Deadlock Holmpool

The things that get people riled up the most are politics and religion, and it seems that the former usually ends up more violent than the latter… Much more violent. The kind of violence. you’d see in a southern country club when the two biggest guys in the club are too drunk for their own good and end up nearly killing each other. That’s the kind of violence you get when a donkey and an elephant fight. A very drunk donkey and a very drunk elephant getting into fight in a southern club kind of violence. You get what I’m saying. This kind of drunk blue donkey versus drunk red elephant violence gets the law involved a lot, and sometimes detectives, like me. They need us involved.
The name’s Deadlock Holmpool. Before you ask, no, it’s not my real name, yes, I just combined the names “Deadpool” and “Sherlock Holmes” together to make an alias, and no, I’m not telling you my real name. That’s highly classified information for only the most respected individuals to know. You might be wondering if that means the politicians know it, and no, it doesn’t. I said “most respected individuals” for a reason. Oh, and yes, I’m wearing a Deadpool mask with a Sherlock Holmes hat. Conceals my identity more. Who I really am is the true mystery of every story. For all you know, I could be the actual Wade Wilson or actual Sherlock Holmes. Let me give a slight clue: Deadpool would be using a lot more questionable vocabulary than I’m allowed to use here. But I digress.
I should probably explain the basics of the differences between the political blue donkey and political red elephant. Author of this story, go Google some info on this so I know what I’m talking about. Oh, good, he’s back, here we go, some good info. Democrats are liberal, change taxes based upon income, decrease spending on the military, think government regulations are necessary, and are strongest in California, Massachusetts, and New York. Republicans are conservative, believe everyone should have the same taxes, increase spending on the military, thing government regulations hinder the free market, and are strongest in Oklahoma, Texas, and Arkansas.
Back to the blue donkey and red elephant. These guys and gals will tear each other apart when in a political debate together. Heck, they’ll tear each other apart in a non-political situation. You don’t even need to be talking politics and Mr. Trump will tear you apart, all the while, you’ll just be sitting there watching his excuse for hair tear itself apart as his face turns redder than my mask. Actually, someone has already tried to assassinate Donald Trump and he’s not even president yet. Not sure if the guy was democratic or just had enough common sense to not want Trump running the place and was just going about it the wrong way. Hey, I feel you judging me already. Yes, I wear the mask of a mercenary, but I solve the crimes, I don’t make em. Otherwise, I wouldn’t get paid, now would I? Look, my point is, politics get violent. If you’re a pro-Trump person, you’re already getting salty at the fact I said “enough common sense not to want Trump,” and that right there is a prime example of why we usually don’t talk about these things.
Not only does it get violent, it tears people apart who were once close. Have you ever played The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim? There’s a similar topic in there, between Stormcloaks and Imperials, and how the civil war between them tore everyone apart. Politics can and will do that all on their own without a war happening at all. I’ve seen it too many times. Family killing family, friends hurting friends, it’s sad really. And not just the fact it happened, those kills were lousy and sloppy. There’s one experience I remember quite well. After all, it got me where I am today, literally. Since I still don’t wanna give out too much classified information, I’ll use a different alias for the victim in question for this story.
It was 2012, I don’t remember the month or day because the writer can’t find enough information on when North Carolina voted in 2012. I was in my office. Alright, I didn’t have an office, I had an apartment with rundown walls, a ruined yet very comfortable chair that I still have, and everything around me was a prop. There was a knock at my door. I got up to see who it was, opening the door with force and automatically putting a gun to the person’s face.
“Yeah, what do you want?”
“Uhh… uhh….”
“‘Uhh…’ First time learning how to talk? Come on, out with it!”
“We… we have a case for you, sir.”
“Oh, wonderful.”
The lovely lady at the door passed a packet to me. I put my gun back into its holster, snatched the packet away from her, and then slammed the door. I heard one of the little voices in my head go off.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t have pointed a gun directly at her head. It seemed just a tad bit rash.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We always answer the door like that. For all we know, Logiarty could walk right in and take us down. Don’t wanna risk that, now do we?”
