Back in May I released a short story I was rather proud of, starring a character I enjoyed writing. Recently I completed a second short story starring this character that is longer and hopefully just as fun. I will be trying something new and releasing it in seven segments starting today. The first two segments will be out now, the next five will release weekly. This was a labor of love and I am delighted to share it with you. Please enjoy the next Dale Ulysses Monroe adventure.

Pushing The Envelope
From the Case Files of Dale Ulysses Monroe, P.I.
Published with assistance from
John J Skrip and associates

August 4th, 2017

I arrived at the 13th floor of the Alworth building for my meeting with Alexander Matack three minutes early, tired and sweaty. My hair was thoroughly uncombed, and my suit had seen better days. I ran into the bathroom to freshen up before Matack or any of his associates could spot me. 

After I left the Garage the night before, I went to two more grocery stores, two pharmacies, three convenience stores, and a smoke shop. Each place sold cards and envelopes, and all of them had been hit by the licker. None of them had any usable, untarnished envelopes left. In some instances, like at the smoke shop and the first pharmacy, he’d been spotted, but only once he was done committing the crime. Based on description, the perpetrator was a man wearing a blue hoodie, faded white sneakers, a bucket hat, and orange sunglasses. 

I knew nothing else about him and was denied access to any security tapes. I had very little leads to go on to catch this madman terrorizing my city. I spent most of the night wandering aimlessly. I barely slept. I couldn’t stop thinking about that pompous prankster dipshit. But that would have to be put on the back burner for now; I had a meeting to go to. 

I used the hand dryers to help iron out the wrinkles in my suit and smoothed my hair into a semi-presentable configuration, winked at myself in the mirror, and exited the bathroom in my newly heated suit. 

At the front desk I approached the receptionist and said, “Hi, I’m here to see Alexander Matack.”

The receptionist clicked a few keys on his computer. “Name, please?” He asked.

“Monroe. Dale Monroe.”

“Dale Monroe! That is exactly the name I wanted to hear!” A voice from behind exclaimed.

I turned around to see a grinning man  in what had to be his mid-twenties (I was too tired to research the client beforehand) wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I was decidedly overdressed. “Alexander Matack, I presume?”

“You presume correctly, my friend!” He shook my hand with his right and clapped me on the shoulder with his left in the way only rich people with too much confidence do. “Ow!” He yelped. He pulled his left hand away. “Why is your suit so hot?” He asked.

I had to think quickly. “It’s a new kind of fabric. Gets really warm on the outside and keeps you cool on the inside.”

He looked at me with uncertainty. “Alright, man. Let’s go to my office.” He walked me to the elevator and pressed the down button.

“Is your office on a different floor?” I asked.

“Yeah, basically,” he said, a goofy grin on his face. 

We arrived at the lobby and exited the building, where a large bald man was waiting for us with two bicycles. “Are we biking to your office?” I asked.

“This is my office, Dale!” He gestured around him with wide open arms. “The world is my office!”

“I’m sorry?” 

“Just hop on the bike, Dale.” The bald man shoved a blue bike at me. I got on. Matack got on his yellow bike. “No AI in my meetings, you gotta do the work. Let’s go that way,” he said, and took off. 

I sped after him. We biked frantically through the city, a city I found unrecognizable beyond walking speed. All around us, blurred shapes were going about their day, minding their own business, dropping their smudgey children off at daycares with unreadable names, eating lunch on hazy patios. Traffic yielded to us reluctantly, fully aware that these city streets were built for more durable, less ridiculous vehicles. We made our way up the singular hill that makes up  Duluth, and my legs threatened to give as we went. After a minute or two of frantic pedaling, we slowed to a more leisurely pace.

“Sorry if that was too fast,” he said. “I needed the warmup.”

I was drenched in sweat. “Why did you have me meet you in an office building you don’t work in?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s far cheaper, and better for the environment.”

“In what way?”

“No clue. The longer we work together, Dale, the more you’ll realize I adore spontaneity. It’s far more fun to pop up wherever I want to be.”

“Then where do you actually work?”

“Whichever of my houses I’m at when I get an idea.”

“Tell me why I’m here,” I panted.

“My company has been receiving some pretty intense threats.” He unstrapped a water bottle from the side of his bike and drank. “A few random anonymous calls from a garbled voice using an unknown number, threatening to ruin the upcoming race we have next Sunday. It could be nothing, just some jealous loser on the internet, but I want to be sure. I need you to figure out who’s sending them.”

“Is this race a big deal for your company?” I instinctively reached for my notepad, remembered what I was doing, and gripped the handle bar again. My so-so memory would have to do for now.

“Yes, it’s our big public launch of Wheelz. There hasn’t been a major bike race in Duluth for years, and I called in a few thousand favors with the city to set this one up. If I can unite biking enthusiasts from all over to come and sample my product, I’ll be up and running. It’s huge publicity for the company,” he said smugly. Matack took a sharp turn at a stoplight and I struggled to follow suit.

“You don’t think putting AI in a bike nullifies the whole point of the bike in the first place? Especially for a race?” My legs were beginning to ache.

“No, not at all. The owner of the bike is still fully in control of the ride, I’m just using new technology to enhance the riding experience.”

“Right,” I said. “What are these threats about?”

“I don’t really know. It’s all kinda vague stuff like, ‘Your empire ends on Sunday’ or ‘Beware your final race’ or ‘You’re fucked’.” He listed them like he’d heard this all a hundred times before.

“Is there anyone you can think of that would be sending these threats? Anyone who dislikes you or the idea of the company?” 

“Oh, that’s a good question,” he said. “Long list, too. There’s one organization online that really hates us called the Bike Brigade. They’re very against what I’ve been up to. My business partner, Jerome, hates my guts but won’t ever say it out loud, I keep him around because he handles the finances. And my three ex-wives as well.”

“I’m sorry?” He hopped a curb and I followed suit. “How old are you again?”

“Twenty-seven.” 

Matack screeched to a halt next to a park bench. I sped past him before I could comprehend what was happening and shifted to make a u-turn on the grass, upsetting some squirrels. Matack sat down and gazed out at the almost picturesque summer view before us. I dismounted, threw myself onto the bench, and attempted to catch my breath. We were at the peak of the hill, looking out at a sea of trees and dogs and sweaty, annoying people doing sweaty, annoying things. In the distance I could see boats galavanting across Lake Superior.

After a few minutes, he turned to me. “You used to be a dentist, right, Dale?”

I was struggling to breathe, and thrown by the question. “Why? How do you know that?”

“I do my research. Why’d you make the career switch?”

“It’s irrelevant unless you need a root canal, and I’d recommend you go to someone else for that.”

“Well, I do have this weird extra molar in the back of my mouth. Should I get it removed?” He opened his mouth wide and tilted it toward me so I could see.

“Have your assistant send me that list of people to look into. I’ll do what I can to find out who’s sending them and what they’re planning by Sunday.”

He clapped me on the shoulder again. “That’s what I like to hear!” He said. Matack’s bald companion materialized beside us and handed him a handkerchief. He wiped his hand. “Your suit is rather damp now,” Matack said.

“I wonder why,” I said. “Now what about my payment?”

“Ten grand a day until this is done. How’s that?” He stood up and got back on his bike. 

“Sounds great, just have one favor to ask. Can you have someone drive me home? I can’t get back on that thing.”

To Be Continued…