The Telling Tales of Teln O'lye

The Telling Tales of Teln O’lye, Private Eye!

By Tony Gohagan
(cert15)

Part One: Green Bees

The clean, sparkled, polished glinticles skean up;
Off the sharp, silent, rooty mass.

The Town was hot! Daylight: You could feel it!
The Townfolk were hot. You could feel them, too.

So, as well, the Buildings too; Hot! ;
The Hospital. The Cop-Shop. The Cake-Holes. The Laundry’n’Lazeretto.
The Big Fat Offices, Hot!

Hot, too, were the intent-conflicted addressed Furnishings lain within them:
Black Sofa’s. Brown ones. Sweeping, Chrome finished, fitted Granite Reception Desks. Metal Coffee Tables, Wooden ones. Plastic.

The Hotels. The T.V Station, beaming away on The Crystal Ship, out on Saith Harbour. The News Rooms. Liberty Library. The Jewellers. The Solar Power Research Community. The Brewery on Rosehip Hop Lane. The Landscravers.
The Crane-drivers. The Builders. The Bank. The Corporate Wheelwrights, Oilers and Assemblers Association. The Proper Tea Devil Opus. The Retailers, their Assistants. The Production-liners, their Q.C.M’s and Engineers; all sweaty, hot.

Still;
Although cooled, (by Green-Air Conditioning Co. machines,) those who manned ‘The Seek Rhett Society plc’ Saucy Sausage Square Seventeen-Sob Slice! Snack Bar, - a ‘Front’, for the Monitors – were hot, and “Open as usual”,
selling cold ones.

Except, Odin Neary-Jones and Playne Jayne didn’t know it was ‘a Monitors front.’

“Only Seventeen Sobs a slice!” Teln sang, under his breath,
along with the Advert reminiscing in his mind.
“Colourlisciouslings! Those Ads!” Teln chided, amused.
Everybody knew those Ad’s, knew that Jingle.
“Seventeen Sobs!” he murmrered, gladdened. Money: equated to Gut-wrenching! Teln thought it was an Upful euphemetaphore.

Seven Hundred Million Trillion-Billion Twinkles of Pure Sunlight; slam–packed,
whammed down into every line, shimmered: together; about themselves.
Off, and among The Lanes, The Fields, The Roofs, The Streets.

All the vehicles slid along, sunbathed. Hot.
The Townsfolk milled, mixed, met, made their way. Hot!

‘What a Town! What a Day! What a Sky!’ Teln thought,
’ ”Astonishing Common-place Blue”‘he dubbed it.

What a Sunny-afternoon Heart-rending affirmation The Town seemed to be.
Emanating every Good Thing it held, justifying all the reasons made for it to stand upon!
Specially from here; whilst looking out over it, from the 40th Floor of The Left, Right, and Centre Hotel.

“Seventeen Sobs!!”
He couldn’t help smiling, imagining the community whence the euphemetaphore arose,” They must’ve had ‘Real, Funny, Times.’ ”

Then, Teln filled with exasperation, watched his words deliquesce on the Windowwall, and sighed.

He felt his Default Setting ascend his soul. Water turning quickly into Ice.

Now, the only thing of remark, beyond his standing at the Windowwall,
With a colouring pencil behind his ear, a joint in the one hand, Double Jamie’s’ JazzJuice in the other, with his forehead against he Glass,
was that there was no sweat; on the Glass, where he was making contact with it.

Yet, Teln was as hot as the Windowwall and The Town outside it.

‘Default of late: Ice Souled’ he thought.

He filled with hate, which he cast upon The Town. And Himself.

‘I can’t even remember what Day it is...!
I can never remember what day it is… unless it’s Nighttime! That’s Dark.’

His cold soul shivered his body, snaring his mind in despair.

‘Frick it:
I’m enmeshed. A Caricature.
A Caricature of an Aspiration.
Ghost of a Ghost; in Broad-Daylight!
Frick it, Fruck it, Freck!!’

He sighed again, drew on his spliff, held down the smoke for as long as he could and let it out with a slow sigh.

Candy Cannonade’s voice echoed in his mind; - smooth, chiselled, knowing:
A cudgel encrusted with Diamond thorns, delivering words as forthright armslength concern. He visioned her shiny, clean, (always clean,) White hair,-whilst, faint, recaptured the bittersweetness of her perfume aroming -
“If only they knew how poisonous the cement, mixed into the Foundations of these Skiescravers!” She’d told him.

