Salty and Cara – The Crime Story

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Newspapers are in a summer slump. They’re writing all kinds of shallow stories. What an inspiration!

It was a slow day. Even though the city’s standard working hours had passed, the place was almost empty. But nevertheless, plenty of work remained to be done. “If you have time to kill, use your extra energy on cleaning,” Hanano always said, “this may be a bar, but we have style and want to show it.” Of course, her boss was right. There were too many places in the city that did not keep things neat and tidy, and the filth accumulated not only on the bar and tables, but also in front of them.

So, almost an hour ago, Cara had started to clear out the bottles, carafes and jugs, dusting the shelves. Now she was in the process of putting everything back in its place, giving it a quick shine as she went.

When the door opened, she could not believe her eyes at first. There he was, smiling at her. For a moment she wanted to smile back, but then she realized that it was neither a good idea nor a good sign for Salty to visit her here. They should not be seen together in public. He must have guessed what she was thinking, because his smile faded instantly and he nodded. She nodded back. That meant he was here ‘on official business’.

As he sat on a stool at the bar, ordering “the usual,” she filled a clear liquid from a tap into a carafe and set it before him. “Would you like…?” she started, but he cut her off in a gentle tone: “You know, I don’t do anything fancy, sweetie.” She frowned, still polite: “You know, I have to ask every customer that.” And in a slightly softer voice: “Don’t call me ‘sweetie. We don’t want to get into trouble.” He grinned sheepishly: “Sure, I can call you ‘sweetie.’ I call my landlady ‘Sweetie,’ so there is nothing suspicious about that.” For a brief moment, a smile lit up her face: “But I’m obviously not a nice old vegetable.” “You’re definitely not,” he replied, “but let’s stop fussing and make this official so everyone can feel comfortable: Has anyone from the gang shown up yet?”

It was perfectly normal to ask, but Cara still felt choked up as she replied: “No, neither any of the gang nor Don Tomatoni himself.” “Yes, I thought they would keep their heads down after what just happened.” “What just happened … and why are you here?” inquired Cara. “You know, you should keep your pretty peel out of it, sweetie, but as always, I know it’s no use telling you.” And after a deep breath, he continued: “They just found the mayor’s daughter dead. Or what was left of her. Not a pretty sight. The press is manic at the moment.” “You’re not a cop like your dad, so this shouldn’t be any of your business. You are a private investigator for the insurance companies.”

Salty cringed at the mention of his late father’s police career. But she had a right to know the truth. As his lover and closest friend, he had to tell her: “The life insurance company hired me to find out what was going on. They are on the verge of bankruptcy.”

“So this was not the first case?” she wondered. “No,” he replied, “not the first case. Nobody as high as the mayor’s family has been affected before, but there have been almost twenty cases by now.” She gasped: “… just fruits or some vegetables too?” That was his investigator’s voice now: “Mostly high class fruits, only two or three upper middle class clerks from the veggie population. But I am not supposed to tell you that. It’s part of the investigation and confidential.” Cara looked around. “There’s nobody here but you and me.” And her gaze fell on the old zucchini who had fallen asleep at his table, as usual. “And, Murkus, of course, but he does not count, he is practically part of the furniture here. You can trust me.”

“I know, Cara, I know,” Salty replied, “I’m just trying to protect you. This could get very juicy, you know. There are most likely some very powerful fruits and vegetables mixed up in this mess.”

“Do they know who killed Bosca?” Cara had gone to school with the mayor’s daughter. She had always been a little stuck up and sometimes mean, but basically a typical young fruit from a very old family tree, just like her. Salty looked at her firmly: “It’s more like ‘what killed her’. And it didn’t really kill her. Rot did. The most vicious and rapid rot I have ever seen. She was practically all mush, covered with a hairy carpet. Nothing left to resemble anything she ever looked like.” “Oh my Uncle Togro!” The young starfruit momentarily lost a full shade of her shiny golden-yellow peel. “No,” Salty replied, “Tog had nothing to do with this, though I suspect it is more likely Owa who will be upset about this.” “It was artificial …? But how … Who would …?”. “We don’t know for sure, but it seems like ‘someone’ was involved, or at least one of his henchmen,” the detective replied.

Both doubled back as some new customers entered the bar in a crowd. A particularly large and round tomato in a long coat led the way. He tapped the brim of his hat as he passed Salty on his way to the back of the establishment. “Good day, Detective Cucumber,” he said and then turned to the barmaid with a mean smile, “you can bring the usual when you’re done juicing over your lover, miss.” Salty stood his ground: “It’s Quentin Cumberman, Don Tomatoni. And I’m not really a detective, as you know. I just find things out for people who want to know.” Don Tomatoni did not even bother to turn: “I know who you are, ‘Salty,’ because I knew your old veggie, the real Detective Cumberman. But I’m telling you the same thing I always told him: You better watch out who you are looking for.”

The mobster had closed the door behind him and Cara was shocked: “How does he know?” “Oh, he knows! Pretty much everything he wants to know.” Salty let out a sinister laugh. “The good question is what he doesn’t know and why.” She turned around. “I’d better call Hanano down and tell him Don Tomatoni is here. He likes to handle these customers himself. They know each other.” The young vegetable scoffed, “Yes, they do know each other. They have an agreement: Tomatoni leaves his customers and his staff alone, and Hanano asks no questions when that rotten tomato and his gang of nightshades want to use the back apartment.” “I just don’t understand how someone like Hanano gets involved with that crook!” Cara liked her boss, he was one of the few decent bar owners around who cared about those who worked for him and treated them well. “He’s smart, that’s why,” the private detective knew this part of town and certain types of fruitables too well, “you don’t say ‘no’ to Don Tomatoni.” He got up, put his hat back on and left. The carafe of clear water remained untouched on the counter. Cara sighed, picked up the receiver and dialed a few numbers.

[To be continued … ]

Salty stood his ground: “It’s Quentin Cumberman, Don Tomatoni. And I’m not really a detective, as you know. I just find things out for people who want to know.”

Don Tomatoni did not even bother to turn: “ …You better watch out who you are looking for.”

Side Notes:

  • Yes, I am a big fan of crime stories. Not the really ‘juicy’ stuff, but rather the interesting, twisted plots with lots of fascinating new input.
  • Obviously, a society of fruits and vegetables would base their religious beliefs on the forces most important to them: Water, Soil, and Sun.
    These are commonly called:
    • ‘Uncle Togro’ or just ‘Tog’: representing soil, a bit grumpy and very conservative, especially about composting ceremonies.
    • ‘Aunt’Towata’ or just ‘Owa’: represents water – Tog’s wife, a very extravagant and moody lady who hates environmental pollution.
    • The Twins: represent the sun in both its nourishing and destructive aspects. There is a male and a female twin without individual names, and they are the offspring of Tog and Owa. Special aspect: Both do not settle for doing good or evil, but frequently change their focus of interest. Not surprisingly, ‘The Twins’ are the gods favored by politicians and stockbrokers in the Fruitables society.

And what happens next? Find out [ >I ]

Needless to say, the stories about Salty and Cara are pure figments of my imagination. No resemblance to any person or place – present or past – is intended. But I am sure you have already figured that out 😉