Dammit McClanaghan: Rogue Cop: Episode 17: The Case of the Ultimate Orphan Fighting League or Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow... blow Pt. 1

____It was a cold day in August. It was cold because of revenge. Because revenge is best served cold. But it might have been the air conditioning. Dammit McClanaghan shivered lightly as he psyched himself up for what he was about to do. The rumors had been swirling for months that the nefarious crime boss Mufasa was putting together an Ultimate Orphan Fighting League. An operation of such epic proportions made the closed office door that stood before him an imposing barrier, saying, “Yeah, good luck with that.” A smack talking door was the least of Dammit’s worries however, as he had a drug dealing, freewheeling, candy stealing… He had some revenge to get.

____“Okay boys. Mufasa’s on the other side of this door. The front desk lady said so, and she seems like a nice person.” Suddenly, there was a courteous ‘ahem’ from down the hall.
____“Sir?” The nice lady from the front desk poked her head into the hallway and called over to Dammit, who, despite speaking as if he were leading a task force, was quite alone. He was a rogue cop after all. The questionably nice lady continued. “While I did say that Mr. Mufasa is in his office, he’s currently not taking any visitors.”
____“That’s fine. Because visiting hours are over.” Dammit ignored the formerly nice lady who now sported a look of confusion, and kicked in the door. “Hey Mufa-” But the door rebounded and slammed shut, the small bronze placard falling to the floor with a clatter. His entrance ruined, he knocked briskly and entered the office of his arch nemesis.
____“Ah, Officer McClanaghan.” the words issued forth slimily as he spoke, like a corrupt insurance adjuster “What an explosive entrance you have.”
____“Hello Mufasa. What a terrible accent you have.”
____“Thank you. I’ve been taking stereotypical villain elocution lessons at the learning annex three times a week.”
____“Really? How’s that been going?”

____The two mortal enemies traded vicious barbs as each searched for a weakness that could be exploited. Their minds like steel traps caught in a knife fight, and neither had thought to bring a gun. While the opportunities offered by the learning annex were fascinating, it was only a distraction. Dammit had come to expose the wicked plot that Mufasa was cooking up, and not even polite conversation could stall him forever.

____“That’s enough Mufasa! Where are the orphans for your Ultimate Orphan Fighting League?!”
____“How would I know, this isn’t a lost and found.”
____“He had me there.”
____“I had you what?”
____“Be quiet, I’m monologuing.” Dammit regained his composure, and continued. “Mufasa had me there. He’d never dabbled in Orphanry before, and it seemed unlikely that he would start now.”
____“Because I haven’t, Officer McClanaghan.” Mufasa made an outward, sweeping gesture with his arms, inviting Dammit to look around. “As you can see, I don’t have any orphans in my office.”

____Dammit couldn’t argue that point, as there were indeed no orphans to be seen amidst all of the men dressed in clean room suits and respirators tending to massive piles of white powder. Dammit wasn’t quite sure what it was that he was looking at, but it looked oddly familiar. He stepped forward to the thick glass wall and scanned the room intently. Mufasa had apparently lost interest in his presence, as he was now shuffling through the rolodex on his desk.

Dammit McClanaghan: Rogue Cop: Episode 17: The Case of the Ultimate Orphan Fighting League or Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow... blow Final

____“What are those men doing in there?” Dammit looked over his shoulder at Mufasa, who had suddenly paused. “Because it looks like they’re making cocaine.”
____“Don’t be silly, Dammit. That’s not cocaine.” His grimy voice briefly paused. “They’re refining flour.”
____“Then why are they wearing clean room suits and respirators?”
____“Because it’s bleached flour, you simpleton. I don’t want my men breathing in bleach fumes, now do I.”
____“Oh, I’m sure there are a lot of things you don’t want. But I have everything I need to bring you in.”

____Dammit pulled out a piece of printer paper, carefully folded, but slightly wrinkled from being in his pocket for the last few hours. He unfolded it and showed it proudly to Mufasa, who remained suspiciously nonplussed. “This is a free conviction coupon, and I’m using it on you.” Dammit smiled triumphantly, and handed it to Mufasa for some inexplicable reason.