So assuredly;
Like somebody about to tell Thee All the Truth that they know:
Her eyes, (then), caused Teln to misdeem that she was. She wasn’t.

‘Candy, of all people! : Gone bad!!’ He sighed at the thought.
Teln chuckled quietly, “How Poisonous The Cement!”

He sighed; again: it clothed him with more ‘Default’.
He nearly cried.
One hurting uneasy gulp stayed all the nearly apparent tears about to fall.

He went blank. He filled with rage. Hated Life, The Town, and The World, stepped back, flicked the spliff onto the Windowwall,-like a firework, dying in a night-sky, it fell to the floor- He stamped it out, snapped down the blinds, turned, strident, into the Bedroom went, stripped, slunk onto the bed, resigned himself between the washed-daily sheets and “Thomas Tanked”.

“Wanker!” he mumbled to himself after his emission, and then turned over. Again.

Again,
As soon as the two timidly upbraiding, reverberating syllables fell away (As his head touched the pillow, as his eyes closed), so did he.
Teln O’lye: Private Eye! …… Aye! : -

Promptly asleep, laying there again, his pulsating emptiness ebbing, flowing, encompassing the Galaxy onto his duvet; a devastation.

A damp patch. Dying. Slowly drying hard.

‘How else am I s’posed to fall asleep?’ sometimes he told himself.
He hardly fell asleep any other way; hitherto, of late.
Hardly even slept at all.

He dreamt: -
He’d found the small ball of Gold-flecked Hash that he’d put by, lost, and forgotten about, in another dream.
He was wearing a Sarong, the one he’d lost, misplaced.
The one he wore the night Princess Blythe died, after she had been heavily pursued by Pappa Rass Zee.
A Blue Sarong, with Green, Black, White markings.
It was drenched; in Guilt, Success, Mis-Adventure.

T’was daytime, he, in his bedroom, cleaning.

The Town sat for a pale Deep-Blue Sky.
Overhead; The Moon. Full. Golden.
Golden as it is when rising through Gloaming.

The cloth he held in his hand was soft as a cloud in his palm,
He swept it surely over the windowsill. ‘What was that!?.. A peripheral Sphere, soft greeny-brown; in the corner!’
There it was! A ball of Hash! It was so pure! Register the purity seep into him in sweet pulsing brows. The flecks of once Green leaves sparkled gold.
It was like a Meatball that could be smoked, Teln mused, at the same time as recognising that this self same ‘Ball’; he had lost! - In another dream!
‘What a find!’

He filled with amazed gratitude: here was a beautiful thing, in hand,
that he very much wanted; here, in hand.
He held it up, examining the little flecks re-cleaving to the Golden-through-Gloaming –Moonlight:-

Well-being flooded his Soul.

A fleck emergyemorphed, into one of those Green Bee’s: Iridescent, Inch-long. South American? It flew beautifully away.

“Wonderful.” Teln sleepspoke, its flight path reminding him to put the hash-ball away, into his Safety-consolations Skippet.
He awoke knowing it was retrievalicious.

Teln O’lye, Private Eye…. Aye!
Up now, refreshed.
Happy and amazed, cheerfully; that it was possible to find something in a dream that had been lost and forgotten about, Once ago, in another dream!

Teln threw the duvet off him- (the lingering reek guided up at him and paddled vaguely around the bed), got up and went to the walk-in wardrobe, picked out socks, briefs, jeans, a Tee, threw them onto the bed and made towards the shower.

Outside:
The Guise of Night; pierced through by singing Stars.
Cosmopolis City’s twinkling lights dancing beneath, outlining The Town; as does a Crowd on a Dance-Floor cheering the Groovy.

As the water heated up, Teln recalled last night;
Thurs night of The Fourth 23rd, Twenty, Twenty Five.
Everything was becoming apparent: Titusina and Candy. Tequila Mockingbird. And The Whan–Currs. And Charlene Chan and the Cool Clutch Clan, seemingly disparate but crucially intertwined.

Steam rose in the air, silent; wafting above the waterlets. Banging against the tiles. Teln waved his hand through the water.
He noticed that he still had his watch on. Even though it was plastic and waterproof he went to the bedroom, unstrapped it, threw it onto the bed.

Turning again and on his way to the shower he thought on Titusina Triviata; School mate, now Celebrity, S.C.I.A., Founder of Commissionaires, Undercover Agent! The only person Teln knew who was a Double Agent. For both sides!

