Tag Archives: Chef/Inspector Petty^*++!

February 7, 2024 · 5:54 am

March 12 1951

The file was as thick and complex as St. Dennis itself. “How did you find this office?” queried Chef-Inspector Petty, watching her closely as she studied it, watching the eyes dart about, noticing the scars cutting across her forehead, eyes, nose and cheeks somewhat redden in the excitement.  He could look past it. He wondered if she had any hair underneath that metallic green hood. And what up with the 3 eyed owl perched on her shoulder (!)?

“A little birdie told me,” she answered, which he assumed was the owl again, whose middle eye quickly winked at him right when he thought this.

“Oh. Yes. I see.” He kept staring at the owl, then, but no more obvious winks were produced. Just a steady stare with intermittent, calm blinking, each eye taking a turn now. He decided to ask the sex.

“Um. Both I think.” She was still staring down at the files, flipping pages rapidly in the swift reading. Was the owl helping her with this too? he pondered. Odd thought, he realized. But nothing was ordinary about this case, nothing atall.

“Light okay?” he thought to ask, although he had no way to increase it. Electric grid didn’t get this far in Aisle of Palms yet, on the opposite side of town from the generator in the Blue Feather and attached Perch Restaurant. At least the sun was coming up now. She’d been reading for about 20 minutes.

“Fine.” Looked like she was about 2/3rds the way through the file. He then thought he was peering down on her a bit, understood that he had missed the mark on the size change once more. He’d have to wait to adjust. Can’t risk shaking the table and jostling the pages out of order or something. He’ll just be patient. He looks at the watch still not on his wrist. Sunrise in 7 minutes. He’d have to excuse himself and go to his other job soon, the chef-waiter thing. Looks like she won’t be finished by then, he gauges. Would she allow this? The owl and its three eyes kept staring, blinking.

“Ah HA!” she then emitted, spreading out and then matching the edges of 2 pages she’d reached in the file. The owl then turned to her as she turned toward it. “You seeing the same thing I’m seeing?” Both looked down in synchronization. Both were staring at a picture of St. Lemon, before the beheading and the replacement with a giant lemon. Dennis again.

Another 2n1, both knew. They understood where to place the time machine.

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February 6, 2024 · 6:02 pm

00410704

He gives her time to look around the office, check out the maps, the painting, the works on the bookshelf, even the files in the filing cabinets if she wishes. What does he care? Sleep deprivation again we’ll assume; might as well burn the place down, he thinks while yawning for the 1000th time tonight. He finally gathers the energy to enlarge himself again — *just* enough to do the job (no overshot or undershot this time!). He waits for her to walk out, snooping apparently done.

“Find what you need, my fine lady?” he calls over, shocking her of course. It’s here he notices the face scars as she stares over with wide eyes. Too bad: otherwise quite pretty.

“Are you him?” she decided to stand her ground, defend her actions. “Are you Petty?”

“Some call me that. Some only know me as Chef. Or Inspector, depending on the time of day. Or depending on whether it is day or night I should say. You’re here at night. I assume you’re looking for Petty the Inspector, then.”

She approached him, scars looming larger. What *happened* to her?

“I also go by different names,” she said in turn. “Some call me Beautiful, some Plain. Some call me June, some Jane. Right now I’m June — night-time for me as well, I suppose. But the scars are there to remind me of Jane.”

“Yess,” he said. “Wondering about that. How did–”

“I just told you,” she cut him short. “I’m a 2n1, just like you. We have that in common but we have so much more. St. Lemon of Troy — the painting within. Do you know about Dennis?”

“Dennis,” he said thoughtfully. “Let me think…” Let me think of a *lie*, he says to himself. He *knew* he shouldn’t have hung that painting on top of everything else. His brain’s starting to operate better, perhaps because of its change back the correct size.

“St. Dennis, yes. The one that lost his head in the transition. The next time, the next go, he wore a helmet, golden in color. But it still didn’t protect him from the eventual consequence. So he had to be *deflected*.”

