A Paul Maltese mystery

*Warning.contains explicit language and scenes that may be found offensive/ Some people might find the use of profanity in this story excessive. Please do not read if you find such a use of strong language offensive.

A Detective Paul Maltese story

Wicked.. a taste of the morrow. Is the word. But then…

Paul was not an unpeculiar fellow. Some would say he had a knack for the abstract by way of "jack o tradeitis", the man knew just a little bit enough about almost everything but not a bit enough to make something of it.

He sat cross legged atop his banyan wood desk puffing away at a tobacco pipe full of lush brown brown and locally sourced cinnamon, pondering the small ownerless Pomeranian skulking past his pale green garden. He wondered what that hund smelled like.

With a awful crash the door to Paul's office splintered and buckled and just a shade later the whole piece of wood split and almost fell to the floor save hanging by a meager hinge.

Paul straightened his back and let out a puff of smoke in dismay as standing before him in the doorway, nearly breathless and disheveled was a man named Jack.

A large bodied, furrowed brow and damp with sweat his muscles had torn through the sections of his brooks brothers suit making the man look most ill fashioned.

He was holding a bent ax, the one a lumberjack might carry but well rusted and twisted at the center in what Paul presumed was some sort of chopping accident.

Paul spake "I say jack, we haven't seen you in at least a season! Since I believe the whole debacle with Mrs. Havershams stray gazelle.."

"Shut your fucking mouth you sick ... Fuck!" Jack worded.

Jack reached into his trousers and produced a thick and tattered paper cover novel of some type. He tossed it into Paul's face and raised his ax high into the air. Really high.

"Explain this!"

Paul took thirty short puffs from his pipe and retrieved the novel from the floor where it had landed after hitting him in the nose. The blood from which slowly dripped down his face.

Jack fumed and his buxom chest muscles heaved as he practiced an ancient art known to few as Patience fu. Taught to him no doubt by the great practitioner Hanzo Gruber of little Berlin in West Kyoto, Paul suspected.

Paul studied the tome with little more than a few grunts and slight eyebrow raises. Maybe a wry upturn of his lips or the turgidity of his left nipple betrayed his conclusions.

After a few terse moments he looked up at jack and said..

"...why did you throw this in my face? It's quite heavy and appears to have both semen and fecal matter on it."

Jack bristled, "that's my fecal matter you son of a bitch. Stop changing the subject. What's the meaning of this? Why did I find it locked up in your shoddy ass basement and why does it have the names and personal info of hundreds..."

He took a step forward crushing a few roaches and snatched the pipe from Paul's hand with great violent force, shattering one of the man's favorite fingers and scratching deep enough to expose white meat.

Paul was deeply offended and finally uncrossed his legs. Sternly he addressed his increasingly unwelcome guest.

Paul said, "I'm not as happy about knowing you as much as I was before, jack."

Jack spit in Paul's mouth just as the final venomous words were being spat from his part time lord and keep.

Jack bellowed, "Lies! This vile wretched ... Accursed thing! When I found it, I .. the madness! The flames.. heaving breast, flames licking my face -"

He began to pace in a semi counter clockwise concentric mobius strip. He muttered to himself at the top of his voice as Paul began to become annoyed at the loss of his pipe.

"Why.. why did it have hundreds.. maybe thousands of people's names, and addresses.. and..."

He stopped after stepping on another sweet roach and turned to Paul.

"....Paul. Yellow paper? And why are most of the people in your... Book. Why are they dead?"

Paul smiled, " and why the business listings and adverts jack? I don't know what -"

Jack swung the bottom most part of his leg high into the air and brought it down on Paul's scrotum bones with a crunch.

Jack whispered, "I visited those homes. Those people and those businesses too as well Paul. You know what I found in your sick wake?! Entire places called blockbuster left abandoned with nothing but rats and mostly used but still usable condoms! What did you do to those people?!"

"My nutsack hurts!" Paul chided.

Jack was becoming unnerved.

