Terra Earth Mysteries
Terra Earth: Mysteries
A supplement to the fantasy story “Terra Earth: Adventures”, I have decided to write TE stories under each genre. This genre focuses around a great detective, Boxxle Holmes and his companion Doctor eFlare. And of course, there are all of us, dealing with mysteries and puzzlements, not unreal to our very world.
I do hope you enjoy it, it’s a bit different from what you dealt with before.
---
“Well,” said Boxxle Holmes, setting his pipe down and opening up a fresh copy of the TerraEarth Times. “It seems there’s been a bit of an ordeal down at the arena.”
Doctor eFlare, reset his monocle. “By Jove, is that right? Well what sort of nasty case are we looking at?”
Boxxle raised his eyebrow at the article. He appeared as though he were in deep thought, more so than usual, and replied in an offhand fashion, “Well isn’t that odd?”
“What is?” eFlare asked.
“It seems as though a person was killed during combat, a usual occurrence. But this article claims that there is more to this murder than meets the eye,” Boxxle commented.
“Oh, what do they know? You can never trust the press, for where each written word has it’s own shade of meaning the spoken one is invariably clear,” eFlare replied.
Boxxle tilted his head. “That’s quite profound. Who said it?”
eFlare grinned, “I believe you did, Boxxle.”
Boxxle returned to his paper. “Oh, yes.”
At that moment, a knock came at the door. A woman entered in a bright red dress. To say it was revealing would be an understatement. She had long black hair, with purple fingernails that accented her dark blue brooch hanging around her neck.
“Boxxle Holmes, I presume,” she asked. She had a deep voice, and a scintillating smile that made eFlare come to an unusual level of animation.
“Yes, and you are?” Boxxle asked, clearly unaffected by the woman’s tone (to say the least!)
“You can call me Fixy, if you like. I have been told you are quite the sleuth, no?” She said, walking around to him, rubbing her fingers along the surface of the hardwood desk which adorned many of Boxxle’s papers.
“I’m an avid puzzle solver with a fancy name, but yes if you like. How may I be of service?” Boxxle asked.
“I need a man who can help me solve the puzzlement down at the arena,” Fixy said. She walked up to the sitting Boxxle, who was now tenting his fingers.
“Tell me,” he began. “How does this affect you?”
“I am just a concerned citizen,” Fixy said. She walked over to the window. “The deceased was my husband.”
“Oh,” Boxxle said. “My sympathy’s.”
eFlare made a point of the matter. “I thought the paper said it was just an accident.”
Boxxle stood up. “And I thought you said never to trust the press.”
Fixy leaned against the padded windowsill. “The press is all lies. My husband was killed in the arena, but not by his fellow fighter. He was murdered by someone else.”
eFlare walked over to Fixy, “Who could have done such a thing. The arena is packed full of people, how could he possibly have killed your husband. A gunshot would’ve been heard and any other conventional mean of weapons would have left clear imprints which could have been traced.”
Boxxle put his hand on eFlare’s shoulder. “There is more than one way to kill a man.” He turned to Fixy. “Do you have any idea who or why your husband would’ve been killed?”
Fixy sat up. “All I know is that he was an avid gambler. He frequented a bar called Joan’s Dungeon.”
“Aha, then we have our first clue. Come along eFlare, the game is a foot.” Boxxle said.
“What does that even mean?” eFlare asked.
“It’s only a figure of speech. I don’t recall ever hunting feet,” Boxxle replied.
“Could mean rabbit’s feet,” eFlare suggested.
“Or elephant’s to make into trash cans,” Fixy suggested.
“I don’t know. But I do know one thing,” Boxxle said.
“What’s that?” Fixy asked.
“I need a drink and information. And I know where to get both,” Boxxle said, walking out the front door of his flat and making his way to Joan’s Dungeon.
Joan’s Dungeon was less of a bar and more of a cheap place for the lower class of TerraEarth to waste a week’s worth of wages on drink, food and “pleasurable company”. The barmaid, proprietor and owner Joan-Michelle was a tall woman, with her amber hair tied behind her in a ponytail. The fumes coming from all around were not all alcohol related, and Boxxle made a mental note to only breath when absolutely necessary.