How she’d made it didn’t surprise him, no matter what the Papers say.
One couldn’t resent her for that. How she maintained it; that was something else!
She had control though.
Titusina Triviata-Tsung! Really, she went far, far ahead in most matters.
She: still kind, funny, rampant, attentive, elusive..., remorseless.
The sight of her Super-Black shoulder length Hair: - So much Wealth! Freedom! Just in her Hair!

His Love still exploded for her, betimes.

Titusina Triviata’s Commissionaires, Teln thought them well meaning but ineffectual. Except; they bungled on some surprising facts and exposed lies and deception continually, even though initiates saw them coming a mile off. Yet, to the unaware they seemed in possession of the World itself. How was Titusina comfortable associating her name with such ardent, glaring sub-standards? But then;

‘Sina was full of ideas of inducement. Always of a mind for the Long Game.

Teln realised he was naked; sitting on the bed.
The sound of the shower spattering had bought back his imagination to his senses. He wasn’t sitting in an audience, replete in a Tux’, clapping Titusina’s mystery.

Titusina Triviata’s Commissionaires: he thought they acted stupid. He thought they looked stupid in their Black Suits and Red Ties. They really got his Goatee with their silence. (Triviata’s Commissionaires only communicated by E-‘s, phone and, when in person, primarily; on paper).He’d heard a few of them speak, in private of course.
Teln hated their smilelessness, their shielded Eyes behind Jet Black DayBans supershades. ‘Dumb Asses!’

Teln had recognised a few of them;
One; used to be a copywriter at Farqueci and Fahtsi, wrote the jingle for ‘Crispy Cockroach Crunch/Coconut Contusion’ “A Seek Rhett society, plc, Snack!”
Teln had written the ‘Red Cherry Ripple’ jingle and had won awards for it.
He’d lost out to this one, who was the new Bright Young Thing, - just as Teln had been once-, on the ‘Contusion’. Teln didn’t remember his name.
What a Fade-Out that guy was; thinking he was Ten steps ahead and in another world, whilst, - unbeknownst he been clocked at the first.

“Frickin Fade-Outs.” Teln told them, imagining them array before the bathroom door as he neared it: They withered away, like The Wicker Witch of “And the Rest!” in The Whizzer Doe Fozz.

There was the depressing stun of clocking the amazing Bartender, Kavella;
She’d worked at The Hive, when it was young. Kavella glistered behind the dim-lit Bar: On the mean, fruiting outskirts of East End Esplanade; Supreme! Quietly at full volume! Top Rate Angelic! She made a good Commissionaire… if such a thing existed. Why? What? How came it so that she’d become one?
He quested on that a lot in the months she first arrived.

“Kavella… I used to work with her… what th?!!?”
“Don’t ask;… Ask her. If the time comes” was all ‘Sina would say.

Distinguished among them: Sly, Lank, Dave. But; for Sly, Lank, Dave being a Triviata Commissionaire was an absolute Life- Transcendence! So much so that not one who clocked him ever gave him up. Even on pains of death.

By then; what was Life, to hold on to it for?
‘Anyway’, Teln thought, ‘he might be one of the “Good guys!”’

Any leaf could fall to the ground and turn over.

Torture victims seldom dumped “died with a wry, satisfied smile” turned up, unyielding.
‘Till Sly, Lank, Dave slunk and sloped off, 20 years thence.

Teln observed the pace of his thoughts speed up, crowd in. The smell of Chocolate‘n’Almond Washwater carried on the steam filled his nostrils.
He washed, lathered, eyes squeezed shut. The heated droplets pulsed through him.

Teln envisioned a Bookshelf with files and folders ordered along it,
(Blue folders, White, Grey, Purple ones,) and set one before him, a Blue.
This was the case he was working on now, Blue: a case which required the minimum munitions, or maiming.
He Off-buttoned the shower, slid the monikered towel off the rail, and dried himself.

He looked in the mirror, brushing his teeth.
The curly lengthening locks in Black bands cascading.
The Brown eyes, with Red speckles; almost always smiling, zesty.
The mess of stubble. ‘Should I shave?…Forget it! …What kind of contrivance is shaving, anyway, for the most part…? Delux… or Necessar?’ he wondered.

He splatted out the foaming paste with a resounding declaration to forthcoming events, rinsed his mouth out incredulously at Candy’s audacity,
felt her surging latent anger, leaned happily against the wall of her firm resolve but glazed vacant for the unanswered reasons to her going from Art-Advenger to Homicidal oblivion. ‘Where’s her head at?’