____“Free conviction coupon, hmm?” Mufasa examined the document, still “Is that a watermark I see? Very impressive. Did that take a lot of work, or…?”
____“Not really. I found a great plug-in for Photoshop that does ‘em pretty well.”
____“Well, it was all for naught, Officer McClanaghan. You can’t bring me in with a forged conviction coupon. Or a real one for that matter, as you’re no longer on the police force.”
____“I may be rogue, but I’m still a cop!” This was met with silence by Mufasa, who had his hand to his ear. The silence made the room grow still; to the point that even the muffled sound from the clean room with all of the unrefined bleached flour could be heard. Soon, even the sound from the flour lab was drowned out by the crushing silence. The room was so filled with silence- ____“Did you hear me Mufasa?” Dammit asked, undeterred by the fact that the narrator wasn’t finished explaining how quiet the room-
____“I was on the phone. Do you mind?” Mufasa barked at Dammit, who was clearly offended at being treated this way (welcome to the club). “Now look. I don’t have any Ultimate Orphan Fighting League®, and flour futures are a secure investment now.” Mufasa got up from his desk and gently took Dammit by the arm. “You can’t arrest me for having a successful financial future, now can you. Now-“
____“Please stop saying ‘Now’.” Dammit put up little resistance as he was being escorted from his nemesis’ evil lair in Suite E of the Applied Calamity Inc. office complex.
____“I shall do no such thing. Now, I want you to leave my office, apologize to Becky for being so brutish, she’s new after all, and be on your merry, little, rogue cop way.” Mufasa gave one final push, putting McClanaghan out of his office as he closed the door.

____Dammit looked down the hall way and saw Becky, still peeping with a puzzled look, when he realized something he’d missed. Despite being short a pithy remark, Dammit kicked in the door, successfully this time.
____“I told you Stanley, I want at least 18 of them… yes… yeah, it’s going to be single elimination round, so I need some alternates- hey, hold on a second.” Mufasa looked up at Dammit, but before he could say anything, Dammit spoke.
____“Hey, sorry.” He bent over and picked up his wallet that fell out of his pocket as he was being escorted out. “Dropped my wallet. What’s that phone call about?”
____“I’m ordering Chinese… for my men back there.” Despite being in a sound proof, Plexiglas box, the men inside immediately stopped what they were doing, and began to celebrate.
____“Well, you’re gonna need a lot more than 18 then, that’s for sure.” Dammit said, as Mufasa gave a withering smile, and waved him from the room as he continued his phone call.

____Dammit gave a small bow, silently apologizing for the interruption. He made his way down the hallway, spooking Becky, who quickly ran back to her desk. Dammit was so close to finally catching Mufasa, but just like all of the other times, Mufasa had slipped through his fingers. As to what he should do next, he was stumped.
____“I’m stumped.”
____I just said that.

The End
Next Time, On Dammit McClanaghan: Rogue Cop
“Alright, fine. Kill their whole family.”
“You can’t be serious Jokester!”
“Shut your mouth, Dammit! I’m never serious!
Next Time, On Dammit McClanaghan: Rogue Cop: Episode 18: Enter the Jokester

New Poem - The Cowgirl

I've written song lyrics for years now, and I have hundreds of them; complete, unfinished, titled, untitled, nothing but a title and ideas that never managed to form. As far as actual poetry goes though, I don't have much. We've started the poetry section in Creative Writing, and this is my first one. I just wrote it tonight, but the general idea has been kicking around in my head for a while. As usual, comments are desperately wanted and very much appreciated. Not just on this entry either.

I still have my other two stories from class to put on here. One is a serious piece that my professor labeled as an 'Excellent story', and the other is about a rogue cop named Dammit McClanaghan. I'm sure you can accurately guess what genre that one belongs in. So, I present to you, dear reader,

The Cowgirl

I haven’t read you
Your accounts and travels
How you saw the changes
Tectonic shifts in their infancy
The world on the road to brutal discovery
And the cowgirl
Uncomfortable, wrapped too tightly
A square among squares
Yet unable to fit into the same hole
A sight more common today
But you probably knew that

Not all cowgirls are girls
They’re fakes
Wearing the same restricting uniform
Donning the same brand of conformity
The kind everybody wears, but few know
The four brothers
The digital fruit
The apparent apparel line’s labels, screaming single file
Hardcore
If that’s what you’re living for
But you’re too cool to ignore

I haven’t read you, your scroll
I don’t know if she’s there
The fake fitting in
The girl that’s a square
She exists, they all do
Am I different because I know this?
Am I too self aware?

I remember where I heard it
I was in high school
In my English teacher’s classroom
I know that I overheard it
I was just an observer
Just like you, Jack
But people listen to you