“I-need-to-speak-to-the-proprietor [GASP!], Joan-Michelle-please,” Boxxle said.
“You’re looking at her,” Joan said, smacking a damp cloth on the table. She began to wipe off the counter. “What’ll you have to drink?”
“How about we talk first and drink later?” Boxxle said.
“You’re pretty bold for a man with glasses,” Joan commented. “You a Moderator?”
“No, I don’t trifle in state affairs, I am actually a private investigator and I would like to talk to you about a dead man,” Boxxle replied, pulling out his badge.
“Do you start off all dates like this?” Joan asked, wiping down a glass.
“Depends upon the definition of safe sex, doesn’t it?” Boxxle replied. “I’d like to know what you can tell me about a man named Blade. He died in the arena the other day.”
“Him. I never knew a married man less interested in his wife. He’d drop by his house for a quick kiss and another object to pawn, then he’d be in here by 4:00 PM wasting away to nothingness in drinks and games and other waitresses.”
“Do you suspect he ever cheated on his wife?” Boxxle asked.
“No. I gotta give him credit for that, he looked but never touched. It was more in his interest to smack the table then the girls who work for me,” Joan replied.
Boxxle’s attention shifted to the room around him. “That’s another thing I’ve been meaning to ask you. All of your employees are female.”
“That’s because my customer base is 100% male. Supply and demand, flatfoot,” Joan replied. “Now do you want a drink or should I have a friend of mine show you the door?”
“Yes, I‘ll have a dry martini, and an apple,” Boxxle said.
“An apple?” Joan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I have unusual tastes, but so do all your customers,” Boxxle grinned.
Joan walked off to fill the order. Boxxle took the opportunity to glance around the room. In the back, there was a familiar face, looking right at him. The man wore a black suit and held a cane. He also had a sinister mustache, which barely cloaked a deceitful grin. The man walked towards Boxxle.
“Nice to see you again, Boxxle Holmes.” The man smiled.
“You too, Doctor Muerte (Author’s Note: (prn. moo-e-ar-tay) Sorry Muerte. You were the closest person to Moriarte).”
“I see you are sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong again,” Muerte scowled.
“Well, it seems to me this does involve me. I’m just a concerned citizen afterall,” Boxxle grinned.
“Now, detective. Bad things happen to the nosy. Curiosity killed the cat,” Muerte said.
“Maybe so, but not before getting the hell clawed out of it. And I assure you, I am a much bigger cat,” Boxxle replied.
“Hey Mister!” Called Joan. “Your drink and fruit are ready.”
Boxxle walked over to the bar and took the apple. “Thank you.” Boxxle started to leave, but Joan called back to him.
“Hey, what about your drink?” Joan asked.
“Ah, yes. I used that so you would get me the apple,” Boxxle smiled, walking out.
Joan rolled her eyebrows and tossed the glass back into the sink.
Boxxle walked from the bar to the RP Punch-Up Arena. Over it’s great gate was a bronze sign that read: Founded By Joan-Michelle in 2003, Refounded By Jason Tandro in 2005. He looked at the arena, where the police line was still up. One of the fighters was standing there.
“You are DeathPit, no?” Boxxle asked.
Deathpit was dressed in a black trenchcoat, which covered an armored torso. He held in his right hand a large rocket launcher with the name: RED RIOTZ imprinted in dark red letters on the side.
“Yeah, that’s me. You another cop who wants to screw up my life with more asinine questions?” DeathPit relied.
“No. I’m a private detective who is trying to prove you innocent,” Boxxle replied.
“Oh really. Well thanks pal, but I don’t believe it’s possible. I know the guy who did it, but pinning the crime to him would be impossible,” Deathpit replied.
“Try me,” Boxxle said, walking over to him.
“Blade had a serious gambling problem in his life. He accumulated so much in his entire life’s wages but wasted them all playing card games. He finally decided to place all his cash on this big fight. Apparently he was planning to bet all his money to say that if he won the fight the payoff would be more than just the arena prize, see?”
“A bit redundant, but I get your drift,” Boxxle said.
“So, my theory is that the guy he bet against killed him in an effort to keep from losing that money,” Deathpit pondered.
“And who did he bet against?” Boxxle asked.