She know about that as well, he thinks. “Well,” he says to this. “Saints Hotel is a pretty nice place to stay, nice compensation. And anyway, I’ve heard that he and his *gang* have finally made their way down to the big city, the 8th wonder of the world some call it.”

“Where’s the auto in all this?”

“Auto?” He still couldn’t help play dumb within the flow of truthful revelations. Force of habit.

“You know which auto. You have pins of Yvonne, Dorenna and, yes, Anton inside on the Nautilus City map. Anton from Anson. I understand you were there when it first appeared, or when — I suppose — it first decided to reveal itself.”

“The Bug, yes.” Enough talk for now, he decided. He remembers that he’d locked the filing cabinets before enlarging himself tonight. At least he had the sense to do that. But perhaps it was time to look inside.

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February 6, 2024 · 6:33 am

00410703

He enlarges himself beside his office so he can better peer over the tops of internal buildings and view the object while still remaining clandestine in the dark. Probably; maybe the sleep deprivation is really catching up with him now and he’s beginning to lose his mind. Enlarging himself? He hasn’t resorted to those tactics since the early days of Collagesity (!). But they’re readying another ship to travel into space and he has to know the ins and outs, and since he has another job in the day when people are actually awake to answer questions about it…. well, circumstances seem to dictate this.

Footsteps behind him. He quickly micronizes back down to ordinary size or attempts to. Overshot! — you see, this is one of the dangers of enlarging in the first place. But maybe all for the best, since he didn’t think he was spotted that way. *No one* comes to his office. He’s embarrassed about the smallness of *it*, which he’s hidden in the bowels of the otherwise empty, cold and foreboding so-called “Cement Village” for this very reason and then put out rumors in the community at large that the place was haunted. Plus the population wasn’t ready for the truths within yet. St. Lemon of Troy.

Indeed she hadn’t spotted him because of the size. She walks within, intending to snoop around while no one was apparently home. Yes, she thinks. She’s in the right spot. Yvonne, Dorenna and Anton marked on a Nautilus City map.

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February 3, 2024 · 4:36 pm

straightening out the past

They’d found it at the bottom of the sea just north of the boat house where she was staying. An Anton avatar was there in the Anson sim — so close of a name it couldn’t be an accident. Spiderwebs covered this orange version of a VW Beetle but she knew it was the same. Had to be. Someone was playing Grand Theft Auto in Our Second Lyfe and it all led up to this place. Shoes inside, she recalled. Of a ruby variety. Stolen as well.

Roger Pine Ridge kept looking at the flickering white glow beneath the water that he knew was Anton. Shoes stolen; mission accomplished. Like finding the ruby slippers of Oz, he thought. Anorexia’s gonna be pissed off as hell.

He looked over at the green robed woman beside him, face harshly illuminated by the glare of the flashlight she held. Scars. “I’m just waiting for the significant other to finish up inside,” he explained from his *self named* chair.. “How about you?”

—–

Cyberpaperdoll walks out of Fae’s Boat House with 50,000 lindens in hand.

“Come on, Biker,” she said just above a whisper toward the closest Pine Ridge chair. “Time to go.”

“Don’t forgot to sign the guestbook out there!” Jim the Pirate Bartender called from within, a request they most definitely ignored while leaving.

I should have kept the name Kelp, she pondered while still staring at the pirate ship in the bay from the balcony of the big white empty house. The owner, Shippe, *must* be the same as Jim the Bastard Pirate from back in those days. Too coincidental (once more). And as Anton is likewise close to Anson, so her own chosen nickname at the time, Kelp, is to Kulp, as in Nancy Kulp as in plain Miss Jane from the “Beverly Hillbillies” TV series, replaced by similarly plain Miss Janet in Grand Theft Auto, Ski Inn bar parallel. The one who woke up Philip Strevor to who he really is.

