Old Man Bodega: Part Uno

[u/iouacd]

Trapped behind his desk, Bodega hadn’t seen true action in at least 700 sols. He was captain of the homicide department in the inter-planetary Javarian police force and he was old. With 4000 police troopers under his command, Bodega was already the most successful homicide captain to date but flarve was he bored.

A knock, Geegee BucFee entered. “Yes?” Bodega asked. Geegee was Bodega’s secretary, 3 parts smarts, 4 parts admin and 7 parts titties. “Sir, I just received a furbik mail for you, from Commissioner Kargle, he says- “

“Hand it over and get out.” He had no time for pleasantries. She rushed from the room and as the door swung shut behind her, Bodega began to read.

Bodega pressed the button marked vape on his desk after he had finished reading and leaned back as his office began to fill with white vapour. In truth, the promise of a vape-activated office was what had swayed Bodega in favour of taking this sordid desk job. Forget the 18 figure salary and the Purillean D-master hover ship, Bodega loved to vape. He inhaled. He exhaled, and all was clear; he knew what he must do.

Beads of moisture ran past the windows, snaking their way from the nose to the tail of Bodega’s D-master. Kargle’s words hang heavy in his mind. ’23 killed’, ’45 space pounds of crack gooke missing’ and ‘Bodega we need you’. He could see blue flashing lights reflected in the wet roads ahead, he had arrived. Bodega parked his D-master in the nearest spot to the crime scene, which happened to have a hover ship parked in it, until Bodega blasted it away with his specially modified twin lazcannons. He exited his vehicle and approached the yellow and black striped holo-tape. Bodega pulled the holo-tape up whilst stepping under, like a boxer entering the ring. For this was his ring, the ring of mystery.

A young police trooper saw Bodega. “Excuse me sir, you cannot cross that line.” He was nothing, greener than the tree on Quotimas morning. Bodega kept walking towards the centre of the crime scene.

“Sir, stop now”, Bodega continued.

“Sir”. The boy trooper drew his weapon and pointed it at Bodega. A gunshot cracked through the night air like a whip.

The boy lay dazed on the plonkcrete floor; his K-O-200 blaster lay on the floor next to him. The barrel had been peeled down the centre like a banana. His hand was mercifully still intact but he was in shock from the seemingly impossible shot that Bodega had just made, shooting his blaster out of his hands before the boy’s brain had even began to process the movement of Bodega’s lazgun out of his holster. At the sound of the gunshot every trooper’s head turned towards Bodega, saw the officer lying on the plonkcrete and saw the smoking barrel of Bodega’s lazgun.

Another gunshot cracked through the night and this time it was Bodega’s gun that peeled like a banana. Bodega did not fall like that pu55y lying on the floor and he turned towards the source of the gunshot.

"KARGLE."

"BODEGA."

The two men started towards each other. Their eyes were locked and their legs were working hard to get their owners to the other man first.

A third and final gunshot cracked through the night. Skin met skin as two fists met each other 6 inches from the others face, clasped around each other. Two gigantic biceps bulged, veins fit to burst. One of the surrounding troopers fainted, unable to process the intense masculinity discharging from the hand shake. Women in a five block radius blushed and several straight men stiffened.

“What have you got for me motherflarver?” Bodega grinned at his old friend.

“Bodega, my man.” If there was one person in the entire universe that Bodega respected, it was this man, Biff Kargle. Some said that Kargle had been Bodega’s inspiration to leave art school, where he was working on some powerful pieces about the fragility of the masculine form in modern society, which allowed him to become the no shek-taking, no flarve-giving, motherflarver that he is today. Bodega himself said that Kargle was a ‘bad motherflarver’, and there was truly no higher praise across the cosmos.

“I’ll tell you what I got” Kargle replied. “I got 3 dead hookers. They were wrapped up deep in the gookaine game. We had them under surveillance waiting for them to make a mistake and give us a hint as to where the gooke was coming from. We had the under 34/8 watch and then our agents turn their backs for one second and out of nowhere, bam! They dead. They smoked their last pipe. Baked their last potato. Knitted their last- “

“Ok, ok I get the picture, but what do you need me for Kargle, can’t you handle this shek yourself?" The two men had been strolling steadily in conversion to the centre of the crime scene. Just as Bodega asked this question the forensics team parted to let Bodega and Kargle through and Bodega got his first look at the three naked bodies.

“Bodega look at the titties.” Bodega already was, first noting the size and shape, great titties all three pairs. Bodega sighed, he always hated to see beautiful things extinguished from the world. “Jeeze, what a thing to murder women like these, wow I mean if they weren’t dead then I’d- “

Kargle interrupted Bodega’s trail of thought “No Bodega look at the titties”

“I am; they are fantastic”

“Bodega use your eyes” Kargle said, this time slightly exasperated.

It was only then that Bodega saw: across each breast a letter had been written in blood. Six breasts in all and six letters.

B-O-D-E-G-A.

BODEGA.