Sunday Story- Sleuthing

Sleuthing- careful investigation into a crime

Ex: Vladimir’s intense sleuthing to find out which roommate had been eating all of his food had turned up some interesting leads. “Jorge, tongue check!” Screamed Vladimir, holding out his open palm in front of Jorge as if expecting Jorge to willingly place his tongue there. “Jorge, NOW!” Demanded Vladimir. Jorge rolled his eyes and begrudgingly stuck his tongue out. Vladimir put his nose up to Jorge’s tongue and inhaled deeply. “KETCHUP! POTATO! I KNEW IT! So, you’re the one who has been eating my ketchup chips! And don’t even try to deny it, because those aren’t even available in the states! I had to go to Canada to get those. I caught your red handed, now pay up.” Jorge remained unperturbed and responded, “Yea bro, I went to Canada. I wanted that flavor, so I took a trip up north to go get me some chips.” Vladimir was now turning red, his neck vein bulging, “You did NOT go to Canada, Jorge! How the fuck am I meant to believe that. When, when did you go? How did I not know about this before? You never mentioned any Canada trip to me. Also, haven’t you said you hate Canada? That you’d never step foot in, and I quote, ‘that desolate frozen wasteland full of foo-foo hicks and Moose scrotum aficionados’.” Jorge shrugged. “I changed my mind. I like Canada now. During my TRIP that I took to GET SOME CHIPS I actually wound up liking the place!” Vladimir was now redirecting all of his available blood into his forehead and neck areas. “Jorge…WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT! YOU DIDN’T GO TO CANADA! NAME A PLACE THAT YOU WENT, NAME IT!” Jorge opened his mouth, reconsidered, and then opened his mouth again. “Saska...Sacagewea…Sasquatchtoon! Fuck it dude, I forget the name, but I was there! I swear!” “Jorge…it’s called Saskatoon, and you were NOT THERE!!! Saskatoon is 1500 miles from here. If you wanted the tomato chips so bad, you would have just gone to Montreal, it’s right across the border.” Jorge was now speaking at a rapid pace, clearly flustered. “Montreal was sold out. So was Toronto. Everywhere. I checked everywhere. No chips. Nothing. Closest city that had them was Saskatoon. Big order came in about 48 hours ago, eh? I was told. These things move like hotcakes, eh? They don’t sit on shelves for longer than a day or two, eh?” The Canadian flair at the end of Jorge’s fabrications proved too much for Vladimir. He picked up a flint-tipped dagger that he had been given by an elder of the Mi’kmaq tribe during his visit to their native homeland of Quebec, and cut off Jorge’s tongue. You don’t know the lengths a man will go to to protect the otherworldly tang embedded in every single Canadian Lays ketchup chip. Lays, betcha can’t just eat one!