Apparently the opposite happened to his partner-in-crime Marion Harding back in the past which may be the same as the present. From the same deck she sat on and read her book of spooky stories in the dark one year later, he dove into the sea that represents the unconscious, intent on finding the vanished auto that was his little Bug. Where did it go? Back to the beginning of this here photo-novel? Think, June Bug, think!

Then she realized: Chef-Inspector Petty would know about Anson. He was there with Baker Bloch when the original auto was found. He’d probably have records of it in his files.

Now to figure out where he ran his private dick nighttime business in Aisle of Palms. In Perch Restaurant as well? Another 2n1? So many questions, but we’re still indeed nearing the very end of the thing.

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January 25, 2024 · 3:47 pm

00410609

“Excuse me, sir. If I could interrupt you for a moment.”

—–

“And so as you can see, basically when we cross the Dewberry stream we’re already upon New Site and Chapter 03.” Baker Bloch looked around at the assembled members of The Table, a larger number than usual just because this was such an important new development: the potential end of Our Second Lyfe. “Questions so far?”

“Are we still in Randolph County?” queries Wheeler directly across the table from Baker, still dressed as Atlantis High Priestess and fresh from another shooting scene.

“Tallapoosa, actually,” replied Baker. “Same with The Barroom, same with Mary, Camp Hill, Slaughters.” I through the brain of Baker Bloch make a note to look up all US Slaughters after all this is done.

“Hmm,” said Wheeler. A pause here.

“Grassy?” Baker spoke to the green Mmmmmm being sitting to Wheeler’s left. “Any thoughts?”

But Grassy was biding his time until spring and the return of outdoor plants, ready to make a move in the Mystery Spot of nearby Boulder highlighted in a section 02 post of this here photo-novel (41). “Not at this point,” he said, knowing he represented all Toy Avatars, all of his kind, in this opinion.

“Very well.” He turned to *his* left. “Newt: any comments or opinions or whatever?”

Newt, with old Axis-style pitch black German coat worn over modern agogo red-yellow-black German t-shirt, was also biding his time. Until Baker Bloch handed over the reigns of Aisle of Palms to him; make him mayor or whatever the title turned out to be. Maybe even King? With Wheeler his Queen, if so. After all, Baker Bloch is just kind of a Prime Minister figure in all this, having most of the power to create, etc., but not being the legal ruler of the land. That remained in Wheeler’s hands. So far.

Baker looked 2 seats down. “Hucka?”

“I wish to come back into the story,” she spoke plainly, directly, looking at him then looking at everyone else at The Table, wanting them to understand she was dead serious about this.

Another pause. “Well, okay. We can make that happen. Right gang?”

Murmurs of agreement all around, even the usually silent 88’s sitting to Wheeler’s right. Everyone knew the spiritual importance of Hucka to the blog, a type of Holy Ghost to the thing.

—–

Afterwards, Baker thought back to meeting the Bishop in an unexpected place off Old Wagon Road in central Maebaleia (continent), Our Second Lyfe must remain relevant being the overarching message he relayed. And then he took him diagonally to Redlands for a demonstration.

(to be continued)

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January 19, 2024 · 7:14 am

00410603

https://marketplace.secondlife.com/p/Rue-Saint-Denis-for-classic-or-BOM/15679735

“Well it was a foolish outfit and I was a foolish girl at the time. Blonde hair; rosy red cheeks after that, but not from rouge. Syphilis I contracted — still trying to be frank and honest with you guys. But it eventually cleared up when I got out of that crazy, mixed up place of a land full of bad, bad people. Arthur gave me some money. You see–”

“Arthur? Arthur Kill? I know him.” Red Dead Beardy Head again there.

“Err,” said Libra. “Yes,” she decided. “Yes, let’s go with him. Married to Shelley Struthers (partly named for Sally Struthers, TV daughter of Archie and Edith), right. It fits!”

“And what of Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow?” Black Pearl responded to a slightly earlier declaration.