“A robber baron. One of the more wealthy scientists in TerraEarth. You should know very well who I am talking about,” Deathpit said, leaving the arena.
And he did. He knew him very well.
“So Doctor Muerte bet against Blade and then killed him to keep the winnings?” eFlare asked.
“That is one speculation, yes. It is the perfect crime. Kill a person who is unlikely to win in a fight anyway. The risk/reward ratio does not make the other person in the bet to be a logical choice, seeming as the smart thing for him to do would be to win legit,” Boxxle thought. “But we are still left with some questions. Number one, what was the real motive behind Blade’s murder. Muerte may be evil, but even he is not the type to randomly kill people. Number two, how did he do it? And number three, where the hell is my coffee?”
eFlare handed Boxxle a cup of coffee and took one himself. “Well, should we start by investigating the crime scene?”
“I already went there. We need to examine the body. We’re heading to the morgue.”
eFlare pulled out the frozen case of Blade. His body seemed perfectly well, save the injuries he incurred during the fight at the arena. eFlare began working with the body, while Boxxle began frantically scribbling on a notepad.
“This is interesting,” eFlare commented.
“What is?” Boxxle asked, looking up.
“It seems as though he died of some sort of bacteria,” eFlare commented.
“Really...?” Boxxle asked.
eFlare looked up. “Have you figured something out?”
“Joan said that Blade frequented her bar. Muerte knew that I would also be at the bar and therefore, logically speaking, that must have been the real crime scene. All Muerte would have to do would be to slip poison in the food.”
“So he did kill Blade!” eFlare replied.
“No, he couldn’t have. Because we have a small problem.” Boxxle said.
“And that is?”
“All the servers were female. There would be no way for an obtrusive man like Muerte to sneak into the kitchen. He must’ve had a woman do it for him.”
“But who could that be?” eFlare asked.
“You can’t think of anyone?” Boxxle asked. “Joan mentioned that he always pawned off some pieces of their personal property for gambling money. When he entered the arena, his wife must have made the meeting between him and Muerte, where the cash would be exchanged. And then to stop the money from being lost for good, she struck a deal with Muerte to get the money back.”
“You mean she killed her husband for money?” eFlare asked.
“Yes. But there is still the question as to why Muerte would want Blade killed,” Boxxle commented.
“I can tell you,” said Fixy, walking in with a gun in her hand. “Because we were lovers. And that oaf of a husband was doing nothing but getting in the way.”
Boxxle grinned, placing his hands in the air. “I would have guessed sooner if I had only stopped to remember that you wrote an article in the newspaper.”
“But you didn’t. And now I can not only get rid of my boorish husband, but Terra Earth’s most famous detective,” Fixy grinned.
“Not likely!” shouted a familiar voice from the doorway. In burst Deathpit who fired a bullet from his gun, hitting Fixy’s hands. “Hope you didn’t just get your nails done!”
eFlare made a cross over his chest. “I’ll never say the Punch-Up is fake again.”
Boxxle picked up the gun. “It doesn’t seem like your lover Muerte has the time to deal with you anymore. Other wise he’d be coming to your rescue right about now.”
He handcuffed Fixy, and sat her down against a desk.
“Although it is a disappointment that he didn’t see fit to show up,” Boxxle thought.
“There’ll be other cases Boxxle. Don’t worry,” eFlare said.
It was a quiet evening at the flat. eFlare was reading the TerraEarth Times, and Boxxle was looking over his notes.
“You know, they mentioned you in the paper. The whole country is singing your praise,” eFlare said.
“That is nice. The world would be a better place if there were more singing. Although I should hope they can find better things to sing about than my job,” Boxxle noted.
“You know, I never did figure out what you wanted the apple for,” eFlare asked.
“Really?” Boxxle asked. “Well don’t you see, that’s what clinched the whole case for me. The apple.”
“How did an apple solve this case?” eFlare asked.
“I watched Joan when she went to get it. I then noted that the kitchen, where the orders were stored, was far in the back, and surrounded by waitresses. It was then that I concluded that there would be no way for Muerte to slip past. You’d be amazed at how often a little thing can have a great impact on the world.”
“Yes. Like a little thing named Boxxle Holmes,” eFlare grinned.
