Jamison Trumpets

"The Dresman Manilla Folders – Lightning Sucks" – Part 1

January 29th, 2014 by DanielRGT

It was dusk outside. That’s definitely the time of day it was. How do I know? Apart from the clock on the wall, the timer on my computer, the unending beeping of my watch, and the parrot I had trained to squawk on the hour every hour, there was one large reason why I knew: I’m a goddamn wizard. It’s true kid, I’m a goddamn wizard and you can tell because if you Google my name you’ll sure as hell find the Geocities website I made in 1992 with my full title: Larry Dresman, Goddamn Wizard.

It’s hard work being a wizard. Not only do I have to focus my energy on telling the time of day, but duster maintenance is very important for wizards. Back in the wizard academy, grades were handed out based on how well kept your duster was, and goddamn if my duster wasn’t the best duster the academy had ever seen. I graduated with Honors in Duster Maintenance and Repair as well as receiving the award for Most Duster-Like Duster, Most Likely to Be Wearing a Duster to Bed, and of course my diploma which I promptly sown onto the inside of my duster.

Thanks to the impressiveness of my duster, the police in Detroit knew that I was something special. It takes a great kind of police force to realize that when there are cases they can’t solve, it’s time to call their friendly wizard on their cell phones to solve it for them. They know for sure that since my duster is in such good condition, I can take me and my duster down to a crime scene and solve that shit quick. Why? Because wizards get shit done. Never has a wizard existed who didn’t get shit done; not unless you are including Greg the Generally Lazy Piece of Shit. Nobody likes Greg though, especially since he doesn’t even have his own fucking website. Fuck you Greg.

I sat in my office, basking in my knowledge that since dusk was upon me that meant that it was nearing the time where I would make sure my duster was in great working condition.  Of course, my streak of bad luck the past few days decided to cash in yet again it’s many favors. That’s right, being a wizard means I owe karma favors. That’s a privilege I get as a wizard. My phone rang which was unlucky for me since I had accidentally payed my phone bill for this month.

I picked up the phone while eyeing my duster lustfully  out of the corner of my eye and said in my husky voice which conveyed the power of a wizard, “Thanks for calling the Dresman’s Duster Maintenance Tip Hotline – This is Larry speaking how may I direct your duster?”

“Dresman, it’s me.” A voice spoke to me on the other end, clearly this was suspicious.

“Who the fuck is me? You better want duster tips or I’m gonna start charging you minute by minute. Is this Greg? I fucking hate you Greg, stop calling you dusterless pile of shit.”

“Goddamnit Dresman, I’m not Greg. I’ll never be Greg. It’s Sergeant Scurvy.” I knew immediately after he told me his name that it was Sergeant Scurvy thanks to my wizard intuition.

“Scurvy, what the hell do you want. You know I can’t be bothered around dusk.”

“Dresman, it’s urgent. There’s nobody else I could turn to. My wife’s out of town and there’s literally nothing on basic cable to satiate my boredom. Plus, we got a case. A good one. One worthy of your title Larry,” Scurvy spoke with the tone that only a man not wearing a duster could conjure. I pitied him knowing that even though he worked as hard as everyone else on the force, he would never make Captain so long as he continued to wear his denim jacket to work everyday.

“A case? Got any details for me? I already know all of them of course since I’m a goddamn wizard, but let me know the details anyway. You know, for the readers.” I decided that as a wizard it was perfectly okay to break the fourth wall. It was a complicated spell for sure, but the degree inside my duster was more than evidence of my raw talent at the art of wizardry.

Scurvy sighed on the other end of the phone before he began talking about the case. “We found a body Dresman, but… the circumstances are a bit… odd. There’s not a lot we can do with this scene without your help. The other guys on the force don’t want me to call you in because they don’t believe in electricity, but I know you’re the only one I can turn to.”

The other guys on the force. Hmph. Those knuckleheads have had an issue with me ever since Sergeant Scurvy called me in on a case two years ago. I solved the case within 2 months of entering the crime scene, and the other cops never forgave me. It was clear what the real issue was though: they had an incurable case of duster-envy.

“I’ll help you Scurvy, but it’ll cost you time and a half,” I spoke while wondering if Greg was still being a lazy fuckhead. “You know I have important things to do and I’m taking time away from them by helping you. Better hit the ATM before I get there, I only accept cold hard cash.”

Cash was very important to wizards because they acted as a currency in which to buy things in the real world.

I hung up the phone without asking Scurvy where the crime scene was at, but it didn’t matter. I had a premonition earlier that day about the murder happening because of my wizard senses. I got up from my plastic folding chair and picked up my duster off the wall. My beautiful duster was in my hand and it looked as glorious as ever. What other piece of clothing could speak so clearly as to what profession a person is? When it comes to wizards, a duster is the only way to go.

