Mr. Pufferton and the Last Magazine: Part Six

The official discovery of the disappearance did not happen until the next morning when Argyle sent an anonymous tip to the Defenders of Neopia via carrier Weewoo. It was agreed upon the previous evening that it was not strictly necessary for the Defenders to know that a Bruce and Techo had been wandering around the abandoned home without reporting it, and, besides, anonymous tips were easy enough to believe.

      "I reckon they'll be right baffled by it, Puffs. Don't even know if they'll put it down to anything other than a botched burglary." Argyle mentioned the disappearance nonchalantly as if the poor Kyrii had simply stepped out for a bit of fresh air.

      "Not even the most abominably green detective could mistake that scene for a burglary gone bad, Argyle. Unless, of course, the burglar first stopped to sup with our departed friend. No, they'll know something was amiss, and it will only be a matter of time before Inspector Landsdale connects it to the smuggling ring. From there, Bindinghouse will come under investigation, and I suspect the Pizzaroo ads will be picked up within a few days."

      "So what's our plan, then? You're giving the Defenders a few days which means you're giving us...?"

      "A single day, Argyle. We already have most of the pieces to this puzzle. All we're missing is the corners. Consider: there is, somewhere in Neopia, a manufacturer of counterfeit attack peas. These, unable to be sold on the market as legitimate, are to be sold illegally on street corners or in the drawing rooms of the rich and ignorant. The manufacturer thusly needs a distributor. We have already discovered such a distributor."

      "The Disco Grarrl."

      "Precisely. He, no doubt, sells his attack peas to any and all who are willing to buy them. Now, how does our brightly-colored friend get his peas to sell? Keep in mind, Argyle, that the less these people interact with each other, the better it is for all involved."

      Argyle considered for a moment before answering. "Beggars?"

      "Correct again. Beggars attract no attention. Nobody pays attention to their movements or what they carry in their forsaken bags. And there are enough of them in Neopia Central that you could never arrest them all. So, our manufacturer sends his own people out with peas and use the beggars as middlemen to get the peas to the distributors. Now, how do they know where to meet?"

      "Well, that's your ad theory, isn't it?"

      "An advertisement in a common magazine, Argyle! Hidden in plain sight, the distributors and beggars alike are told where to meet during any particular week. The chosen house must be abandoned or else owned by a member of the ring; anyone who knocks on the door must be part of the crime. The distributor knocks, the beggar espies them and delivers a pea under the guise of begging for money. The exchange successfully concluded, each goes their separate ways."

      "It's very tidy, Puffs, but what about Harlan?"

      "The middleman between the manufacturer and the distributor."

      "But you said-"

      "The distributors must needs have a head to organize them, Argyle. We have no information about the manufacturer – that lead ended with Harlan – but we know enough to make a very shrewd guess at a head for the distribution end."

      Argyle, who had been reasonably proud of his deduction up to this point, came up short for an answer to this last. "Er... Bindinghouse?"

      "Pizzaroo, Argyle! The very company whose ads hide the smugglers' code. Think, my dearest friend, think! The company pays to have an ad in the magazine every week. They also pay the late Harlan McManus to put certain words and numbers in the ad. If they weren't in on it, it would be a most remarkable coincidence that the ad matched up exactly with the exchange location."

      Argyle stood agape. "Puffs... you're implicating a major food corporation in the smuggling of counterfeit Battledome items. You do realize that, right?"

      "I'm well aware of my implications, Argyle. Whether or not they prove to be correct will only be told after our escapade today."

      "Let me guess... Pizzaroo?"

      "Are you feeling peckish, Argyle?"

      The Pizzaroo building was one of the more gaudy blemishes on the Neopia Central skyline. At some point in the company's long history, an owner had decided that a building in the shape of a pizza pie would not only entice customers inside but would show them exactly what Pizzaroo was all about. The resulting atrocity had since become the laughingstock of the Neopian Plaza, yet the current owners refused to change anything. It gave the place character, they said, and to change it would be to change Neopian history itself.

