Jenkins: The Mangled Lips, Part 2

Part 2, very late, who cares?

He flung the cover off and revealed the body of a random bimbo. Ann was not dead.

“GODDAMN IT!” Jenkins bellowed. “When are we gonna catch this goon?” He continued.

“Sooner than you think,” Started a lab jockey, “He must’ve been close to being caught, because the body is a mess. Not to mention the bloody hand print we found on that wall over there,” it gestured.

“Can we get a fingerprint?” Jenkins inquired.

“Probably not…” spit the scuzball.

Enraged but determined, Jenkins shoved it aside and set off to find the culprit. But first, he needed to find Ann. He called Giga Watson.

            “Watson, it wasn’t Ann but I still have a bad feeling, do you know where she is?”

            “Um, no but I think you’re overreacting, besides what’s the chance of her being abducted?” Giga Watson calmly replied.

            “We still don’t know where she is!” He retorted angrily.

            “Look, I’m sure she’s just on vacation...,” Giga Watson continued, “Hey, you should come to the costume party Jackmerius is hosting.”

            “… Alright, I suppose,” Jenkins gave in reluctantly. He knew the dangers of obsession well.

That night, Jenkins, Giga Watson, and Jackmerius arrived to the party. They couldn’t find each other because of the masks they were wearing. Jenkins immediately thought it was a dumb idea. Still feeling frustrated over Ann being missing, he waltzed over to the punch bowl to get blazing drunk. Suddenly, a figure approached him and Jenkins got a bad feeling. Jenkins stared at the man intently as he extended his arm toward the punch bowl.

            The man said, “A night to remember.”

Jenkins relaxed when he heard his voice. It sounded familiar yet soothing, even though what he said was kind of cryptic. Just as he looked away, he caught a glimpse of a red stain on the man’s sleeve. ‘Clumsy fellow?’ he thought to himself…

“Wait… I KNOW YOU!” Jenkins blurted, as the man started running toward the exit.

The sleeve wasn’t dipped in punch, but blood. The familiar voice resounded in Jenkins. The strange sentence was once a title of a book he read. A book a dear friend of his wrote. He rushed and barrowed through the crowd like a river, swaying at every twist and turn. Sight of the man was waning but he finally reached the exit. But he was too late, the man got in his car and sped off. Jenkins darted around and went for the first car he saw. Unfortunately, it was a tiny clown car owned by the unusually affluent Donald Turnip. The clown waved with his stubby fingers and greeted Jenkins in a goofy voice. Jenkins had no time for this tom foolery and yelled at him to get in.

            “Listen clown, you need to follow that car! The fate of my… friend depends on it,” Ordered Jenkins.

            “Yesh sir, ho ho,” guffawed Turnip.

Jenkins grit his teeth and clenched his fist at the attitude of this insufferable maniac but he had already got in the car with him. However, his impression of Turnip changed when the car turned out to be a gas guzzling machine. Donald pressed a big red button and the vehicle went into overdrive. Jenkins was pushed back in his seat and found himself smiling at the progress of his pursuit. They were closing in on the mysterious man.

They got to a turn, and Jenkins quickly yelled, “SLAM INTO HIM NOW!”

Author's Note

Ignore all problems