Philly''s P-Hine{t} /> Hardcore Phant-[o]m$ Part One Chapter IV

IV

April 24^th, 2015

                       11:48 a.m.

“And that was it, man, I swear!”

Al was ‘character’-ized and tout like croute and spring berries on a beautiful day in May at the park <3 :). Special Agents Gestarrè and Palmer had him in tears at his kitchen table and he thrust his head down on it following this last gesticulation. He spoke equally as loud and ridiculous from under his arm for the next one, understandably />

“I can’t believe Randall is gone!”

“Al, do you have to be so loud? The dog is trying to sleep-”

“I KNOW MOM!!!! I JUST HAD A FRIEND DIE!!! IT’S NOT MY FAULT-”

This was the first time Al had heard of Randall’s murder and to say the least, it took him by surprise. It’d been a long time since any of his friends had died, especially under such asinine circumstances, and an even longer time since the infamous night of the infamous Branding™ so ingrained in his memory, like he’d witnessed a pregnancy or some s**t (because seeing a human being born or nursing is disgusting (ew) (way worse than seeing an adult killed or a child starving) =P). Special Agents Gestarrè and Palmer had come straight there after investigating the scene at Randall’s parent’s place, a.k.a. where Randall was living and where he was brutally murdered at like he was an Egyptian slave in Israel (?) only the night before.

Al’s mom was sick of Al living at the house, but she did have some sympathy for his current situation-

“You act like this doesn’t happen every day-“

“OH RANDALL!!!!”

“Do you guys really have to be here right now?” Candice, sitting next to Al, asked Gestarrè and Palmer on the other side of the table. “He literally just found out about   this-“

“Oh, don’t make me out to look like a p***y, Candice!” Al said and he picked his head up with it, only to shove it right back down after he was done talking (or bitching).

“O-kay. Fine,” and Candice got up and left.

“Mr. Rockman, it would do you well to pull yourself together here as to end this silly investigation as soon as possible,” Gestarrè began (dick), his eyes still parallel with his pen and paper-on-something (a clipboard?) currently residing in his lap.  He wasn’t a very sympathetic one, that Gestarrè, not sympathetic for s**t #Heartless #KingdomHearts #Disney #Squaresoft. “We’re fairly certain that the killer was one of Mr. Gähstŭr’s old colleagues from his gang days. Could you tell us anything about that-“

“Randall was never a dick, A*****E!! He was a great man-” Al screamed with a quick, temporary raise of his head.

“Mr. Rockman, we’re not in a position of a screaming match here so please, could we move along with this? If you don’t mind, I have a two O’ clock tee time this   evening-”

“RAAAANDDAAALLLL!!!!!!!-”

“Well, maybe we can wait just a little bit?” Palmer calmly suggested. “I mean maybe have a cup of coffee first? Talk about deflategate a bit?” (Tom Brady is a CHEATER-)

Al lifted his head back up.

“Yea, I think I like that idea,” he said as he sniffed and wiped some cry-water from his eyes :’(. “Maybe put some bourbon in the coffee?”

“Whatever works, man, we’re here to help you out-“

“Palmer…”

“Yea?” Al continued inquiring. “Yea? Bourbon?... Scotch?”

Gestarrè straightened his glasses, looked back to his paper on a _________ on his lap and adjusted himself in his seat.

“Palmer, let’s step outside for a moment, please.”

>Insert awkward pause here, because I don’t want to use the ‘…’ again<

“But-“

“Now-”

…

/> Al: “So is that a yes for spiked coffee?-”

>Outside<

“What’s the prob-“

“I’d like to ask: what in the f*****g world do you think you’re doing?”

Gestarrè spoke diligently and with more passion (honesty (honest anger)) and indignation than ever before, far more than Palmer thought he had in him, but not nearly as restrained. It was like everything about him when he was inside was completely restrained, but now that he was outside, out of the ‘consumer’ or ‘average, taxpaying citizen’s’ earshot and smoking a cigarette like a mad cat lady on Adderall or some s**t, he could say and do whatever he wanted, because in order for him to truly have that right, everyone else had to think that they did as well, think, nothing more, nothing less.

Palmer answered: “I’m questioning the witness-”

“I’m sorry and I don’t mean to be a stickler here,” Gestarrè interrupted with, sarcastically laughing and flinging his arms up for ‘dramatic’ effect. “But I’ve been one of the leading detectives of our lady Philadelphia’s 14^th and 1/6^th precinct since the Cold war and, as I know you ‘Millennials’ love to forget about history, that was quite a long time ago now (history? Or time…). Need I remind you that you’ve only been on the job for three days and already I’m getting the sense that you think you know how to do your job better than me, you f**k-“

Gestarrè gained back his composure with a deep breath. He was very back and forth with his emotions, resulting in quick bursts of anger here and there before, and more quickly, abruptly stopping it. He was a real character, that Special Agent Gestarrè.

