From: "Jom Tones" <publicenemanumberone@hotmail.nospam.com> Subject: [PW!] Let the mystery solving begin... Date: Monday, July 12, 2004 4:49 PM Jack OATS - Independent Private Detective. Cheating spouses spied upon; Mysteries solved; Criminals foiled. Discount Prices - Flexible payment options available. Offices - Vanilla Towers, Saffron City, Kanto. **Last time on Jack OATS P.I., Steffan Alun wrote...** "I've been on the run ever since," he said weakly. "Have you heard from the tour company since?" asked OATS. "No, nothing." "I see." OATS crossed back to his filing cabinets and fished out a large directory. He returned to his desk and started leafing through it. "What are you doing?" asked Mike. "Fishing for scraps of information on the company?" "You could say that," said OATS, amused. "I'm gonna give them a call." **In today's episode, the story continues...** "Don't you think that's a little careless?" Mike asked. When OATS gave him a withering look, he quickly added, "To go asking questionable questions... They may get suspicious - they may tap your phone even." "If they can tap my phone, then I deserve to get caught," OATS replied, effortlessly balancing the tome of numbers and the receiver over his arm and under his chin. "Besides, to them, I'm just a potential discerning customer." He wound in the numbers and at the same time sat in front of his overlarge, grey computer. He called up what looked like a hacker's search engine and began typing. "What are you doing now?" Mike asked, moving closer in his chair. "Waiting for them to pick up." "No, I meant - " "Hello? Pugh Pewter Tours? Yes, my name's Lionel Guthrage, I'm phoning you in regards to the PokéPunFun convention next month in Johto. I was wondering whether you were doing any chartered tours there..." Mike was surprised at how natural the act came to OATS. The screen in front of him had reams of information spurting out in windows from every corner, all the while he was idly scratching his nose with a HB pencil. "You aren't? That is a shame." Suddenly, OATS surged forward at a flashing window on his screen. He gave Mike the thumbs up and sat back, propping his feet up on the desk. "In that case," OATS continued, "Could you put me through to personnel? Thankyou. Yes, I'll hold." When the plinkyplonky music began, he crooked the phone under his neck again, freeing up his hands to type. Whilst pummelling the keyboard with lightning quick commands, he brought Mike up to speed. "Our man in Personnel has a criminal record Mr Smith, I'm now calling up information on every recordable move he has ever made. Transactions, holidays, porn subscriptions - I can see every single thing he's spent a dime on right here." OATS chuckled, "He's bought some very silly things it seems. I'm going to use records of said things to rouse his attention." "You're going to blackmail him?!" Mike was horrified. Only the thought of all his mounted problems stopped him getting up on his high horse about it. "No, no Mr Smith. I'm going to 'threaten' to blackmail him. There's a difference... Ah, Hello? Is that Personnel? Excellent..." ** Ten minutes later OATS had an appointment with 'the man from personnel' at a local diner. They would recognize each other in amongst all the other people with an agreed sign. OATS nodded his head with satisfaction - he really enjoyed doing his job. Mike sat across the table, looking smaller and a lot more uneasy at the prospect of dishing out dirt on the Bus company, OATS on the other hand, was in his element. He swung his trenchcoat on and flipped on his hat. He stuffed a few last minute mi-nute gadgets in his pockets. Mike blanched when he saw the flash of a handgun from within the long coat. "Don't worry kiddo, you stay here and guard the gaff. I'll go and take care of Mr Personnel," OATS said, lighting a cigarette. Mike got up and walked around the table. He fumbled around in his pocket and took out his mobile phone - it was a really old model, made of heavy black plastic. It looked very much like the type of phone a P.I. might have. "Look, Mr OATS, I really appreciate what you're doing for me. I'd like you to have this, you can use it to phone here." "That's very kind of you Mr Smith," he replied, examining the phone, "It would help the case if you could call up any information you think is relevant. I'd like to see that Newspaper article on your boss. It could contain vital information, feel free to use whatever means you think necessary." OATS strode towards the window and opened it wide, he then swung his