      The interior of the Pizzaroo building was almost as tacky as the exterior. Smiling pizzas with pepperoni for eyes and peppers for a mouth adorned the walls, leering down at the unsuspecting customers. The tables, for those who made the unfortunate decision of dining inside, were designed to look like pizza. The food was pizza. The menus were circles, presumably meant to resemble pizza. It was truly one of the most profane sights to ever disgrace the eyes.

      "Egad, Argyle... My fine-tuned sense of aesthetics is highly disturbed." Mr. Pufferton sniffed in disgust as though the décor was emitting an odor most foul.

      "Never been in Pizzaroo, Puffs? Oh, it's a wonder, it is."

      "It certainly is. Look, there's a... dear Fyora, is he wearing a pizza pie on his head?"

      "Naw, that's just his hat, Puffs. Case you haven't noticed, that's the theme around here."

      "Right. Well. Let's see if we can't ingratiate ourselves with the poor blighter."

      The Pizzaroo employee, a pathetic spotted Blumaroo bedecked in the typical uniform of the restaurant, was lolling against a wall due to the severe lack of customers present. The appearance of Mr. Pufferton and Argyle in the doorway had done nothing to snap him out of his stupor, and it wasn't until the two were directly in front of them that he seemed to notice their existence.

      "Hello, and welcome to Pizzaroo. My name is Ralph. What's yours?" The monologue was delivered in the monotone that plagued all employees forced to recite drivel for their profession. This question had been asked hundreds of times before, and Ralph had since lost all enthusiasm for the names of the prospective diners.

      "Good afternoon, Ralph. My name is Mephistopheles Pufferton, and this is my companion, Argyle St. James."

      "It's a pleasure to meet you," Ralph said in tones that quite clearly expressed the amount of pleasure he felt at the meeting. "Would you care to follow me to your table?" The spotted Blumaroo heaved himself off the wall and waited for an answer in the affirmative.

      "Ah, no, I'm afraid not."

      "If you're ordering to go, our take-out window will be more than happy to help you." Ralph gestured at a window on the far side of the restaurant where the nose of another Blumaroo could be seen poking out.

      "No, we aren't ordering to go. We're here to see your boss."

      Ralph snorted. "You're here to see Gibraltr Fontaine? What makes you think he'll see you?" The Blumaroo was clearly not impressed with Mr. Pufferton's initial bravado.

      Mr. Pufferton, who had expected this rebuke, smiled gently and leaned in closer to the smug Blumaroo. "Does the name Harlan McManus mean anything to you?"

      Ralph flinched but retained his smirk. "It means something to me, but I don't see how you know anything about him."

      "We're his replacements."

      This seemed to shock Ralph. "What... both of you?"

      "Both of us. Two can do the job better than one."

      "Not my place to say as much. If that's what you're here about, though, he's in the back office. If he's not expecting you, don't look for a warm welcome."

      "Thank you very kindly, Ralph. I'm sure we'll find our way." Mr. Pufferton bowed politely to the employee and pushed his way through the swinging doors that led back into the depths of Pizzaroo.

      Gibraltr Fontaine was a green Blumaroo with a slick mustache, slicker hair, and the slickest possible voice. He was the latest in the long line of Fontaines, and heir to the entire family fortune, a mass of neopoints gained through Pizzaroo's monopoly on the pizza market. Gibraltr Fontaine was rich, arrogant, and he knew how to use both traits to his advantage. His office in Pizzaroo was humble enough, but his white suit, matching pants, and heavy gold jewelry betrayed his true nature. Mr. Pufferton disapproved.

      "Mr. Fontaine, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said immediately after entering the office without so much as a knock. "I'm sure you're a busy man, so we won't take up much of your time."

      Gibraltr Fontaine's green face turned red, and he bolted up from behind his lavish mahogany desk. "Who the Devil are you, you puffed-up, overfed monstrosity?"

