The Adventures of Cubson Bearfield

A leather bound journal, faded with time and never opened. That is until I caught a bad one on a case that stunk worse than the fish I almost drowned in. Now I got plenty of time to tell my story. So pour yourself a root beer, sit a spell and read along. You might learn something that could save your hide one day.

Name:
Location: St. Floris, Missouri, United States

I'm a Bearfield so I've got a nose for trouble, a hard right paw, and a love for a cold, frothy rootbeer in the evenin'. I've been a detective for hire for a couple of years now so I've learned most of the ropes, especially the ones that try to knot around your neck. Those I've gotten pretty good at avoiding or slipping out of. Me and my partner Marl try to make an honest living and honest sometimes don't pay to great. Marl likes to tell me that you can't eat pride, but we get by just the same.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Blood, Sweat, Fur and Fish Sauce...

Mrs. Silverbeak makes the greatest vegetararian chili this side of heaven. Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, the tuna.

Okay, so the day starts out as most of my days do, the morning St. Floris Watcher (Sports first), a cup of joe, and a Bagel from Earliwhine's Bakery. Marley swings in, easy as you please and regales me with his adventures from the previous night. I ignore him as best I can although I perk up when he mentions spotting Minerva Saberhaven in a shop in the Central West End. Minerva is best friends with my girlfriend. Well, Ex-girlfriend to be exact. I'm still trying to get used to the idea.
Anyway, I'm about to start asking Marley about Minerva, him giving me that smug 'I knew you'd get interested when I dropped her name' look when Felicia comes in to tell me -between loud sneezes- that we've got customers, a Mr. and Mrs. Flintwhisker.
Felicia's sneezing so Im thinking the client might be rodent. Let me tell you about Felicia Winterclaw. She's five feet eight inches of the creamiest milk that ever got lapped. She's all curves and smiles and silk fur. Dont get the wrong idea, that's not why I hired her, no matter what Marley might say. The first thing I noticed about Felicia is that she's got good senses, she can read people like a book. She's not too bad in a pinch when things go south either since she packs a playpen special in her purse and knows how to make it count. Felicia swore off meat recently, a tough thing for her to do but she wanted to loose a few inches off her waist I guess. Either way, now when she comes in contact with something that she might've once eaten, she gets so bothered, she starts sneezing. Since I dont do bird work anymore, it's gotta be rodent.
'Send them in, Felicia.' I tell her, handing her my box of cleanex. She walks out sneezing and, a moment later, In walks a couple of hamsters. They're middle aged, thick around the middle, him in a second hand business suit that screams desk jockey, her in a powder blue dress that nearly drags on the floor. They take a hesitant look at Marley, who is all tooth and fang grins, before they sit down in the chairs in front of my desk. They've got the desperate but hopeful look of parents who've lost a youngster and want me to track him down. Thats the only reason why a wife brings her husband in to see me. If she's by herself, chances are he's trying to get his cheese from another cupboard.
The wife starts first, her voice whiney and high pitched; it makes me regret not spiking my coffee with something strong.
'Mr. Bearfield, thank you for seeing us.' she says. She's leaning forward in her seat, gripping the armrests as if she was about to flip out of the chair.
'No problem. You want coffee? Marl, go grab some Java for the nice people.'
Marley almost snorts, I can see it in his face, but the look I give him gets him up and headed toward the coffee pot.
'Thank you.' She takes the my favorite Shai City mug, the one with the chipped lip from Marl, sips it and tries not to grimace. 'This has all been very hard on us both.'
I have an idea where this is going already. The wife is nearly in tears and the husband is stonefaced. But I still have to go through the preliminaries. 'So what's going on?'
'Our son. He's dissappeared!' Mrs.Flintwhisker nearly shrieks before calming herself. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Mr. Flintwhisker's face, if anything, has gotten stonier and I note this to myself. 'He hasn't been home in a week. You have to find my baby!'
'Calm down, Mrs Flintwhisker, its okay.' I try soothe their nerves as I pull out a notepad and begin to take down the essentials once Mrs. Flintwhisker composes herself enough to talk.
Here's the Skinny: Vernal, the son of Tinnis and Mary Flintwhisker, was a percocious student, head of his class, hit with the ladies and the great hope for the Flintwhisker gene pool. Apparently a week ago, he went to the library to study for a test and never came home for mommy's pot-roast dinner. The parents go down to the St. Floris Police to file a missing persons report but so far the police havent found any leads. When Mrs Flintwhisker tells me that the officer who took down her missing persons info was a Mr. Blackpaw of the Claypool City Precinct, I try to not to wince. I've had run-ins with Blackpaw before and they usually dont tend to go well. I get a list of Vernal's closest friends, of whom the Flintwhiskers only seem to have a passing knowledge of, as well as a list of places he usually frequents. After explaining to them how much I charge per day plus expenses and letting them haggle me down to my Actual price I assure them I'll do the best I can. After they walk out of the office, I lean back in my chair, a broad smile on my mug.
'Whats that fish-eating grin for, CB?' Marley asks, hitting up his computer for information about the Flintwhiskers.
'Easy money Marl,' I say winking at him and getting an eye roll in return. 'Easy money.'

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Cubson Bearfield

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Just got back from the Chop Hut...

Hey. Cubson Bearfield here. I'm laid up with a bum leg for a couple of weeks and my partner Marl though it'd be a good idea for me to write in a journal instead of moping around the office all day, getting on Felicia's nerves, and stewing in my own juices. I don't really think I need to but I agreed, just to get Marl off my back. Besides, I think Felicia could use the time off, maybe go someplace with that motorcyle-riding boyfriend of hers and relax. She's been through alot these past few weeks.

Maybe I should go back and start at the beginning. I'm a detective. At, least, that's what it says on the door to my office. I was on the force out of St. Floris for eight years but decided to go solo after a nasty run in with the DA over some missing evidence. I dont even want to think about that right now, it still makes me mad enough to split my stitches. I was on the force for eight years, protect and serve, all that jazz. When I went solo, the rules of the game changed. Folks I used to lean on suddenly weren't around so much, guys I used to drink a beer with stopped laughing at the same old jokes. I got the hint. Now, with the badges I got a strictly love-hate relationship; They love to bust my chops and I hate it.

I take all different kinds of jobs, though lately it's been typical stuff. An angry wife want's her man followed, thinks he might be getting his honey from another tree. Usually, thats exactly the case and I spend most of the job holding angry, broken spouses, trying to console them. They love to cry on my shoulder and get my fur wet, which I aint too fond of, but it's part of the job. I've had a few lost cub cases. The parents come in, sobbing, asking me to find their little cub, and how precious he is and how the force doesnt seems to have any leads. Sometimes they end good. Sometimes they don't. This last one didn't. All I got from it was a bum leg, a bad mood and a hate for tuna. If I never see another tuna again, it will be too soon.

This journal thing aint so bad. Maybe after Mrs. Silverbeak comes up with dinner, I might explain what happened. I might even figure something out myself. But for now, Im taking my meds and a nap.

Cubson Bearfield

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