Paul thought a lot. He liked thinking because being smart was what gave him boners. He liked getting boners since he could recall being a wee lad standing on the marmy shore, fish shit and sand between his toes as he watched the treacherous waves.

"They come and they go boyboy... They come and they go. Like your aunty on a Sunday." The cracked out but still kinda hot in a nerdy kinda way bullet train hobo barked, his voice seemingly the result of him drinking a mixture of glass and coffee.

It was times such as this that were around 5 am. Also, it was ass can open of whooping time as it so happened that the boy known as Paul "Falcon" Maltese had exactly one so called friend.

"Grrrrreada ooooopar ficu fuck.." Jack screamed as his heavy blows rained down onto and collapsed the skull parts of the hobo. About the monkey blood stained man's middle torso and inner thigh meat Jack jumped up and also down.

As the man's bitch ass screams became wheezing pleads of prayer or mercy Paul turned to gaze back out at the wet water. With his eyes. Which were also wet.

"Why hast those words... That that man had said... Why do they stick with me so." Paul purred.

A seagull with two heads swooped down and expertly pooped into the gaping mouth of a sunbathing maiden as she slumber. The Z's coming out of her huge boobs were sharp. Man. Her boobs were like, so huge.

The sound of her smile as she swallowed the umami guano brought Paul to his revelation.

"I'm super smart and I should be a detective because I'm good at noticing things mon!" He said in a Jamaican accent.

Paul turned 72 cubits catercorner to Jack's left most knee.

"I say, dear jack. I shall return. I'm going to go become a famous detective!"

Jack gave Paul a blood plasma covered handed high five and 6 before leaping 68 billion parsecs into the air, snatching the sexy seagull out of the sky with his bare dick.

Jack bellowed "I don't give a fuck what you do. Just don't ever be evil or I'll kill your whole body till it's wet and dirty!"

With a splat and perhaps half of a skasplooshka his nutsack snapped back into place and Paul was brought back to the hear and now.

Then he realized he was past aggravated, ideally seeing a grave misunderstanding about to be birthed Paul raised a single elbow into the air.

"If I am who you think I am, and I deduce that if it weren't so then you would kommer ikke into my personal home and barraged me with these redundant and weak sauce ass queries! Now haste your genital blows. Away with your besotted and furthhence insipidus moral artillery, motherfucker! Disrepute and gelatinous gallons of spunk I spit uton your violent ways, especially when aimed towards my personal pieces! You have within your hot bod a flame of mystery.. and who else. Nay. Nah son. What else... Could possibly scratch your itchy ass gooch? I.. Paul Maltese!! Shall solve this most fatigued riddle for you. If you have money." Paul moaned seductively so loud that his throat parts began to a shimmy and a shake.

Jack looked his old comrade up and west before reaching into his pants roundabouts his crotch side and producing an eye juice and temple sinew laden dog leash for dogs.

He said, " .... That piece of pussy clot was having his dog make fart solids on your lawn so I made his eyeballs into a pussy."

Paul produced an illegally sourced teak wood smoking pipe from his desk after fumbling around in his broken Fleshlight drawer for ten minutes before turning to jack.

"I will always have your back, too old friend. You are.. a good man."

Paul poured a fathom of gin and black tar heroin into his pipe before picking up a local rat and squeezing its arse tendon juice into the exotic mixture. He struck a match and it called the cops.

I know, right?

Guiltee McKee hard a had life. Reading what was not good for his brain like. Sometimes math made him anal muscles feel itch and bad hurt!

He walk funny and look ugly so titty people with fancy hats and tight cloth cross the street or snicker like candy bars at Guiltee.

"Him have soft dick for life style currently." He whispered in him crooked cranium.

Happen upon most prestigious government funded money laundry scheme.

"B... Bunk. Bunk have papers trade for cheap ass."

Sudden Guiltee have wood in top penis. He hard AF.

"Guiltee who is me! Me Guiltee go put security fucker clitoris gristle in mouth and clomp!? When me have money for ass. Ill repute ass great for these me penis!" He sang as he skipped down the road.