foot out onto the fire escape. Below, waiting in the alley way, was his very long, beaten up looking saloon with chrome fittings. It looked like a cross between a cartoon rocket ship and an old fashioned toaster. "Don't wait up," OATS said as he made his way out onto the creaky iron structure, "I'll be back for breakfast." There came a well timed flash of lighting, the subsequent rumble of thunder masked OATS's descent down to the alley. Mike couldn't help feeling a bit uneasy. He was in a strange man's apartment/office; he was now involved in a roller coaster conspiracy with himself at the centre; he'd now employed said strange man in his quest for justice. Why didn't he feel better? The Persian on the couch gave him a superior yawn and went back to sleep, Loudred turned to look at Mike. "LOUD?" It asked. "Exactly," Mike replied, and got to work. ** "Journal, night - continued." Jack began, the wipers working overtime to combat the rain, the cars and lights zoomed by. On the dashboard sat a small Dictaphone. "I've begun an intriguing case. A man named Mike Smith has asked me to unwind a plot - one in which he has mysteriously found himself at the centre. My thoughts are as follows: The company, Pugh Pewter Tours, who head hunted him are using him for a more sinister purpose, hidden within the cushy job he thought he had is an ulterior motive. Why else would he get payed so much for it?" He stopped at some traffic lights. "Pugh Pewter Tours, in the past have kept their shady involvements very shady. This is why on the surface they appear to be a reasonably respectable company. I've heard whispers through the proverbial grape vine from various sources. Now it may be that I've found a way to crack into their water tight operation and leak them out somehow." He turned the corner and continued driving. "I'm pretty certain this Mike Smith is on the level. I know a liar when I see one. There are things he isn't telling me though, there must be. Nobody could be involved in such odd circumstances and not get the least bit suspicious. For example, where the hell is his boss? I'd have tracked him down long before now. Why is this Mike guy coming to me now? Surely he can't be as naive as he seems." Jack pulled into a small car park and drove his saloon into a free space. He got out, drawing his coat collar up to hide his face from the wind and rain. With his hat pulled low, he walked up to the aptly named PokyDiner. The sign was fluorescent and showed a cramped looking Pikachu trying to squeeze it's way out of it's ball. Within he saw girls in pretty pink dresses and white aprons serving milkshakes to a bar load of drably dressed, ill humoured clientele. Jack swung open the door and a clamour of noise greeted his ears. On one side of the bar were two policemen flirting and chomping down doughnuts. Behind the bar, two waitresses were having an argument about who's milkshake was the more popular. On the other end of the bar were several men drowning their sorrows in milkshake. OATS scanned the room, the man he was looking for was sat at the furthest end. He was wearing such a degree of inconspicuous clothing that he'd ceased to be invisible. It didn't help that the sign they'd agreed on for recognition purposes was a big pink novelty rose. Jack sat down in the booth opposite the man, the pink faux leather squeaking under him. "Eggy Risotto, Pimlico Businessman?" The man said in a questioning manner. OATS sighed inwardly, he hated nonsense code phrases. "Nostradamus Damien, Frag-a-baby Jigglypuff," OATS replied with an air of disdain. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming," the man muttered. Not without a trace of bitterness, OATS noted. "What do you want?" "Anything you can tell me about your employers," Jack replied. "Like I told you on the phone," the man said, "I don't know anything." Jack nodded, from within his jacket he removed a wad of print-offs. They were the man's bank statements. "Take a look at these," Jack said, "The transactions I found most intriguing I underlined in pink." The man's eyes widened as he scanned down the list. "I was going to use yellow, but I thought pink would most reflect their embarrassing nature." Jack continued conversationally, idly cleaning his fingernails while the man was reduced to a gibbering wreck, "My favourite is the shady shipment of Stantlers from Hoenn. What did you intend doing with those I wondered. I don't suppose you were going to call them silly names, tie them to a sled and deliver presents to little children every year? Hmm?" "I don't know anything!" The man pleaded, "I swear!" "Are you sure? You know, I could go talk to those policemen in the corner. They might be able to help." "I have a wife and kids! For the love of Goddish!" "No you don't, I've done my homework on you mister. If you don't start giving me information I can use, you're going to spend the rest of your life in a distinctly unhappy frame of mind." "Okay, okay. I can't tell you anything here..." Jack nodded, urging him to continue. "But I can tell you where to look..." