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. This is the fourth segment. 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 8th, 2017

My sister was saying something to me but I couldn’t hear her. My eyes wouldn’t look away from her boyfriend who was wandering through the yard occasionally kicking the air. He moved his head from side to side as if there were something wrong with his neck. Isabelle’s inaudible narration was becoming louder, and more aggravated. I was transfixed on this man. He kicked some more, almost hitting a small child with a pointy hat as she bobbed and weaved through a sea of adults sipping alcohol at 3:00 PM. He carried on, as if he’d noticed nothing. Fascinating. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my sister grab the tongs from the grill, and I felt a hot pinch on my side.

“Ow!” I yelped. “This is a new shirt, don’t attack me with hot grease!”

“I’ve been talking to you for seven minutes now, Dale. You never come over and when you do I have to fight for your attention. Stop zoning out!” Isabelle shook her tongs at me threateningly and then flipped a burger. “It’s your niece’s birthday party, the least you can do is show up and actually interact.”

“Two things, Isabelle.” I shifted uncomfortably on her hard wicker couch. “One, if you want to cook those properly, you should really use a spatula.”

She glared at me.

“And two, it is very much not my fault that Jeffrey has been traipsing around your backyard for about half an hour like a confused flamingo.”

Her eyes followed mine and her frown melted. “Oh!” She said, and began to giggle. “It’s his new work-out routine, some sort of aerobics thing, I don’t really know what he gets out of it.”

“I’ll take over.” I grabbed the tongs from her and indicated that she should sit down, take a break. She did. I transferred a few greasy lumps of former cow to some crusty bread patties. “I was at least half paying attention. I’m sorry, I’ve just been distracted.”

“With a case?” I handed her a plate and she began to eat. “What are you and Kenneth up to these days?”

“Some rich client making AI bikes has been getting death threats.”

“You mean Wheelz?”

“Yeah, how do you know about that?”

“Flamingo Man is getting one. How’s the case going?”

“I’m going undercover tonight at a meeting for a group of bikers with very strong calves and lots of time to complain. They seem to really dislike my client. Kenneth came into the office early to figure out the details. I bought a six pack of those cool recording pens on eBay.” I took it out of my pocket and showed it to her. I smiled gleefully. “I’ve been recording this whole conversation just in case you throw your grill at me and I have to press charges.”

“But you’ve told me your master plan now, dummy. I can just break the pen and assault you anyway! Checkmate!” She stuck her tongue out at me.

“Not so fast, pal, it all transmits directly to my phone!” I waggled the pen at her tauntingly. “I’ve won again! MWAHAHAHAHA!” I plated and bit into my own lump of meat.

She rolled her eyes. “Are they dangerous weirdos or just regular weirdos? Are you worried?”

“No, not overly.”

“Then why were you so distracted from the overwhelming warmth of your sister’s excellent hospitality?” 

Behind her, muddy children were fighting over a tootsie roll, and rolling through the dirt like dogs. My niece Ellie pointed at them and laughed. I sat down next to Isabelle and explained my recent struggles with envelopes

“We’ve known each other for a while,” she said.

“Since you were born, yes.” I replied.

“Correct.” She shook one of the gifts. “You have never been able to let things like this go. And that isn’t a bad thing. I can at least understand this one, that is definitely a very weird thing to do.”

“Thank you, I-” She cut me off.

“But,” she narrowed her eyes. “Do you remember Tim Hawkins from the fifth grade? He went around telling everyone that his great grandmother was on the Titanic and that his uncle had invented the omelet?”

“That lying bastard.” I was hit with a wave of recollections.

“Dale, everybody knew he was lying. His foster parents were never around and he made things up because he was sad. He transferred to private school two years later. But you went out of your way to find hard concrete proof that he was fibbing.”

I adjusted so I would stop being poked in the ass by wicker. “Isabelle, he told all my friends that The Matrix was real. He was actively damaging the average IQ of our elementary school.”

“My point is it had nothing at all to do with you. He- ELLIE, STOP GIVING THE DOG YOUR POLLY POCKETS!” She gave her daughter a mom look. “He was not bothering you at all. And right now you have an actual job you’re working. You can’t go after every teenager who roams the streets licking random crap.”

“No, I know.” I sipped my lemonade. “It’s still annoying though.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Isabelle stared off into the distance. “JEFFREY, PLEASE DON’T AEROBICS KICK MY FRIEND HELEN!” She walked away to clean up his mess.