Paul turned the volume of his pale gray Sony walkman down, the Ramones will have to wait. And they were famously known to hate waiting.

As he slowly but confidently climbed out of the rustic yet quaint city dumpster Paul readjusted his condom, keeping close watch on the piece of shit ugly bastard known as Guiltee "possibly up to something or a rapist I don't know he looks fucked up" McKee.

"Methinks this will be a fun ride."
Paul drooled. The way he slurped up his own spit sounded like an angry gay elephant.

Making sure to stay no less than 40.544 kilometers but no more than 6.988887 barleycorns within his mark Paul kept one wet eye on Guiltee (ugly ass piece of shit), and one dry eye on his surroundings.

Obviously observation serves tons of folk bro. On the middle left a toads bits and crannies hung lazily on a mossy prostitutes back as she sat reverse cowgirl upon a poor excuse for a log.

On the nearer left a jackal slunk about with a sway in it's tender gait indicting the iller effects of drug abuse, no doubt scavenging about behind Old Man McScabbies absinthe laden meat pie store.

Guiltee turned his nasty looking body towards the street where other ugly people probably lived. If their bods were decent enough Paul might throw one of em a handful of his essence.

Guiltee hunched over and took a bite out of the fallen ice cream stained pavement and began to chew.

Sharpening his crooked bicuspids.. Paul surmised with his brain. He loaded a few .454 cassulls into his mateba autorevolver and checked his fanny pack to make sure his stash of rusty hypodermic needles were well stocked. They were.

Guiltee leaned heavily against a graffitied wall across from a thriving coxswain thrift depot and began massaging his own prostate while he chewed his gravel, surveying the land.

Paul stopped by an ancient news-stand and took a long hardy piss on the intricately displayed candy selection so as to not draw suspicion to himself.

"Hey! You can't urinate your piss on me knickknacks and wares ya bloody twat!" Shouted the owner seductively.

Paul tossed a few pence over the elderly ladies visage and as her greed distracted her Paul quickly scooped all his urine back into his penis and disappear down an alleyway.

"The art of deduction is for losers." Thought officer Growler.

599 wet bodies lay stacked upon one another in a most ghastly and some would say gaudy fashion.

The local donut clowns were perplexed and full of vitriol, once again having been outwitted by the crime dude coined and perhaps dinar'd "bony ass robber guy".

"Bony ass robber guy is number -135 on the most wanted list. My supervisor or general or whatever is pissed at me and keeps making me cry. I love him. Doesn't he see that? Am... Am I invisible?" Sergeant Growler was a wreck. Three thousand failed marriages. A smidgen of herp on his dick and a wagon he used to ride but fell off of due to his liquid porn addiction. The rookies shook their long heads behind open halls in plain sight and spit in his ear whenever and wherever he roamed.

Growler placed a single tongue on officer Bricksticks shoulder.

"Officer Bricksticks... I'm going to pass out. Tell my momma.. she had some tig ol' biddies.. and... I wish I coulda.. " Growler began to openly weep from the front of his pants and some of his eyes.

"A bit of curds and whey for lunch it is then, plus if I were you I'd get that dick problem checked out." Paul mimed. Catching the attention of Officer Growler from behind the rancid pile of cat bones stacked in the shape of a throne.

Officer Growler threw up in his own mouth and then swallowed it and then repeated the process for forty minutes as he slowly crawled on his shoulders and knees towards the gumshoe.

"E FUCKING gad Maltese. How do you do it? And what are you doing here? Last I heard you and your beastie got nicked for a few skull crushings and international peeping Tom Geneva violations down in middle Aberdeen." Growler spat.

Maltese shuddered and let out a small puff of smoke, "We escaped, Growler."

Growler spat, "You don't say".

"I studied under and inside many great escape artists the world over, plus as you are quite aware I am a master of over 40 deadly and arcane scientific fields. Banned and shunned by even the cruelest of philosophers and theoretical astrophysicist."