A supplement to the fantasy story “Terra Earth: Adventures”, I have decided to write TE stories under each genre. This genre focuses around a great detective, Boxxle Holmes and his companion Doctor eFlare. And of course, there are all of us, dealing with mysteries and puzzlements, not unreal to our very world.
I do hope you enjoy it, it’s a bit different from what you dealt with before.
---
“Well,” said Boxxle Holmes, setting his pipe down and opening up a fresh copy of the TerraEarth Times. “It seems there’s been a bit of an ordeal down at the arena.”
Doctor eFlare, reset his monocle. “By Jove, is that right? Well what sort of nasty case are we looking at?”
Boxxle raised his eyebrow at the article. He appeared as though he were in deep thought, more so than usual, and replied in an offhand fashion, “Well isn’t that odd?”
“What is?” eFlare asked.
“It seems as though a person was killed during combat, a usual occurrence. But this article claims that there is more to this murder than meets the eye,” Boxxle commented.
“Oh, what do they know? You can never trust the press, for where each written word has it’s own shade of meaning the spoken one is invariably clear,” eFlare replied.
Boxxle tilted his head. “That’s quite profound. Who said it?”
eFlare grinned, “I believe you did, Boxxle.”
Boxxle returned to his paper. “Oh, yes.”
At that moment, a knock came at the door. A woman entered in a bright red dress. To say it was revealing would be an understatement. She had long black hair, with purple fingernails that accented her dark blue brooch hanging around her neck.
“Boxxle Holmes, I presume,” she asked. She had a deep voice, and a scintillating smile that made eFlare come to an unusual level of animation.
“Yes, and you are?” Boxxle asked, clearly unaffected by the woman’s tone (to say the least!)
“You can call me Fixy, if you like. I have been told you are quite the sleuth, no?” She said, walking around to him, rubbing her fingers along the surface of the hardwood desk which adorned many of Boxxle’s papers.
“I’m an avid puzzle solver with a fancy name, but yes if you like. How may I be of service?” Boxxle asked.
“I need a man who can help me solve the puzzlement down at the arena,” Fixy said. She walked up to the sitting Boxxle, who was now tenting his fingers.
“Tell me,” he began. “How does this affect you?”
“I am just a concerned citizen,” Fixy said. She walked over to the window. “The deceased was my husband.”
“Oh,” Boxxle said. “My sympathy’s.”
eFlare made a point of the matter. “I thought the paper said it was just an accident.”
Boxxle stood up. “And I thought you said never to trust the press.”
Fixy leaned against the padded windowsill. “The press is all lies. My husband was killed in the arena, but not by his fellow fighter. He was murdered by someone else.”
eFlare walked over to Fixy, “Who could have done such a thing. The arena is packed full of people, how could he possibly have killed your husband. A gunshot would’ve been heard and any other conventional mean of weapons would have left clear imprints which could have been traced.”
Boxxle put his hand on eFlare’s shoulder. “There is more than one way to kill a man.” He turned to Fixy. “Do you have any idea who or why your husband would’ve been killed?”
Fixy sat up. “All I know is that he was an avid gambler. He frequented a bar called Joan’s Dungeon.”
“Aha, then we have our first clue. Come along eFlare, the game is a foot.” Boxxle said.
“What does that even mean?” eFlare asked.
“It’s only a figure of speech. I don’t recall ever hunting feet,” Boxxle replied.
“Could mean rabbit’s feet,” eFlare suggested.
“Or elephant’s to make into trash cans,” Fixy suggested.
“I don’t know. But I do know one thing,” Boxxle said.
“What’s that?” Fixy asked.
“I need a drink and information. And I know where to get both,” Boxxle said, walking out the front door of his flat and making his way to Joan’s Dungeon.
Joan’s Dungeon was less of a bar and more of a cheap place for the lower class of TerraEarth to waste a week’s worth of wages on drink, food and “pleasurable company”. The barmaid, proprietor and owner Joan-Michelle was a tall woman, with her amber hair tied behind her in a ponytail. The fumes coming from all around were not all alcohol related, and Boxxle made a mental note to only breath when absolutely necessary.
“I-need-to-speak-to-the-proprietor [GASP!], Joan-Michelle-please,” Boxxle said.