Ellie ran up to me and sat down on my lap. “Tyler told me his mom was cooler than mine and I was stinky so I threw a burger at him.”

I beamed. “Good job, Ellie. High five.”

—

I walked through the sliding glass door of the Wandering Bean Coffee Cottage around 4:00, still sweaty and too full from the birthday barbeque. The shop was mostly empty, save for one long conglomeration of tables towards the back and an accompanying gaggle of older gentlemen. An elderly barista greeted me with a gruff voice. Her name tag said Val.

“You here for the meeting?” She coughed.

I tried to get into character, look more casual. “Yes,” I said.

A guy around my age stepped out from behind the counter and hung up his apron. He walked towards me. “First timer?” He asked. 

“Yes, sir. Name’s Jackson Hill. Of the Boston Hills.” What a good alias I’d invented. I was very pleased with myself.

“Oh, okay. My name is Marcus. Are the Hills a famous family in Boston? I haven’t been there.”

“They import and export staplers to third world countries. I got tired of the business and the drama and moved over here to pursue my hobby.” We walked toward the table to join the others.

“Biking?” We sat down.

“No, coin collecting. But someone stole my coins, so now I bike.”

“Um, cool. Nice to meet you, Jackson.”

A man with silver hair and a red-speckled beard took his seat at the front of the table. The chatter began to die down and the others followed suit. The man began to speak, with a commanding but quiet voice I’d only heard from fictional mafia dons in movies. I leaned in.

“Good evening, gentlemen. It is a pleasure to see you all again. And good evening to our newest member.” He turned towards me. I panicked.

“Hi my name is Jackson Hill I used to work with staplers-” I blurted and then stopped myself.

“Welcome to the Bike Brigade, Mr. Hill. I am Newton Wilhelm.” He gestured to his fellow bikers. “Say hello, boys.”

In unison they said “Hi, Jackson” as if we were in an AA meeting. 

“Let’s get to business and then hit the road, shall we, boys?” Newton said. “The road by the river is closed for construction so we’ll have to take the backup route today.” Miscellaneous murmurings and mumblings rippled through the crowd. “Also, Javier’s not going to be riding with us for a few weeks, his son was just born. We’ll be visiting soon and I recommend bringing a gift. Nothing too pricey.”

One of the boys perked up. “I’m gonna get him a bike with training wheels! It’s never too early to learn how to ride!” The man next to him was wearing a jean jacket with the sleeves cut off. He clapped his friend on the back.

Newton nodded politely. “That’s nice, Terrence. Lastly, of course, the elephant in the room. Alexander Matack’s dreadful abominations are making their global debut in five days.”

The coffeehouse was struck by a sudden wave of unspoken communal fury. I attempted to match the grimace on the faces that surrounded me.

“Do we all remember our jobs?” Newton asked his captivated audience.

Terrence and his buddies perked up. “The signs have been made!” He said. “We used glitter and neon paint so the people speeding by will be able to grasp the extent of our disapproval!” 

Newton nodded. The man to his left raised his hand. “Our boycott livestream already has seven viewers waiting for it to start.”

Marcus coughed and spoke up. “Val said we could hand out our Anti-AI t-shirts for free to customers who purchase a large drink. When I get off work I’ll distribute mugs to the crowd.”

A large bandanna-clad man who had just returned from the bathroom chimed in. “A pilot friend of mine is gonna attach the banner we got to his plane on his afternoon flight so we’ll be able to see that go by for at least seven minutes.”

Newton beamed. Good work, boys, it sounds like we’re all prepped and ready for the big day! We can finally show that world-class headcase that biking is for men! Not computers!”

The room erupted with polite self-congratulatory applause.

“And if that’s all, let’s hit the road!” Newton wandered from his station to grab a muffin from the counter.

I was very confused. Either this was another dead end or they were threatened by the presence of an outsider and unwilling to reveal the true extent of their plans. I needed to go all in, or I’d lose them.

I raised my hand. “That’s it?” I asked. “Signs and banners, mugs and online videos? Do you not understand that this man is threatening our way of life?”

“Well, of course we do!” Newton said through a mouthful of blueberries. “It’s not as if there’s much more we can do about it, Mr. Hill. If you have any of your own ideas, feel free to share them with the group.”