It was at this time that the other little voice in my head chimed in.
“Yeah! Besides, if we wanted her dead, she wouldn’t have even been able to knock on the door!”
“We have teleportation, not super speed or being able to see into the future. And ‘Logiarty’ isn’t even a real person, that’s just a title you two came up with that combines Wolverine’s real name with Moriarty. What does the packet say for this case, anyways?”
“OH! Yeah, I almost forgot about that! Thanks for the reminder, courier font voice!”
I looked down at the packet we were given. I opened it up, and saw that it was filled to the brim with horrible, agonizingly painful, words.
“Just what I expected: words. Everywhere.”
“Lame!”
“We should read some of them. Besides, I think there’s a picture on the next page.”
I turned the page to see a picture of a young woman with big red letters that spelled out “MISSING” on the bottom of the picture. I read the caption below.
“‘Salisbury woman goes missing after North Carolina Elections are done.’ Great, a political case. Just what we need. I guess it’s time to go poaching for donkeys and elephants. Pack your things, boys, we’re going on a road trip!”
“What ‘things’ do you expect us to pack? We’re voices in our head.”
“It was a figure of speech.”
I walked out the door and got a taxi cab, the usual one I get with the driver Dopinder. Dopinder’s a really good sport: He’s the only one who lets me ride up front, I accidentally got him jailed once, and right now in the story, he’s giving me a ride from Canada to North Carolina. I wonder why I’m being given a case that far away, literally in another country. Just another plot hole, probably.
After a long and agonizing ride to a state in the south with “North” in the name, we stopped at a small diner in Downtown Salisbury.
“Crisp high five, Mr. Po-”
I interrupted him with a finger on the lips.
“Shhh, don’t wanna give away my real identity to the reader, now do we? Holmpool, call me that.”
“Oh, yes, um… Crisp high five, Mr. Holmpool?”
“You bet, Dopinder!”
The two of us exchanged a crisp high five as I stepped out of the taxi and he drove off, probably back to Canada. I haven’t seen him since. I walked into the diner and seated myself. A lovely waitress walked up.
“What can I getcha, darling?”
“Chocolate milk, a breakfast chimichanga, and a little bit of missing girl on the side. Hold the mayo.”
“The milk and chimichanga I can get. Missing girl, you say? You talkin’ bout Jessica? The girl that went missing after the elections took place?”
“That’s exactly who I’m talking about. Trying to get some leads on where to find her. Tell ya what, you go get my order, I’ll pay just a tad bit more if you come back with the milk, chimichanga, and any info you got on Jessica.”
“Alright.”
The waitress walked off. I turned to you now. It’s a bit difficult to word out me looking to the audience.
“Maybe if we give her a crisp high ten, she’ll give us even more info!”
“Don’t get your hopes up. We’ll be lucky if she has any information at all, much less more for payment that isn’t even money.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re a voice in our head and can’t get paid real money, either!”
“You’re a voice in our head and can’t get paid real money.”
“Touche.”
“Hey, will you two calm down up there? The more you two talk, the more unprofessional this story looks! Reader, ignore them.”
The waitress walked back to the table and sat down a large glass of chocolate milk and a very amazing breakfast chimichanga.
“Now, you were wanting info?”
I stuck the straw under my mask into my mouth and sipped a little bit of milk before answering.
“Yeah. Info on this girl disappearing.”
“First, I’m gonna need some info out of you, suga.” The waitress looked at me with a cocked eyebrow.
“‘Suga?’ She called us ‘suga!’”
“We’re in North Carolina, everyone does that here.”
“What kind of info were you hoping to get, ‘suga?’”
“First of all, what’s your name, and why do you want info on Jessica?”
“Names… Holmes. Wade Holmes. And I’m wanting info because I’m trying to help find her.”
I pulled out the case files and sat them on the table.
“I was given this earlier today. Went missing after the elections in the state took place. I get the feeling that’s no coincidence.”
