Chapter Text
Beanpole and Moustache Chapter 1
A man sits at one of those metal desks, like the one your grade-school teacher had. The desk chair is upholstered in that rough, blue material, like one of those blocky library chairs. It’s a quarter ‘til on a Wednesday afternoon. The warehouse side door swings open, and four or five goons file in. They don’t notice the man at the desk.
He’s a cool dude, six feet even and lanky. He wears his white button-up tucked into stripy jeans, and his jeans tucked into black cowboy boots. He gives a sharp whistle to get the goons’ attention, and they turn. They see him. He grins and lowers his sparkly sunglasses an inch or so, which would look really cool if this was a movie.
“Surprise, boys.”
A goon in a corduroy jacket draws his gun. “Just who the frick are you? What are you doing here?”
The man lights a cigar, puffing at it for a brief moment. He pushes his fingers through his black hair and replies, “Folks call me Beanpole. I’m the guy about to bring you boys in.”
He pushes his sunglasses back up and the “YEEEEEEEAAAAHH!” from The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” can be heard over the audio track or whatever. Beanpole has plenty of time before backup comes to have a cool fight scene.
The goons charge him and he stands from the desk to fight. Okay, so like, there’s a bunch of ‘80s style action fighting, with lots of karate chops for some reason, and Beanpole does a lot of high kicks cause they look cool. And then he does this low sweep and knocks down this one goon with an eye patch, and the goon falls into these other goons and it’s really cool. Then he starts punching out goons’ teeth and it goes all slo-mo and stuff.
By the time backup arrives, all the goons are knocked out on the floor of the warehouse. The scene cuts to the office of the precinct captain Cyrus D’Liveryguy. He slams his fist down on the desk, rattling the pen cup because the audience expects the sound.
“Dammit, Once-ler! You can’t just beat up bad guys!”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know! The writer doesn’t even watch this genre! But you’re a loose cannon and you need an opposite-personality partner for some reason!”
Beanpole crosses his arms. “Well, that sucks. I work alone and I get results. Probably. I don’t need a partner. I intend to keep doing awesome fight scenes basically forever.”
Captain Cy pauses, his hands on his hips. “I dunno, Once-ler. That delivery wasn’t very shouty. I’m pretty sure this scene is supposed to be super shouty. Anyway, instead of pairing you with one of the guys already working here, I’m bringing in a new guy.”
“Seems legit.”
Captain Cy moves over to the other door and lets in a short, furry guy with a big moustache.
“This here is Detective Lorax. Lorax, this is Detective Once-ler.”
Lorax points finger guns up at Captain Cy. “Hey! Cy! My guy!”
Beanpole raises an eyebrow. “Cy, what the fuck is this? This guy’s not even wearing pants. Why isn’t he wearing pants?”
Lorax waves away the subject. “Cause I don’t need em. Folks back in Greenville call me Moustache.”
“Well, folks here in Thneedville call me Beanpole. And this Beanpole doesn’t need a babysitter.”
“Yeah, you do, though,” Captain Cy scoffs. “Anyway, I got you guys a new assignment. It’s your basic whatever, just take down this mob guy. Go ahead and get into wacky hijinks, I guess.”
Beanpole snatches the case file and sticks his tongue out at Moustache. He storms out and sits at his desk to read through it. Moustache shrugs and wanders into the break room for a cuppa coffee. Mug in hand, he strolls over to Beanpole.
“What’s first to do, my dude?”
“Your mom, heyooo!”
“Well, that’s just rude.”
“I dunno, gather intel or some shit. The writer didn’t think this through.”
The writer frowns at their computer. “Hey, I’m out of my element; cut me a break.”
The scene skips to something more interesting. Beanpole and Moustache are standing just inside the door of a grocery store, talking to the guy who fills up the crane machines.
“What do you know about a guy calling himself Mister Zillions?” Beanpole asks.
The machine guy shrugs. “That’s above my pay grade. You wanna call the mob directory. They can patch you through to whoever.”
“The what now?”
“The directory. I don’t have the number on me right now, though. You’ll have to find a character who has it.”
Moustache pipes up, “You wouldn’t happen to know such a guy? It’d be way easier that way.”
“Well, yeah, but like, too easier.”
Beanpole scowls. “Could you give us a hint?”
“Uh, well I am capable, but I’m not gonna.”
The detectives leave and head down the street. There are a few carts and stands clustered along the sidewalk. It’s noon, probably. Beanpole claps his hands together.
“Aww, yeah. Time for a la-la-la-la-lunch break.”
Moustache scoffs, “That joke was kinda forced. Can we get hotdogs?”
“You don’t have pockets. You expect me to get you a hotdog?”
“Yes, please. With lots of onions and mustard.”
The hotdog cart is manned by a plump and shapely woman in a lime dress. She stands on a step stool and fixes up a couple of hotdogs.
“So, I hear you boys are looking for Mister Zillions?”
“How?”
“With my ears, of course.”
“Seems legit.”
“On the far end of town, where the grickle grass grows, you’ll find the mob’s administration office. Tell em Norma sent you.”
Beanpole winks at Norma. “That is definitely not suspicious in any way. Thanks a bunch, cutie.”
Beanpole and Moustache get in their car and head to the far end of town. Except, that’s not a very good descriptor, so they kinda have to drive around for a bit to find the right place. Eventually, they find the administration building, marked by a stone sign out front.