“The same,” Wheeler continued with the admissions. “Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow equals Shelley Struthers along with 2 other components, a kid named Frankie Brown who provides some gestures and perhaps a conscience, and then another kid called Marsha. Shelley is the (grown up) body for the 3. Body, mind, soul we could call them, with the Marsha brain aspect up front and on top.”

“So… let’s cut to the chase,” said RDBH, trying to regain his wits in the barrage of strange information. “How do we get to the X on the pirate map?”

Wheeler dressed as Libra in her parrot dress exhaled. “You can’t… not with that ship.”

“You *sold* me that ship,” replied Black Pearl to this. “You *implied* it could.”

“I was wrong. That ship will divide the 2 of you. I know this because I understand the perspective from the opposite direction. I know the endpoint. I was *at* the endpoint. Red Dead Beardy Head,” she addressed the male partner of the 2 sitting across from her in the Perch Restaurant of Aisle of Palms, open for business at 10 but not serving fish until 4 to his disappointment. No perch in Perch yet. And will our damn waiter please wake up! he was thinking just before this. “Red Dead,” Libra said again, “you and Black Pearl will break up if you try to go in that ship. It’s certain death up there in Outer Space. I’ve seen the future!”

“But — you *sold* it to me.” Black Pearl was smelling a rat as big as a human and named Victor-not-Victoria. “You said the golf course is closing.”

“The golf course *is* closing,” followed Libra Neptune closely. “The Black Pearl was smashed up on the rocks outside. I fixed it up. But really, I didn’t fix it up. Not in the way that could take you safely to the X.”

“*Finally*,” said Red Dead, seeing the waiter shake his head and blink a couple of times before fully reopening his eyes. He’d been woken up with a poke from the right. Manager Percy had let him sleep until 10:15, feeling sorry for the overworked man who toiled both day and night, with few minutes for rest in-between.

Now, in the moment again, he was upon them. Talk of the ship and its position at the head of 2 streams of virtual reality would have to wait a bit; after some bites. “Sorry for the delay. Our breakfast special is perch,” he said, knowing it was unusual but wanting to please an irritated customer and his friends. He could hear like hell — just had to process all the information right after coming back into consciousness. Being both waiter and chef, he could make this so.

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January 15, 2024 · 12:31 pm

00410513

“I hear the perch is good here.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. They don’t serve fish this early. These are *landlovers*.”

“Oh.”

“So… *Libra*. Is it still Libra? I mean, since we’ve been walking? It was Libra about 10 minutes ago and I’m just wondering if the name still sticks.”

“You can call me such but, admittedly, I go by many names.”

“Yes, I’m seeing the bigger picture now.” She looked over the parrot dress, which Libra aka Atlantis High Priestess aka Bermuda aka Victor/Victoria redonned shortly after being released from jail by Officer Michelle Roundup. Some sort of pirate convention in town; they figured they would need the cell soon enough. Assign a hefty fine for the crime and move on.

“Where is our waiter?” asked impatient Red Dead Beardy Head. That man over there in the other room had been staring at him all the time. Is that our waiter on a break — taunting me? he wondered. Turns out it was.

4 handed Keat Owens, waiter/chef by day, private detective by night. He’d learned to sleep with his eyes open but he needed to wake up now and go to work again.

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January 8, 2023 · 10:20 am

the present

—–

“I think this case is wrapped up, Pretty. *Petty*.” He turns red again. “Pretty much wrapped up,” he tried to cover himself.

“Thanks Officer Glammerpuss.”

The place will have to be quarantined for a week because of the moondust but the business should be able to reopen then.”

“Cathy will be pleased.”

“Yes.”

“Did you get all the rocks?”

“We think so. There’s one that looks like Neil Armstrong, then one like Buzz, then the other one — I assume it’s the 3rd.”

“Collins,” answered Petty to this, due to go on his other job in 2 hours and don a chef’s hat while ditching the inspector’s coat, no rest for this busybody. He reached into it to withdraw a match, ready to relight his current stogie, 8th of the night. At one point there was even 2 in his mouth at once. so excited he was about the news. Queen! Coming to Hardrock. So says Glammerpuss, the big, well, he just loves Queen. They both do! Ah heck, might as well try. Officer seems to be hinting around.

