Louis sat on the couch, staring at the odd postmodern art that Matthew had hung in the living room.
“I’m telling you, Louis. There’s something going on there,” Matthew said, leaning on the kitchen counter, which opened into the living room. He mixed batter for a cake, watching Louis stare at the postmodern painting. “A week ago I’d never seen her before. Then she shows up to our wedding, and then she’s there when The Owls summon the demon that kills them? It’s an odd coincidence. My detective skills are telling me that maybe it’s not a coincidence at all.”
“You’re not really a detective,” Louis said, trying to figure out what the artist had been trying to convey. Lost love? Seasickness? A really bad experience with ayahuasca? “I love you, but you know I’m right.”
“Why wouldn’t I be a detective? Of course I’m a detective.”
“You have to be promoted to detective. You can’t just call yourself a detective.”
“Oh, so you’re saying that you’re a detective, but I’m not.”
“Honestly?” Louis said, deciding that the painting represented seasickness, with perhaps a dash of delirium brought on by Nyquil. “Yes. That is what I’m saying.”
“Puns do not a detective make.”
“No, but a promotion does! And my puns weren’t that bad.”
“Oh really?” Matthew asked.
—
May 17, 2003
Louis walked into the crime scene, wearing his normal street clothes. Somewhere, he knew, Matthew watched, protecting him.
The crime scene was surrounded by many Elvis Presley impersonators. They looked on in horror. This was, after all, a convention for Elvis Presley impersonators.
“What’ve we got?” Louis asked. He took off his sunglasses, wanting to soak up the ambiance of the place.
“Six-foot-three Elvis impersonator,” the responding officer replied. “Got accosted by a super-strong Elvis. Looks like the guy picked the vic up a couple times, kept throwing him to the ground.”
Louis sighed deeply, fed up with all the damn injustice in the world. “Looks like this guy was,” Louis put the shades back on, trying to hide the sadness in his eyes, “All shook up.”
—
The Present
“I still feel really bad about that,” Louis said.
MEGAPULP 
Reminds me of the “Pun Detective”, over at Rock, Paper, Cynic. I like these guys better than those swamp ones, mainly because they represent the good-bad extremes of my opinions on humour.
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