Chaäptor Thrissen (Chapter 3)
MARTY STU Bonkvist lay in bed with Cheesika Burger lying her head on his chest and sighing.
"Marty," she whispered. "You were so amazing. Truly you are the greatest lover who ever lived. No one else even comes close. Making love to you is like drinking liquid chocolate. I can never get enough. You're so handsome and irresistible to all women."
Marty Stu sighed. "Yes, it's almost as if someone was writing a story about himself, and being really self-indulgent."
The phone rang, interrupting his train of thought. He picked it up and said, "Hello, I'm Swedish."
"Hello," a voice said. "I'm Swedish as well. My name is Birch Frodo. I'm a lawyer for a mysterious and powerful man. He would like to meet with you."
Marty Stu frowned. "Why does he want to meet with me?"
"He has a mystery he'd like you to solve. The fact that you've been disgraced by Weinerstorm means you don't have anything to do for a while. Can you come down to Headcasetad? It's only eighteen hours by train."
"You expect me to get up and travel eighteen hours to meet with some mystery man in a town in the middle of nowhere for no apparent reason or motivation?"
"Okay, I'll do it."
"Good. There's a car waiting outside to take you to the train station."
Marty Stu sat up to find a limousine idling outside his window. "Wow, this guy is powerful."
"Very powerful. And mysterious. See you soon." The line went dead.
Marty Stu stood up and spent a moment admiring how handsome he was in a mirror before heading to the kitchen to make a sandwich. He made a liverwurst sandwich with extra head cheese and jelly, and ate it while getting ready.
Cheesika sat up. "Where are you going?"
"A mysterious and powerful man wants to meet with me and help him solve a mystery."
"Oh. Again? That's the third time this month."
Marty Stu finished his sandwich, got dressed, and went downstairs to get into the car. The limo drove him to the train station, where he climbed aboard and rode for eighteen hours. During that entire train ride, nothing interesting happened.
* * *
That night, Elzbeth Salamander rode her motorcycle down Indrajurgen to the home of Niles Rapeman. She got down and hugged a satchel to herself, where she kept a hidden camera. She would record him if he tried to do anything creepy to her like making her tie his shoes.
She knocked on his door. It opened. The creepy old man came lunging out from behind the door with his hands up, mouth dripping with saliva.
"Hello, Elzbeth," Rapeman growled. "What a surprise to find you here at my home, instead of my office. It's not at all suspicious. How can I help you? And by help you, I mean hurt you."
"I need more money," she said, trying to sound helpless and vulnerable.
"Then you know what you have to do. Come inside, where you'll be helpless and vulnerable."
It worked, she thought as she went inside.
The inside of Rapeman's apartment was a dungeon of terror. Whips and chains hung on the walls, next to a wooden rack with handcuffs and leather straps.
"Nice," Elzbeth said. "Who's your decorator?"
"The Marquis de Sade. Now, if you'll place your satchel somewhere it can get an unobstructed view of the proceedings, we can get down to business. And by business, I mean unbearable torment."
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The Girl Who Played With the Dragon Tattoo's NestHumor
Marty Stu Bonkvist, a bed-hopping journalist who totally isn't an idealized version of the author, goes to investigate a forty-year old disappearance. Aided by his sociopathic hacker sidekick Elzbeth Salamander, he taps into a vein of sandwiches, Ap...