“You’re looking at her,” Joan said, smacking a damp cloth on the table. She began to wipe off the counter. “What’ll you have to drink?”
“How about we talk first and drink later?” Boxxle said.
“You’re pretty bold for a man with glasses,” Joan commented. “You a Moderator?”
“No, I don’t trifle in state affairs, I am actually a private investigator and I would like to talk to you about a dead man,” Boxxle replied, pulling out his badge.
“Do you start off all dates like this?” Joan asked, wiping down a glass.
“Depends upon the definition of safe sex, doesn’t it?” Boxxle replied. “I’d like to know what you can tell me about a man named Blade. He died in the arena the other day.”
“Him. I never knew a married man less interested in his wife. He’d drop by his house for a quick kiss and another object to pawn, then he’d be in here by 4:00 PM wasting away to nothingness in drinks and games and other waitresses.”
“Do you suspect he ever cheated on his wife?” Boxxle asked.
“No. I gotta give him credit for that, he looked but never touched. It was more in his interest to smack the table then the girls who work for me,” Joan replied.
Boxxle’s attention shifted to the room around him. “That’s another thing I’ve been meaning to ask you. All of your employees are female.”
“That’s because my customer base is 100% male. Supply and demand, flatfoot,” Joan replied. “Now do you want a drink or should I have a friend of mine show you the door?”
“Yes, I‘ll have a dry martini, and an apple,” Boxxle said.
“An apple?” Joan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I have unusual tastes, but so do all your customers,” Boxxle grinned.
Joan walked off to fill the order. Boxxle took the opportunity to glance around the room. In the back, there was a familiar face, looking right at him. The man wore a black suit and held a cane. He also had a sinister mustache, which barely cloaked a deceitful grin. The man walked towards Boxxle.
“Nice to see you again, Boxxle Holmes.” The man smiled.
“You too, Doctor Muerte (Author’s Note: (prn. moo-e-ar-tay) Sorry Muerte. You were the closest person to Moriarte).”
“I see you are sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong again,” Muerte scowled.
“Well, it seems to me this does involve me. I’m just a concerned citizen afterall,” Boxxle grinned.
“Now, detective. Bad things happen to the nosy. Curiosity killed the cat,” Muerte said.
“Maybe so, but not before getting the hell clawed out of it. And I assure you, I am a much bigger cat,” Boxxle replied.
“Hey Mister!” Called Joan. “Your drink and fruit are ready.”
Boxxle walked over to the bar and took the apple. “Thank you.” Boxxle started to leave, but Joan called back to him.
“Hey, what about your drink?” Joan asked.
“Ah, yes. I used that so you would get me the apple,” Boxxle smiled, walking out.
Joan rolled her eyebrows and tossed the glass back into the sink.
Boxxle walked from the bar to the RP Punch-Up Arena. Over it’s great gate was a bronze sign that read: Founded By Joan-Michelle in 2003, Refounded By Jason Tandro in 2005. He looked at the arena, where the police line was still up. One of the fighters was standing there.
“You are DeathPit, no?” Boxxle asked.
Deathpit was dressed in a black trenchcoat, which covered an armored torso. He held in his right hand a large rocket launcher with the name: RED RIOTZ imprinted in dark red letters on the side.
“Yeah, that’s me. You another cop who wants to screw up my life with more asinine questions?” DeathPit relied.
“No. I’m a private detective who is trying to prove you innocent,” Boxxle replied.
“Oh really. Well thanks pal, but I don’t believe it’s possible. I know the guy who did it, but pinning the crime to him would be impossible,” Deathpit replied.
“Try me,” Boxxle said, walking over to him.
“Blade had a serious gambling problem in his life. He accumulated so much in his entire life’s wages but wasted them all playing card games. He finally decided to place all his cash on this big fight. Apparently he was planning to bet all his money to say that if he won the fight the payoff would be more than just the arena prize, see?”
“A bit redundant, but I get your drift,” Boxxle said.
“So, my theory is that the guy he bet against killed him in an effort to keep from losing that money,” Deathpit pondered.
“And who did he bet against?” Boxxle asked.