I stood with ferocity and pointed firmly at the sky. “Anarchy! Actual real change! Kidnap his dog! Knock over the bikes as they ride by! Do something real and tangible to achieve what we truly want instead of just sitting on the sidelines, picking our noses and hoping for change! Is that not what this group is about?” Surely this would be enough to endear myself to them.

Murmurs rippled through the coffeehouse. Newton sat sullenly. “It seems, Mr. Hill, that you have misunderstood us. What you speak of is illegal and immoral, and very much the opposite of what we as a community stand for.” I gulped. I’d gone too far. He turned to Marcus. “Is this the kind of person you wish to ally yourself with?”

Marcus held his hands up defensively. “Hey, I met him seconds before the rest of you did, don’t lump me in with this psycho.”

“I think it’s time you leave, Mr. Hill.” Newton stood up again and looked at me as sternly as someone with blue teeth could.

I channeled my remorse at botching the undercover job into fake indignation. “I see. I made a massive mistake coming here. Shame on me for thinking a group called the Bike Brigade would give a shit. Goodbye, assholes. And have a nice night, Val.” She waved goodbye.

I huffed out the door, ditching the pen in the trash. From the safety and security of a nearby bar, I listened in on their conversation with a watery scotch in hand. I was dismayed to realize that my outburst had not inspired them to reveal any secret plans or discuss the matter further. I slumped in my seat and gulped my drink. The bartender poured me another. What a predicament. 

I was back to square one. That lousy licker was still at large. And I’d missed work to yell at the swimming public, so I was behind on my tan. I was three drinks down and it sounded like something was going down on the other end of that pen. It was out of the trash and on the move. Drat! Were they on to me? I ordered a fourth scotch. It sounded like the pen might be in a bar? It was my bar! Marcus sidled up to me and sat down. He placed my traitorous writing utensil next to me. I told the bartender to leave the bottle.

“You threw away your pen.”

“What do you want?”

“To drink? Vodka tonic.”

I glowered at him.

“It seems we want the same thing, Mr. Hill of the Boston Hills.” The bartender handed him a vodka tonic. He held it towards me. “To anarchy.”

I smiled. I wasn’t at square one after all. “To anarchy.”

—

The following conversation took place after drink #5 and is not something I particularly remembered until days later, so we can all thank my foresight for buying a recording pen.

It seemed that the Bike Brigade was, in fact, a vanilla gang of hapless randos with no real plans of sabotage and chaos beyond holding up traffic on weekdays. Marcus, on the other hand, had grown tired of their simplicity. 

“You saw how set in their ways they are.” He gulped his drink. “I’ve been trying to sow the seeds for months, tried to convince them to do something at the race on Sunday, but they won’t hear of it. They’d rather pedal aimlessly around the city while everything they claim to care about is shat on by an arrogant tech bro looking for a buck.”

“Amen, brother.” I sipped my seventh scotch. My brain felt fuzzy.

“I don’t want to work at the Bean forever, you know. I’ve written a whole trilogy of fantasy novels just waiting for a publisher, and- well the thing is, I’m spinning my wheels. I want to do something. To make real change. And I’ve got some old college friends, some real computer geniuses, who managed to get into Matack’s servers.” He made a mind-blown motion with his hands.

“That’ssss fantasstick.” I blinked hard.

“Right?! I’m the best! So you know, these stupid bikes, they all have little message pads on the handlebars, which are ludicrous, unnecessary, and probably illegal, right?” He turned to the bartender, “Another tonic please, good sir.”

“Sssuper illegal.” My feet were sticking to the floor. I kicked them back and forth. “Wheeeeeeeee!” I muttered to myself.

“ I was thinking, I’ll just spam message all the bikers so they get distracted and fall behind in the race! How’s that for chaos?!” He held out his hand for a high five.

“Duuuuuude, that’s nothing. You’re thinking too small. Change his company logo to a butt or take his money. That’sss mild irritation, bro! It won’t cut it. Heeee’s a dick, a couple of thousand texts aren’t gonna phase him.” I got up to leave.

“Think big.” He stared off into the distance. “Thanks, man.”

“Doooon’t mention it. I like you, Marcus. I’m gonna go home, get some sleep, and tomorrow I’m gonna take you and your friends off my suspects list. And I’m gonna add YOU to my Cool Dudes list.” I pointed aggressively at his forehead while my eyes bulged. I slurped my last sip of scotch and hissed silently.

“I don’t know what that means, Jackson.”

“Goodnight, buddy.”

To Be Continued…