This was way more than Pickle had bargained for, he thought this was just going to be a simple 'look for my lost cat and I'll pay you'. Instead, he could already feel he had walked into something he didn't want to be in and most of all, time was running out. The sweat was running off of Pickle's forehead almost as fast as the blood off of the criminal's knife or the leaking ceiling, he couldn't tell which...or even if the criminal even had a knife.
"They probably don't, it's statistically unlikely" the platypus assured himself as he peaked out from behind his cover.
"Okay so they DO have a knife, but it's not what's dripping," Pickle said to himself. Right around that time he realized that he isn't as good of a detective as the thought he was and then assumed the role of something he was good at being... an irrational jackass.
Pickle picked up a piece of fallen ceiling and threw it at the wall behind the crook for the slim chance that they would be dumb enough to turn.
"Huh?" they said once again as they turned around. Jumping out of cover Pickle charged at the severely taller criminal, fixing the collar of his knitted Christmas sweater as he leaped into the air. A loud
CRASH could be heard for blocks in this quiet area of the ninth district as the crook's head went smashing through a window from the impact of the detective throwing himself at the criminals head like a human missile. This for some reason reminded him of a man with a mustache dressed in green. Pickle scrambled onto his flippers and brushes the small shards of glass off of his nice sweater, the thug, however, seemed unable to brush the small shards off of them as they had many big shards stuck in their skull. Detective P looked back over at the elderly lady and rushed to her side, she laid still.
- Human Missile:
"I'll be fine..." Ms. Benson said without moving a muscle, eyes still closed. This obviously freaked the hell out of Pickle but he maintained his composure and proceeded with the investigation,
"Ms. Bernadette Benson, I assume? What can you tell me about your cat?" The elderly woman slipped a photo of the cat out from her handbag that sat next to her on the floor then slid it over to the platypus, finally opening her eyes as Pickle took the picture.
"She's probably hanging around the abandoned club at the end of Gloom Crescent, that's her favorite play spot... but these days with my old age I just can't go walking around anymore." Something seemed off about this, P could feel it in his gut, as far as he knew that area was controlled by gangs.
"Thank you, ma'am," Pickle said as he straightened his hat and began to walk out of the building
"your cat will be delivered to you soon I swear." The last thing the detective heard as he left was a slight chuckle coming from the woman, he had bigger troubles to worry about than a cackling wench. For example, who was that guy? And what was he doing there? Pickle walked down the avenue towards his goal, ignorant of the events to come.