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" "Check out all the newspaper articles concerning you-know-who, in the library. You'll find your clues there." Jack sighed. "Okay. I'll do it, but only because I'm a nice guy. If I don't find what I want at the library you'll be hearing from me again. Oh, you can keep that -" indicating the print-off "- I have back ups. Think of it as a reminder." The man whimpered. "S'long," Jack said as he got up and left. It was still raining outside, but he was happy to get out of the stiflingly pink atmosphere in the diner. He checked his watch, it was late. He knew the curator at the library, he owed Jack a favour. Time to work late, he thought. ** "Here it is..." The Curator, Mr Linden, pointed with his torch at a newspaper projector, "Here's the back-log of reels. We've got the last twenty years worth of headlines." Jack's heart sank. He was going to be here all night. "If you use the computer over there, you can search for key words and it'll check all the relevant papers for you." Mr Linden continued. Jack smiled inwardly. That was a relief, he thought. "If you need me, just call out." "I will, thankyou," Jack replied. Mr Linden retreated into the shadows of the dusty old library, his shoes clicking on the marble floor. Jack got to work, checking the computer for the keywords he wanted before scanning over the shelves for the relevant rolls of film. He pulled out draw after draw until a friendly flash of lightning revealed the draw he needed. With his film in hand, Jack sat at the projector and began to pour his attention over the headlines. He made notes as he went, but nothing jumped out at him as being significant. Jack laboured on for hours raking his way through trying to find anything suggestive. Eventually, just as he was entertaining thoughts of leaking the bank statement to the police and the bus company, he got a phone call. "Hello?" It was Mike. "Mr Smith," Jack said, his eyes still darting over the words in front of him. "Mr OATS, I was wondering whether I could open out your sofa bed. It's getting late, you know..." Jack looked at his watch. It was about three in the morning. He chuckled, imagining Mike sitting in front of the phone wondering whether or not he should phone to ask to use the bed. "Yes Mr Smith, you can use the sofa bed," he replied, flicking through to the nest screen. "Thankyou Mr OATS. Have you got anywhere with the case?" "No, not really. Our man on the inside pointed me to the library, but I'm beginning to think he was leading me on a wild goose chase. There's nothing here to suggest they've done anything wrong." "Hmm." "The earliest article is from a year ago, it mentions their opening. It's a small article - nothing much..." "Hang on, did you say they opened a year ago?" Mike asked, sounding confused. "Yes, why?" "I'd always assumed they were a much older company, wait a second..." Mike became distant for a moment, "The company card they gave me says they opened over twenty years ago!" "What?" "They lied to me!" Jack shrugged, then remembered something. He flicked forward on the screen to a much later document the computer had picked up on. It had an advertisement at the bottom, under the company name it clearly stated that they'd been open for over twenty years. "This doesn't make any sense," Mike said. Jack was satisfied that they'd found the clue they were looking for though. The two documents clearly contradicted each other. Jack shut everything off and put all the reels of film away, apart from the ones that contained the contradictory evidence. "No, Mr Smith, it doesn't make any sense. But, we have our first clue, and this is a good thing. Try and get some sleep now. I'll be back soon. Tomorrow we can start the real work." Jack hung up and walked off into the darkness, leaving behind the echo of his shoes as he went. In the next episode there'll be gunpowder, treason and plot - - Stay tuned!!! -- Hem Hem - oiseau bum talent- - JomTones publicenemanumberone@hotmail.nospam.com