I walked out of my office and hit the button to go down on the elevator. I looked at my reflection in the stainless steel of the elevator to try and catch me looking dope as fuck in my duster, but unfortunately before I could even try and grasp the raw wizardry emanating from my duster the elevator opened and I saw something that nothing could prepare me for (except I knew it was coming cause I’m a wizard). A woman stood in the elevator who looked like she was searching for someone, and it had to have been me. I could feel it in my duster that this woman could only have been here to see a real wizard in action. Irrelevant facts include the fact that I have the only office on the third floor.

She looked at me with query in her eyes and said what I expected her to say: “Who the fuck are you?”

I smirked and knew exactly what to say. I stroked my hands along my duster and then pointed my finger pistols at her as I introduced myself, “I’m the man you’ve been searching for all your life woman: Larry Dresman. By the way, if you wanted to know I am a wizard.” Her response was to look at me with dead eyes. Her eyes weren’t literally dead because that makes no sense, but she looked awestruck. No doubt my duster made quite an impression on her.

“Did you say…wizard?” She obviously was hard of hearing because I very clearly said wizard, but it isn’t a wizard’s place to judge someone on the fact that they have tacky fashion sense because they aren’t wearing an incredible duster.

“I’d explain it to you in greater detail but I’m in a bit of a rush. I’m on my way to a crime scene.” I tried to squeeze my way into the elevator, but she grabbed my arm.

“I know what a wizard is, you don’t have to explain it. I’ll follow you to the crime scene because reasons.” Her mouth was moving as she spoke words which impressed me, but I didn’t have the time to argue with her and my duster was getting antsy.

“Go ahead and follow me, I’m just on my way to the crime scene now. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though that there’s gonna be a dead body though. Be sure to look at my duster if you start feeling queasy.” I laughed at my own taunt. A wizard has the hardest stomach known to man. After dealing with the fucked up shit I’ve seen at the wizard academy, there was nothing that could cause my stomach to empty itself upon the site of anything disgusting. Plus, my stomach knows that if it ever did that I would beat the shit out of it if it ruined my glorious duster.

I remembered that Scurvy hadn’t told me how to get to the murder, but like I said I knew exactly where to go. The elevator doors closed and I hit the “2” button. That’s right, one floor below mine. The doors opened and Sergeant Scurvy was there waiting for me. Just like I had planned because I’m a wizard.

“How the hell did you know how to get here Dresman? I never told you the directions.” Scurvy looked amazed at my presence, but I could tell by the sparkle in his eye that he was eyeing my duster while green with jealousy.

“You know my profession Sergeant. I’m surprised that you are still surprised that I’m so incredible as well as how my duster goes all the way to my ankles. Also, I heard the screams 4 hours ago while Googling my own name.” I walked past Scurvy towards the crime scene.

“Be warned Dresman, that crime scene is seriously fucked up. Two of our guys quit on the spot.” The Sergeant looked generally concerned. I laughed at him of course. Didn’t I just get done a couple paragraphs ago saying that wizards have stomachs of iron?

I opened the doors to the crime scene and let it all sink in. It took me a moment for all of it to settle in my brain, but as the pieces started to fit together so did my impossible-to-upset stomach begin to get upset. There it was clear as day in the middle of the room: a man in a cooler duster than mine lay dead on the floor.

There was nothing to stop the vomit from exiting my mouth-hole as my stomach-of-steel emptied itself. It was a horrifying crime scene that the Sergeant hadn’t adequately prepared me for, and surely I had to have been compromising it with my wizard vomit but goddamn the rules. My liquid insides began to cake the room as I thought about the possibilities of how this man acquired a cooler duster than my own, but none of my theories seemed to make sense.

It was just then, as my projectile bile was covering an officer completely, that the woman from before walked up and observed the crime scene. “Hey, I kinda disappeared before in that segment where you were talking to the Sergeant. I’m back now though. You’re vomiting. That’s gross.” She was eyeing the dead man’s duster. Dammit. Even an amateur like her could tell that the dead man’s duster was cooler. All of this went through my mind as I physically started to propel myself around the room via my own vomit.

Sergeant Scurvy walked in and looked at the crime scene along with me. No doubt he must have been wondering how his crime scene suddenly had become soaking wet and more of a beige tint, but mostly he must have been wondering how two incredible dusters such as my own and the victim’s could possibly exist.

“Dresman, I’m gonna be honest with you,” Scurvy said to me as he admired the incredible amount of throw-up exiting my mouth and my duster, “We need you more than ever on this. There’s a lot we don’t know about this case, but there’s one thing we know for goddamn certain.” I couldn’t speak to inquire further upon the Sergeant’s ominous ending to his sentence since I had run out contents in my stomach so my body was trying to expel my own organs out of my mouth, but I knew what the next words out of his mouth would be.

“The victim is a goddamn wizard Dresman.”

I was definitely not expecting that, and neither was my duster.

 

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