“Listen, Glammerpuss… Chuck.”

“Tim. You call me Tim.”

“Listen, Chuck. I was wondering…”

“Queen?” It just came out of his mouth automatically. Petty turned to stare into his eyes. Chief Wigwam walked up, interrupting the moment as he was suppose to. He gazed at the ribbon on the wrapped up door, symbolic of the case itself. He thought about procedure, getting ducks lined up in a row.

“Better start the paperwork on this Glammerpuss while the memories are fresh. Petty — aren’t you due to present me with a fresh dove omelet in, say (he checks his watch), 2 hours?”

“2 1/2,” states the chef-inspector to this. “Gotta warm up the oven first. Say, Wigwam, can you give us a moment. There’s just one wrinkle on the case we have to iron out.”

“It’s Collins,” spoke Wigwam. “The one they always forget the name of.”

A small smile breaks on Petty’s face. “No, not that, Chief. Something else. Just… give us a moment.”

“Oh alright. See you when the sun comes up. Glammerpuss — paperwork.” He walks away.

(to be continued)

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January 6, 2023 · 3:09 am

1st NODAL

“Peakology, Hucka D. I’m becoming interested again.”

“Corsica,” Hucka D. uttered to this. “Corsica Corsica Corsica!” But it wasn’t Hucka D. Instead: someone else yellow, someone else who wasn’t who they seemed to be. Square. Wearing pants.

—–

“So when did you start smoking again, Petty? It’s disgusting. And stand back from me why don’t you? This is not your scene.”

“*All* mysteries are my scene,” the confident chef-inspector replied, puffing even more rapidly. Smoke gets in his eyes but he isn’t bothered. Point is: they’re in his as well. Petty wasn’t going to budge from this spot; he was as if pettrified. This might not be pretty; this might get ugly.

“Listen, *Pettry*.”

Officer Glammerpuss stopped. Did he just call the inspector pretty? Close enough. His face turned red. Love. But also smoke.

There were a lot of things going on here at once. Racism, social inequality, sexual issues, rise of the machine age, to mention just some I’ve spotted so far.

And kitty kats.

(to be continued)

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March 13, 2022 · 8:54 am

death

“What did *you* see Mr., um, *Head* (snicker).” She wasn’t going to dig this dude out as well. Write it off as a lost cause, she figures as he automatically starts her worthless, chat received fortune. “You will find a sock you thought you’d never find.” Hmm, maybe not so worthless after all, if sock equals key. And it probably does. Still not digging him out.

She moves to the house. Coke machine still there, as Billy Dancer reported before getting stuck. Chef-inspector Petty gone — must have either crawled off or the body disposed of by Billy. She only mentions the supposed killing, the bloodless slashing of the dummy’s throat. The old boss dug short and succinct like that; wanted to rack up the cases instead of going over the nuances of each individual one. New boss was different. Not the same as the old boss, as The Who famously sang about. Or maybe they are, she pondered further. Wanda and Sykes: different in their own nuances. But it’s all still about numbers, the bottom line, no matter what Sykes promised at first. Maybe she’d be asked to pare it down as well. Probably, hmph. She’s already starting to resent the new hire, even if it’s all in her head.

Joey moves upstairs. The computer Billy also briefly mentioned still plugged in, still given the blue screen of death (BSOD). Those people we, the readers, saw before around it near the beginning of this section, Frank Pinocchio and Fay Blue: gone. Just like the chef-inspector.

Next room; low voice:

“Yeah, she’s about to come in here and discover her dreaming self and wake up. Better amscray.”

Voice demanding something on the other side. “Okay, okay, I’ll bring the body as well. No waking self.”

The voice on the other side seemed to repeat the same thing although it was hard to tell from a distance.

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