Hell City, Chapter 2: “Get Down With the Beat-Down”
-by Tim Vargulish
Hell City is our new weekly comic book type superhero detective story thing by our good friend in LA, Tim!
I decided to wet my whistle. My whistle being my mouth and the wet being an alcoholic beverage of some sort. I walked a few blocks over to Sal’s place. Sal’s is the kind of restaurant that parent restaurants hope their kid doesn’t grow up to be. It’s tucked between a crack house, underneath a brothel, and across the street from a TGI Friday’s. Thank goodness indeed. If you think it looks pretty bad on the outside that’s only because you haven’t been inside yet. Inside it smells like a bum’s foot and looks like a dentist’s trashcan.
Halloween decorations from when Carter was in office hide the blood stains on the wall. What hides the semen stains? Nothing.
There’s a sense of pride for some things at Sal’s. Yeah I’ve met a few Okcupid dates here. If there was anywhere I could find the information I needed for this case it’d be from the punks that go here.
I walk into the joint and am suddenly overcome with a mix of depression and an emotion that can only be described as vomiterrific. I stroll up to the bar and sit down on my favorite stool. Sal is over the counter cleaning a glass that’s even glassier than the glassed over look in his eyes.
“Hey Sal. Whats the shakes?”
“I don’t know nuthin’!” Sal snapped back.
“Sal. I was hoping you could help me out. I’m working a case for this lady. Real looker. A dime of a dame if there ever was one. Need to find out if her husband’s on the up ‘n up or if he’s getting down ‘n around if you know what I mean. Problem is I got no names, no leads, and no luck.”
“I don’t know no one.”
“Sal c’mon it’s me. Franky.”
“I don’t know you.”
“Well can I at least get a drink?”
“I don’t know what drinks are.”
Sounded like Sal’s got more screws loose than a pinball machine made in North Korea. I probably should’ve been more careful otherwise I would’ve noticed the table of large surly men get up and make their way over to me. They looked like a rotten sort. The type of guys that take no guff from anyone. In fact they probably give people their guff. These guys looked virtuously guff-free.
“Let’s have a talk outside.” The biggest one said to me.
He had cut off sleeves and a Two and a Half men tattoo on his shoulder. I got the feeling that just like an episode of Two and a Half this was not going to be funny.
“But fellas I’ve been outside. It’s not that great.” I replied with the intimidation of a forty year old male tampon salesman.
“It wasn’t a request.” Said the small bearded man with an indomitable spirit.
The next thing I knew I was flung outside the backdoor by my new best friends. I noticed the thermostat on wall read 78 degrees. A good temperature to die.
“Hey I like what they’ve done with this back alley. Is that a new dumpster?” I tried to break the tension.
“Shut up!” Two and a Half men said. “Listen, Mr. Ginocolli doesn’t need no snoops interfering with his business. So it doesn’t matter what Mrs. Ginocolli said or hired you to do. You stay out of it and things will go a lot better for you and your bones. Understand?”
“Ginocolli, eh?” Looks like the thugs had inadvertently gave me the name I was searching for to start my case.
If irony was a lady I’d be eating out her asshole right now… if she was into that.
Two and a Half Men snapped his finger and before I knew the bearded one raised formed a fist, raised his arm back, and launched it square into my dick.
“OHHHH! What the fuc-” Before I could finish my profanity he swung his other fist into my dick again. I’d just been cold-cocked. Literally. I fell to the ground sucking in deep breaths. Two and Half Men picked me up and held me against the wall by my throat. Beardy then proceeded to punch me in the dick again. Then he punched me in the dick again. I tried covering my dick with my legs but he punched me in the dick again. Then I got punched in the dick again. After that he punched me in the dick. I got punched in the dick for what I hoped was the last time. He then proceeded to punch me in the dick. After that dick punch, he punched me in the dick again. “Okay. Okay you made your point.” Fist to the dick. He switched to his other hand and punched me in the dick with that one. He started looking tired. That probably meant he wasn’t going to punch me in the dick again. Nope, he was just catching his breath, he punched me in the dick again. He punched in the dick yet again. And finally, he punched me one last time in the dick.
“Let that be a warning to you.” Two and a Half Men and Beardy walked away leaving me clutching my mangled member.
“THAT WAS A WARNING?! A WARNING SHOULD JUST BE LIKE, ONE THING! YOU PUNCHED ME IN THE DICK REPEATEDLY!”
I had gotten the information I needed to get this case off the ground and where does that leave me? Right back on the ground.
Like what you see? Tim also does a comic strip every Monday at www.thehiggsweldon.com and writes and illustrates his own kickass comic book, Goatman. Check it out here: Facebook.com/goatmancomics!
