given me a handy as effective as that was."


"Ha! Well, the night's still young. But no, I think we have a better use for you. If you're not going to give up the details of your investigation, we'll just have to trust that you didn't open your fat mouth around town. In fact, knowing about you as I do, I always trusted you kept things close to your vest."


"Then why the beating?"


"Fun." The fat greaseball let his lips curl into what I imagine was some sort of grin. "Oh, we'll still cover our bases. I think we'll be removing from the equation some more dancers from the Manhole, just to be safe. And, of course, your lovely secretary will have to go. I'm truly sorry for that. She has an exquisite rack."


"Good luck. I already told her to skip town. You'll never see her again." I quietly prayed that Peachie's breasts would be too sore in the morning and she'd call in sick.


"Oh, Goat. Such a terrible liar. Well, I think it's time to get you ready. We have big plans." He turned to Money. "Bring him into the den."


As I was dragged into the room, I actually experienced some shock to find myself greeted with a veritable Who's Who of OTF life. Bloom, and Aruss, of course. There was Little Lebowski. I guess he was more trustworthy than Uber, after all. A man with a large scar on his face I'd never met, but immediately recognized as one of the local crime lords, a real sadist named Ralphie. He'd once burned down an entire elementary school because the PE teacher owed him on a gambling debt. Several others I didn't recognize.


"I see you're hanging with quite the crowd of OTF scum, Bloom."


"Yes, well, enjoy your time here in the inner sanctum. It will be your last." He turned to another man in the room, sporting a tie-dye shirt and a wiry Van Dyke. "What did you find?"


"It's perfect. These carbon slugs aren't marked like normal bullets when firing." The hippie held up the Soviet gun and rounds they'd confiscated from me. "We can fire them from any firearm of equal caliber, and it will be untraceable."


"The gun will still show signs of firing, though?"


"Yes."


"Excellent." Bloom held out his hand, and the Deadhead handed my gun over. Bloom inserted the clip, looked at the weapon thoughtfully, then abruptly pointed it into his fireplace and let off four rounds. "And now it's been fired."


He removed the clip, emptied the chamber, and handed everything back to Mr. Bojangles.


"In your own way, Mr. Goat, you've actually saved our little operation, here. You see, as I'm sure you've figured out, it was no sex party we were planning on holding. It was an assassination. When Allie got greedy, we thought we'd have to give it all up, but then you came along. Now, we have an alternative. We have the bullets that can carry out the shooting, and we have, with you and your untraceable gun, our fallguy, as well."


"It will never work."


"Oh, won't it? I think it will. It's simple, you see. We'll be firing some of your bullets at our target. Then we'll be dropping you off in the middle of an intersection full of Aruss' loyal OTF security folks. Seeing as you'll be armed, they'll be taking you down pretty quickly. They won't know the gun is empty, of course. And when testing matches the slugs to the victim, and shows that your gun has been fired recently, they'll just figure it was because you unloaded all of your rounds."


"And who is it I'm supposed to take the blame for killing?"


"Oh, just a man who's become a bit unpopular among some of the higher ups around here."


A slick chuckle cascaded around the room. I caught a few men stealing glances at the large television screen on the wall. I looked at it to see news coverage of large crowds of people in the street. They appeared to be celebrating something.


No, wait.


They were celebrating someone.


Then I saw him. In the middle of the crowd. The leader of the largest religion in the City. His tanned skin, wire-rimmed glasses and ill-fitting robes were unmistakable.


The Orange Bishop.


"No," I said. "You can't be serious."


"Oh, we're quite serious," Bloom said. "It's time for Mr. Tangerine to go. And you've so kindly provided us with the method."


Next Time: It All Goes Tits Up.