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Rated: ASR · Novella · Detective · #1569115
Max Coolwell is a hard-boiled detective with zero competence.
Max Coolwell sat at his desk eating his hearty breakfast of donuts, clicking away at a game on his computer. Before he could finish he last bear claw, his phone rang. Picking it up, Max stated cooly to the person at the other end: "Max Coolwell, Doctorney at Law!", while pelvic thrusting awkwardly. "I know who it is Detective Coolwell!" shouted the voice on the other end. Max froze, it was the commissioner. "What's u-u-up c-c-commissioner?", he stammered nervously, eyes wide like a small woodland animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. "The Bureau has reason to believe that Micky Hewwet, a burrito dealer, has been up to some criminal behaviour," the commissioner explained, "we want you to investigate!". Max accepted and hung up. He went over to the door and put on his trench-coat and cool hat and grabbed the keys to his AMC Gremlin. He contemplated finishing his breakfast, but he then remembered the half-eaten cheeseburger he kept in his glove-box for emergencies. Not to mention the milkshake underneath the seat that was eating through the carpet. Max opened the door and got in, the car making a damp, squishing noise as he sat in the drivers seat. He pulled out of the carpark with only 13 casualties, despite his cracked windshield, non-existent brakes and a steering wheel made out of the car's spare tire and some elastic bands.

Max drove deep into the sitty, where food merchants usually frequent. After a few minor engine fires and the accidental running-over of an old man, he found the burrito hut. Max sat in his seat with a pair of magnifying glasses glued together as binoculars, staring at the man working the cart. About six hours passed, and the man finally decided to pack up and go home. The man flipped over part of his cart to reveal a motorcycle. He drove off and Max followed him
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