"Nope, I didn't know shit about that." Growler screamed.

"Not to mention I managed to procure the souls of several battle tacticians, Warfield assassin's and six buff Aussies."

"Oh fuck.. for real?"

Maltese smirked with his mouth and lips.

"I told you all this before, no doubt your low and pathetic level of intelligence has caused you some form of voluntary brain retard life."

".....ok. Why -"

"Allow me propose a bit of quo pro quid. I suggest that I help you with what is most presently perplexing you and your limp dick partner and in return you... Simply do me a small favor."

Officer Bricksticks approached scratching his chest hair through the rips in his uniform, "Wow, you really are a master detective Maltese. How did you know I was a limp dicked?"

Maltese grew slightly impatient.

Stuffing his Triassic period amber dabbed maple wood pipe with two ounces of bath salt soaked hashish he took a deep pull, being offered a light by a passing broad with a nice hat and a wet smile.

"By the gait in her walk I can tell she is a fan of what is known colloquially as doggystyle, note the curve of her shadow as the ultraviolet rays bounce off her loose bunghole. Poorly concealed beneath a knock off gorilla skin hoop skirt most likely haggled in the purple light district. As evidenced by the burnt sheep skin condom stain on the nape of her shoulder." Maltese spun around six times and then faced the officers.

"You, Growler are super gayly in a tryste with your immediate supervisor and are in no doubt great pain in your penis knuckle as well as your soul. The knot in your cheap government issued tie is off by exactly tenteen atomic units which is a mistake you only make when you are under great physical and emotional stress. Exhibit A.. you will recall thrice regaling me with a long and boring tale of your school boy days. In which you cried yourself to sleep at night for ten years straight due to worrying that your parents would one day remember to care about you and in doing so would find out that you were only barely passing your classes. Also during which time a banded eyed racoon had taken up residence in your dorm room and would sexually hurt your body at night." Maltese screamed with a frothy mouth.

Growler amazed, "how did you -"

"I took the liberties of invading your mother's home and finding a photo of you from that time previous, your school uniform was off... By exactly tenteen atomic.. units. Stress. And you officer Bricksticks, a few of my larger mates took turns on your long missing sister and during which she revealed to them that for your entire life you've had precisely two tragedies and one phobia. Tragedy moja - when you were born the doctors left you on the floor while out on a well deserved smoke break, neglecting to cut your umbilical cord. Instead differing the task to the lice infested rats, albeit smart ones. One of whom would proceed to begin a several days long psuedosexual affair with your nasty mum. Until of course he broke her heart. Driving her to a most orgasmic and brutal suicide. Tragedy mbili, five years ago you were out walking your blind dog -"

"How did.. is my sister ok? -"

Maltese grinned from ear to ear, "No. She's dead. Now, Silence. Obviously the dander on your shoulder and mouth and fingers betray the swill you feed your mutt. Poor in quality and high in nitric molecules that over a very short amount of time lead to a dogs nuts falling off and wicked cool eye degradation."

"Well I make a most meager wage.."

Paul stomped down on the officers hip with enough force to impress a disparate bloke.

"I demand you stop interrupting me as I haven't the minutes nor seconds. When you were walking your hunde it sniffed out some bone. Bones that had inexplicably been claimed by a giant marmalade cat. It was rat bone. They fought. You ran. They chased you, forming a bond over your cowardice. They forced you down and ripped your uniform and put the rat bones in your penis hole. They stalk you and every once in awhile.. like today. As shown by your ripped uniform.. they repeat the assault. So now.. officer Bricksticks. With the trauma of the rat. The bones. The throne. All of these things have given you a phobia."

Maltese posed like hulk Hogan, gesturing towards the bone throne.

"With this, before you. Your phobia is triggered.. causing your very dick. To be quite currently and possibly forever... as they say… a limp."

The officers looked at each other, thought about kissing and then looked back at Maltese.