“A robber baron. One of the more wealthy scientists in TerraEarth. You should know very well who I am talking about,” Deathpit said, leaving the arena.
And he did. He knew him very well.
“So Doctor Muerte bet against Blade and then killed him to keep the winnings?” eFlare asked.
“That is one speculation, yes. It is the perfect crime. Kill a person who is unlikely to win in a fight anyway. The risk/reward ratio does not make the other person in the bet to be a logical choice, seeming as the smart thing for him to do would be to win legit,” Boxxle thought. “But we are still left with some questions. Number one, what was the real motive behind Blade’s murder. Muerte may be evil, but even he is not the type to randomly kill people. Number two, how did he do it? And number three, where the hell is my coffee?”
eFlare handed Boxxle a cup of coffee and took one himself. “Well, should we start by investigating the crime scene?”
“I already went there. We need to examine the body. We’re heading to the morgue.”
eFlare pulled out the frozen case of Blade. His body seemed perfectly well, save the injuries he incurred during the fight at the arena. eFlare began working with the body, while Boxxle began frantically scribbling on a notepad.
“This is interesting,” eFlare commented.
“What is?” Boxxle asked, looking up.
“It seems as though he died of some sort of bacteria,” eFlare commented.
“Really...?” Boxxle asked.
eFlare looked up. “Have you figured something out?”
“Joan said that Blade frequented her bar. Muerte knew that I would also be at the bar and therefore, logically speaking, that must have been the real crime scene. All Muerte would have to do would be to slip poison in the food.”
“So he did kill Blade!” eFlare replied.
“No, he couldn’t have. Because we have a small problem.” Boxxle said.
“And that is?”
“All the servers were female. There would be no way for an obtrusive man like Muerte to sneak into the kitchen. He must’ve had a woman do it for him.”
“But who could that be?” eFlare asked.
“You can’t think of anyone?” Boxxle asked. “Joan mentioned that he always pawned off some pieces of their personal property for gambling money. When he entered the arena, his wife must have made the meeting between him and Muerte, where the cash would be exchanged. And then to stop the money from being lost for good, she struck a deal with Muerte to get the money back.”
“You mean she killed her husband for money?” eFlare asked.
“Yes. But there is still the question as to why Muerte would want Blade killed,” Boxxle commented.
“I can tell you,” said Fixy, walking in with a gun in her hand. “Because we were lovers. And that oaf of a husband was doing nothing but getting in the way.”
Boxxle grinned, placing his hands in the air. “I would have guessed sooner if I had only stopped to remember that you wrote an article in the newspaper.”
“But you didn’t. And now I can not only get rid of my boorish husband, but Terra Earth’s most famous detective,” Fixy grinned.
“Not likely!” shouted a familiar voice from the doorway. In burst Deathpit who fired a bullet from his gun, hitting Fixy’s hands. “Hope you didn’t just get your nails done!”
eFlare made a cross over his chest. “I’ll never say the Punch-Up is fake again.”
Boxxle picked up the gun. “It doesn’t seem like your lover Muerte has the time to deal with you anymore. Other wise he’d be coming to your rescue right about now.”
He handcuffed Fixy, and sat her down against a desk.
“Although it is a disappointment that he didn’t see fit to show up,” Boxxle thought.
“There’ll be other cases Boxxle. Don’t worry,” eFlare said.
It was a quiet evening at the flat. eFlare was reading the TerraEarth Times, and Boxxle was looking over his notes.
“You know, they mentioned you in the paper. The whole country is singing your praise,” eFlare said.
“That is nice. The world would be a better place if there were more singing. Although I should hope they can find better things to sing about than my job,” Boxxle noted.
“You know, I never did figure out what you wanted the apple for,” eFlare asked.
“Really?” Boxxle asked. “Well don’t you see, that’s what clinched the whole case for me. The apple.”
“How did an apple solve this case?” eFlare asked.
“I watched Joan when she went to get it. I then noted that the kitchen, where the orders were stored, was far in the back, and surrounded by waitresses. It was then that I concluded that there would be no way for Muerte to slip past. You’d be amazed at how often a little thing can have a great impact on the world.”
“Yes. Like a little thing named Boxxle Holmes,” eFlare grinned.
posted by Jason Tandro at 9:08 AM
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