      Mr. Pufferton was used to comments about his weight and took no offense. Argyle, however, had been completely overlooked in the insult and felt this sting greatly. He pushed past the bulk of his employer and slammed his hands down on Gibraltr Fontaine's polished desktop. "Remember how you vanished Harlan McManus? Yeah, you kinda need a replacement for him. And here we are."

      Gibraltr Fontaine recovered his composure with a rapidity that both amazed and startled. "Of course, yes. But... are two of you really necessary? I'm sure our mutual friend knows what he's doing, but still... the less mouths to feed, the happier the chef."

      Argyle's job done, he retired to let Mr. Pufferton take over the negotiations. "My dear Mr. Fontaine, we are businessmen, you and I. You are in the business of making pizzas, and I am in the business of advertising them. My associate here is in business of a different sort."

      "And what business is that, then? Harlan was just the ad man."

      "Harlan McManus slipped up and was found out. My friend is in the business of ensuring that things do not get found out."

      Gibraltr Fontaine laughed heartily and gave Argyle a slap on the back. "A doer, eh? I like guys like you. Got a few of them myself, you know? Alright, alright, I can dig this. Everyone needs some backup, even businessmen like us, eh, Bruce? What's your name again? Don't think I caught it."

      "Radcliffe. And our Techo friend is Jamie."

      "Posh old tub, ain'tcha? I'll call you Cliff. Jamie and Cliff... now that's a pair for the books."

      "Cliff will do just fine, Mr. Fontaine. Now, is there anything we can do right now to be directly of service?"

      Gibraltr Fontaine, who had seated himself some moments before, drummed his fingers on his desk in an exaggerated display of thought. "Right now...? Come to think of it, if you two can be spared from your tabloid trash, there's a little... shindig going on tonight that we could use some extra hands at."

      Argyle drew his breath in sharply, but Mr. Pufferton did not appear even remotely excited at the news. "Really, Mr. Fontaine, parties are not-"

      "No no no, no party, Cliff. Don't figure you need any more free food as it is. No, shindig is just a favorite word of mine. It's really just dock work. Pizzaroo is a global enterprise, Cliff, and pizza is needed around Neopia around the clock. We've got a ship leaving tonight, and it needs to be packed with pizzas and hands to manage 'em."

      Again, Mr. Pufferton did not seem enticed. "Harlan left me with little enough to go on, Mr. Fontaine. I need to start setting in roots if I'm to remain at Bindinghouse for any length of time. Perhaps-"

      "How about this, then? You two get yourselves on that boat tonight, enjoy the trip, watch the pizzas, and I'll tag along with. You two deserve a chat with me about local operations, and I need to show my face to some of the boys. It's been a while since I've left this office, you know. Now how's that for a deal?"

      Mr. Pufferton pondered this offer for longer than was necessary before putting a fat flipper forward. "It's a fair deal, Mr. Fontaine. What time should we be at the docks?"

      Gibraltr Fontaine took the flipper in his own greasy palm. "Pier 18 at six o'clock sharp. We've got loading to do."

      The remainder of the afternoon was spent wandering the streets of Neopia Central. Mr. Pufferton purchased a new cane, Argyle won a small fortune on a throw of back alley dice, and both agreed heartily that the latest confectioneries from the Chocolate Factory were simply to die for.

      "You know, Puffs, I'm almost upset that we're about to walk into almost certain death," said Argyle around a mouthful of cream puff. "That Fontaine fellow knows we're on to him."

      Mr. Pufferton, ever the gentleman, swallowed his bite of chocolate eclair before responding. "Oh, I wouldn't say that, Argyle. He assumes we've been sent by the manufacturer, and he's perfectly ready to accept that; I'm sure Mr. Harlan was delivered with much the same abruptness."

      "If you say so. And what, dare I ask, are we hoping to find on this ship?"

      "Evidence, or anything that can point us to the manufacturer. I should like to discover the entire ring out, Argyle, not merely an arc."

To be continued...