"...sorry to have doubted your genius deduction skills Maltese. We're sold. What do you need.... Master?" They groaned.

Maltese took a quick sixteen puffs..

"Gentleman.. if you and your badges will follow me."

We were all arrows, long time ago..

The air was bitter and salty, scraping against Paul's face like so many shards of night.

"Do you believe the comets ever falter, young Falcon?" Queried the Akkadian mage, striking her volcanic thunder forged sasumata in a mnemonic pattern.

Against the burning elk which shook alongside the earth, with each blow stoic embers danced like big booty freaks when the beat is bumpin'. Ya heard me?

Paul struggled to maintain his inner mantra, each inhale a harsh reminder that he had yet to transcend.

"It's not up to us to judge the tenacity of the cosmos.. we cannot fathom the importance of their final destination.." Paul whispered as the sharp stone he balanced upon slowly dug into his fine ass foot palms.

The Mage turned a keen nestle milky eye quickly towards her apprentice. She said in a low growl, "..becoming a master of escape requires the blood and sacrifice of the weak. Word life."

Rising up from her perch, the mage with a swiftness of a coked up peregrine leaped towards Paul, swinging her weapon with such force that the air around it began to sizzle.

Paul spun on his blisters in time to dodge the blow but in doing so lost his balance and fell neck first onto a hissing cobra with an attitude.

It bit the shit out of his neck skin and back bacon meat. Paul didn't like this for some reason and writhed in pain as the mage rubbed her pert nips and cackled.

"Why... Like.... What the fuck for real tho?" Paul whinnied as the venom coursed through his veins like a grand prix.

The Mages teeth twinkled ever so suddenly as she nodded towards the snake.

"Solstices ago, when the moon was still sat in the sky so close you felt you could reach out and fuck it.. I needed to borrow ten bucks. So I sold my essence to a passing serpent who told me he knew a guy. Yadda yadda, I needed to offer the taste of a fool to pay the vig. So.... Yeah." She mused as the snake winked at her and retrieved it's auburn derby hat, it's business here no doubt reaching a most satisfying conclusion.

"Ok well fuck you and that bitch ass snake. I should -"

Paul was yanked back to now as the nightmarish screams of several lethargic coxswains floated heavy on the flap of so many burning leaves.

A near to pomegranate bonsai tree made a most curios birth, the expulsion thick with a tepid sweet eller metallic aroma that struck with a most furious yeet.

One coxswain proclaimed, "ohhhh shit. Ok. This isn't good. I don't like this."

Paul gyrated towards his center view of the situation, it was as thus.

Two billion factory workers ran in hexagonal zag zigs as their flesh began to smell hella good. Similar to an Austin, Texas inspired seasoned mesquite sauce burnt on an onion laden brisket, coleslaw made of sweet earwax like big momma used to beat you for eating. A downtrodden depot behind them smoldering most river Styx like, stank ass brimstone waning near beauty.. their noice skulls displayed signs of hurt.

"Ok.... Ok. This is fucked. This fucked me. What the fuck?" Growler brayed as he emptied his twelfth to second clip into the jowls of the now 52 hay bale tall Guiltee McKee.

The suave behemoth swallowed the bullets fired into his crooked mouth with a gulp before slowly removing his wet cotton fatigues. The scent of the newly formed cloud droppings took a most throbbing route as heated beads of innocent bystander marrow formed big black estuaries along the ripples of his officer meat filled tooths.

He said "Me stupid, and Iggy.. am so pain in blood pump organ, most ball blue in era. Most ball... Blue.."

Paul placed his damp palms and fingers and knuckles into his last pocket as he approached a clearly unnerved officer Growler.

"Relax bro. Everything will be fine." Paul snickered as he gently eased growler to the soil.

"But... He ate bullets... Then he ate... He ate my partn... He ate... Oh shit.. my donuts... I left them in the shop... The police carshop I mean." Growler spat as he hissed.

Paul had little time to ascertain the situation, which had spun least heinously out of fubar.