The waitress sighed. “She was never one for politics, but she always stayed on top of things so she could have some sort of stance on this kind of thing. And she didn’t like either of the people runnin’ for the presidency.” She pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, wrote some info, then tore off the paper and sat it on the table.
“That is both your bill and the address of Jessica’s family. They might have some more info for you.”
The waitress walked off again as I finished breakfast. I tore the paper to where the address was separated from the bill, and drew a little small high ten motion on the paper where I probably should have paid. I walked outside and looked at the address, which said 332 Clubloafers Street.
“Really, author? You couldn’t come up with a better street name? Whatever, let’s get to it.”
After aimlessly walking around Salisbury for ages looking for this place, we finally showed up at the door and knocked. A woman, Jessica’s mother, stepped outside. She seemed to have aged a ton from the stress of her daughter disappearing.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“Name’s Sherlock Wilson. I’m here to help about your daughter.”
She brought us inside and sat us down.
“What was the last thing you did with your daughter?”
“We… We had an argument, political debate with each other. She… she stormed off. She mentioned how she wouldn’t have this problem if she lived with her aunt.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, her aunt lives in England, and if she lived there she wouldn’t have this problem of disliking both presidential choices.”
“I see. Do you mind if I take a look around her room to see if she left any clues as to where she went?”
“If you think it will help find her. It’s down the hall, first door on the left.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
“Veggie Tales. Every bathroom in that franchise is down the hall, first door on the left.”
We walked down the hall into Jessica’s room. We looked around the drawers, shelves, and closet, only to notice her laptop was open on her bed. We turned it around and saw that she had purchased a plane ticket that was to fly to England that night.
“She’s actually going to England?!”
“We have to stop her!”
“No, we’re not going to stop her from leaving.”
“What?!”
“What?!”
“Yeah. She’s got the right idea. Why sit around in America where you more than likely will have to deal with all the horrible things that come with a newly elected president when you can leave and live in another country where you don’t have to worry about it?”
“Makes sense.”
“Do you two realize just how insane this sounds?”
“Yeah! So insane…”
“...it just might work! Allons-y!”
“Wrong franchise, buddy.”
“Give me a break, we’re going to England!”
“That was a French word, though.”
“He was making a Doctor Who reference.”
“Exactly.”
We walked back into the living room. We told Jessica’s mother that we would call her when we found her daughter and made sure she was safe. We ran outside and caught a taxi, unfortunately not Dopinder, and drove off to the airport. When we got there, we managed to find Jessica and catch her.
“Who are you?”
“Third time we’ve heard that question today.”
“Third? Three? Illuminati confirmed!”
“Wade Wilson. I’m a detective who was hired to find you after everyone reported you missing.”
“I just want to leave! I don’t want to go back home! Let me go!”
“You don’t understand… I’m wanting to come along as well.”
“Wait… What?”
“That’s right. You have the right idea. Go to a family member in another country and wait out the American presidency being bad, AKA waiting in another country forever. I like the way you think. Not to mention time with your aunt… Your mom told me about that part.”
“You’re… You’re serious?
“Yep. Hold on, I’m going to call your mom to make sure we’re okay.”
I called up Jessica’s mom and let her know Jessica was with me and that I think she should go, as it would be beneficial to be out of the country when the presidency goes bad and so she can spend time with her aunt. I also let her know I was going with her to be sure she’d be safe and to be out of the way of the presidency as well. We got on the plane and flew for quite a few hours until we landed, where Jessica called her aunt to pick us up. To this day, I’ve lived with the two of them in England, helped take care of Jessica and her aunt when they need it, and I’ve also branched out to the detective career over here.
Alright, alright! You figured me out, reader. Yes, I’m actually Deadpool dressed as Sherlock Holmes. I mean, come on, I lived in Canada and my name is Wade Wilson, who else am I gonna be? There you go, two cases solved at once: The case of Deadlock’s name, and the case of the missing Jessica because politics are bad. Everybody wins! Now, go do something productive, you’ve probably wasted enough time reading this parody story.