“Another typical trait for your generation,” he concluded.

…

“We have one hour until I need to be home for my daily hour shower so you’d better not drag this out for longer than it has to go-“

Stuttering, Palmer, “well I- I want to get all of the facts first-“

“There are no facts anymore, Palmer. Grow up-“

“But-“

“Palmer,” and Gestarrè took a hit off his cigarette, moved his face in closer to Palmer’s and raised the hand holding the smoke to point at Palmer’s eye, avoiding contact with it by a mere inch at best.

“Facts are nothing more than interpretations by people of what happens throughout the day. Some people are going to have different interpretations than others so it’s not about reading or getting the facts, it’s about knowing them and that every day is another, new, 24-hour, moment-packed opportunity to do so- a-ch-“

The cough, which started out as some light ‘ahg-hgem’s turned quickly into a loud, crushing auditory oversight, eventually, after a few moments, caused Gestarrè to bend over for a few large heaves before he took another fast hit off his cigarette and flicked the butt off into the nearby bushes.

“F****n’ kids nowadays-”

>From inside as the door opened with a surging wind, it was a woman’s voice<

“I’m doing it dude!!”

“I know CANDICE!!! But you need to move faster now since I’m in a lot of emotional pain and physical fear for my life and I need your support!”

“Al!?”

Candice stopped pouring the drinks to look at Al through the open walkway between the kitchen and the messy dining room, where Al was sitting at the table and where and Gestarrè and Palmer had just walked back into from outside.

With just-the-right-amount-of sass, “what the hell do you think I’m doing, Al?-”

/>

“I’m sorry guys, I’m having a very rough day,“ Al told the Special Agents as they calmly sat back down at the table. Candice went back to gathering the drinking materials in the kitchen and would be out momentarily.

“What do you mean that you’re in physical fear for your life right now?” Palmer asked.

“Well it’s just… some s**t that happened that night. You know… the night of the Branding™-“

“Yes about that,“ started Gestarrè. “What is it about that night that makes you so worried, and why were you so quick to just call that the end before?”

…

Al looked at him incredulously o.O.

“What do you mean?”

“That nothing happened after Herb picked you up at your house to go back to House’s house? Seems a tad shady to me, right Palmer?”

Palmer nodded sincerely.

“Well, I really just don’t want to continue telling the story anymore,” Al answered.

“Why is that?”

“I dunno! F****n.n.n.,” he hesitated. “We’ve been laughing our asses off at that whole event for the past few months, but now it seems as though it can’t be funny anymore!!! Goddammit!!! Oh Randall!!! Oh Barry!!! Why!!?? Why, oh, WHY!!!???”

Al threw his head back into his arms on the table.

Candice here arrived with three cups of coffee, placing each one in front of each of the three men, shooting Palmer and Gestarrè some more dirty looks as she did so. Once placed in front of him, Al downed almost the whole thing on his first sip, which Candice had proven she’d already anticipated by bringing over the coffee pot and the whiskey bottle- respectively. Palmer made a slight grimace in surprise at how much bourbon was in the thing, but Gestarrè didn’t even notice it was there.

Candice sat down quietly next to Al.

“Al, please,” Palmer sympathized because he was a good person B>:) “It could help us figure out what happened. And stopping anything form happening to you guys.”

…

“I dunno, just…”

Al turned away and closed his eyes.

“God that night was so fucked up.” -Mumbled.

“Just walk us through the night of the Branding™. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Well, it all started when Herb came to pick me up. My four older brothers were over, they’re all a lot older than we are, and they actually really wanted to come when I told them where I was going-“

“Wait, they… wanted to go to a Branding™?” Gestarrè asked.

“Well, yea. I mean how many times are you gonna witness a drunk dude getting Branded™ with a rusty, nine-year-old clothes hanger?”

Candice nodded in agreement.

“Anyway, I’d just gotten Randall into Animals as Leaders- have you guys heard of that band?”

Palmer and Gestarrè shook their heads no.

“Yea, they’re pretty awesome. Herb played them in the car on the way over to House’s that day. I’d never really hung out with House and them very much, but with Candice over here wanting to do nothing but dance around to Ke$ha music for three hours on molly all the time, I had to get the hell outta here for a night. When we got there, House had some awful house music playing on the house-wide speaker system, went across the whole house, and we could hear it loud and clear the moment we began walking up the driveway from the street. I think it was like four O’ clock in the afternoon or so, something like that. Yea, it must have been four. It was beginning to get dark out…”