Nigh on One Thousand lives. Taken. This last Fortnight.
Apartment Blocks in Cosmopolis North, (the Rich) and Cosmopolis South, (the Unrich) suddenly crumbled, like flour mixed by a well versed hand for baking.
Candy!, involved in that!

“I’m in their Team. Don’t try to dig deeper, Teln.
They’ll spare you if you listen to me. Retreat.. Go to your drawing board!
Draw Rainbows and Butterflies! Just…do your good stuff!! Stop sleuthing, Teln...Be....,”
She stopped herself escalating. He recognised it.
She looked him dead in the eye and kept slowing down. “…It’s just because... we went to School together…”

She (quick witted, non-judgemental, cheerful, daring,) smiled broadly, swished her White tresses and folded her arms; just the way she had when they’d met in their first introduction.

“It’s my Case, auld friend… C’mon!!!”

“Get with it Teln: you’ll be dead with our next advent if you stand against we all.”
“You’re taking responsibility for nigh on a Thousand slaughters?”
“For my part, yes, Teln! Entirely.
There are things you don’t want to know, or don’t want to acknowledge when you glance them in passing. I won’t let them come through.”

The silence fell between them in a wide circle.

“Here.”
She handed over a Silver envelope, embossed with a White and Purple flower.
Upon contact with it Teln felt her warmth, her focus, her purposefulness, the delight she took, as; he perceived that she had made everything; the Paper, the Gum, the Ink, the Quill, all; herself. “…And …?” He; sweeping his hand over the embossment.

“It’s an answer. A few leads. Resolutions: - Your case will be solved.
You get paid and prestige, you step away.
Your Client, whom it may be, will be content. Then;
Don’t take any more Cases in relation to Corpus Cosmopolitan Radio, ever again. “And”…,Teln; still tomorrow we smile even more!”
She cheered.
Teln sputtered, almost.

“Why has it come down so heavy, ‘Dida?”
He was seeping the envelope, her Handiworks, so consistent, sure, attributed.
“Don’t ask. Just give up, T!”.
“What am I gonna do; try restrain you into the Cop-Shop!?”
They warmed again and laughed.

“You know you’ll never catch me!”
She laughed, and vaulted onto the Aerial mast of The Crystal Ship. It shuddered.

“I’m Candida Cannonade! Can’t be catched… unless I want to be!!
Anyway: … why’d you stop writing Music, Teln !? ”

Her eyes burn a-new their friendship into him; forged with sheer their levity of old;
She says, “Teln, for you, I did my best. I’m not making this Goodbye. Be wise…. Remember who we all are”

She bounds a clear Kiss-blow Arc through the air, slips tidily, 8 seconds away: into the cold, dingy Sea.
And Teln, from the Deck, amidships, feels the splashwave gently grieve him.

The envelope balanced betwixt thumb and forefinger,
Teln turned, not before deciding to accept all Candida’s words, whispering “O.K…… Thanks, ‘Dida.”

She’d changed his World without his say. Intervened. But she’d spared his Life.

Teln visioned viewers getting up to bang their sets and adjust their aerials,
Visioned their picture resuming.
They-all: unaware Candy had put a spoke into their moment.

A few of the Shipmates emerged to see what was wrong with the Aerial…
He faintly heard one, to the other; say “…She assured me she wouldn’t mess about up here!”
Teln’s thoughts dissolved and he became conscious of his reflection in the mirror there, aware his Heart, once warm, was but now grown cold.

The Silver envelope Candida had passed him last night was still in the inside pocket of his jacket. Radiating frozen cheer.

Teln re-entered the Bedroom, he left the lights off.
The light from The Town and Cosmopolis lapped through onto the floor.
He picked up his watch off the bed and began to put it on; gazing at the clothes sprawled alongside, waiting to be donned.

He pressed ‘Play’ on his player: a voice rang out…
“Peter paid no attention to his Grandfathers words: Boys like him were not afraid of Wolves!” the Heart- warming up-lift of Peter’s Theme, from Prof.Koughy F’s
‘Peter Under-Wolf’ played out, and; it filled his Soul.

As he dressed he ran over the notes, requirements and specifications of the
Case at Hand; a following trail. Treasure Hunt?
A segment of bitter fruit; bulging, dribbling juice.

One of those cases;
“Wonderful! Salty; full of shitty little problems that no one wants to deal with!”
As Titusina would say.

In his mind a Blue folder.
The cover; a Label; it reads,
‘Case at hand: No. F2*1126*3’

The Unfolding of which will follow, anon.

Copywrite
T.Gohagan 2010