"Where's the Biff" - A Jack Puffer Series

[Marcus Welsh]

All episodes of 'Where's the Biff' will be in this thread.

[Marcus Welsh]

It is a cold, dark day.
Just kidding.
It’s late June.

We’re in Portland, Oregon. It’s like 200 degrees Celsenheit. Yea, it’s fuckin hot.

Jack Puffer, OCW’s most famous detective, darts in and around a hodgepodge of food trucks.

“Fish tacos? No way!”

Puffer hates bastardized versions of his favorite on-the-go snack. A taco has meat in it. AMERICAN MEAT. Not fish. Ugh.

“G-g-g—eye---roh???” He’s trying to say Gyro. Yes, he has no idea what they are. No, he’s not willing to find out.

Puffer’s on a mission. A mission from Gob. Who is Gob? We’ll probably never find out.

“Vegan?” Puffer throws his arms in the air, collapsing to the ground in dramatic fashion. He’s seen ENOUGH.

“There’s no way he’s involved with ANY of these trucks. Don’t we have some chicken around here. CHICKEN? ANYBODY GOT SOME CHICKEN?”

A pair of feet sporting old, dirty shoes find their way next to Jack’s head. Puffer rolls over, staring at the shoes. Is this a sign?

A steady stream of piss comes cascading against the curb next to him. It ricochets and bounces off the cement, onto his face.

“Pfft! Eck! Ah!” Jack pops to his feet, wiping his face clean with the bottom of his wife beater. Yea, Jack’s showing off those guns. He’s also covered in sweat.

BECAUSE IT IS HAWT.

“You’re just gonna piss out in public like that? People are eating...for goodness sakes, man!”

The most-likely-bum-ever eyes Puffer. We can’t tell if he’s contemplating Puffer’s question or just kinda brain damaged from lots of drugs and diseases. He then makes a face that seems to indicate he just crapped his pants.

Jack’s eyes widen. He turns and gets as far away from the nasty fucker as possible. In doing so, he barrels into a native Portlandian.

“Hey!” the Portlandian yells. Puffer tries to apologize...but their arms are stuck together. Not locked. STUCK. It’s so hot their skin just kinda meshed together during the briefest of impacts.

“Damnit, we’re stuck,” Puffer bemoans.

The Portlandian cannot argue, for it is true. They are stuck. There’s only one thing left to do. They count to three and pull apart. RIPPPP! It sounds worse than it actually is. Some slight reddening of the very sticky, sweaty, hot skin...maybe a bit of blood. But nothing to cry about.

Puffer eyes the Portlandian, he sees a few sores around his mouth. Behind him is a truck for crab meat. “You don’t have CRABS, do you?”

"Back there," The Portlandian throws a perfunctory thumb over his shoulder.

He sees a sign outside a store behind the crab truck. It dares potential customers to enter, otherwise they're CHICKEN.

Puffer is left to ponder. He ponders himself all the way to the entrance of this joint, a local pizza place called HERPES pizza. They really emphasized the herpes portion. SEX SELLS.

Puffer walks in and gets a whiff of an unimaginable smell – unappealing pizza aroma. Visibly confused, Puffer wonders how somebody could fuck up a pizza.

Standing over a glass case with lights beating down on a previously made pie to keep it warm, Puffer studies what sets in front of him.

“You want a slice? Go ahead, take a slice,” the grease ball behind the counter urges.

Puffer wonders how any of this is okay in the post-COVID world of Portland.

“Not digging our unbelievably vegan pizza made completely out of meat? I got ya. You want pepperoni.” The grease ball turns his head toward the back, “Yo! Oratonic! This customer out here wants a Pepperoni special!”

Oratonic? That name certainly rings a bell. Puffer heads toward the back. The grease ball doesn’t stop him. Instead, he reaches for a piece of unbelievably vegan pizza and takes a bite.

Jack thrusts the doors open and spots a man with a giant butcher’s knife. A human leg sets on a cutting board in front of him. He raises the knife high, ready to make another cut.

“You Oratonic?”

“Who’s asking?” Oratonic asks. Knife high in the air.

“I’m Jack Puffer. You used to wrestle for OCW.”

“I did.”

“You were murdered.”

“I was.”

“So what are you doing here.”

The grease ball finishes the unbelievably vegan pizza. He slings the empty, metal tray toward the back. It misses wildly, hitting a customer in the head. The customer says nothing. Puffer and Oratonic emerge.

“I quit!” Oratonic rips his shirt off, throwing it on the ground. He hasn’t hit the gym in ages.

Grease ball doesn’t protest, “Pepperoni pizza is ready. Want a slice?”

Puffer and Oratonic pause, staring at the pizza. It sits under the super-bright, toxic lighting.

“C’mon, take a slice.”

Oratonic digs into his pocket and forks over a bit of wet cash. He reaches for a slice. It soon enters his mouth. “Mmm, not the best pizza I’ve ever had.”

“How about you? The Pepperoni special.”

Puffer stares at the pizza. One of the pepperonis stands up and moves around, to a new location. Puffer raises an eyebrow.

“How much?”

“Three bucks.”

Puffer hands the grease ball three bucks. He receives his piece of pizza. Jack slowly picks up the piece of pizza and looks at the grease ball. The grease ball looks back at him. Puffer extends his arm and shoves the piece of pizza in the grease ball’s face. He exits, along with Oratonic.

They stand next to an ice cream truck. Jack orders a dip cone.

“Yes, Bifford murdered me,” Oratonic confesses.

Puffer receives his dip cone. He licks it, “So how are you alive?”

Oratonic starts to explain. Puffer listens. He goes in for another lick, but the entire dip cone has melted in the heat. “Sheesh.” He interrupts Oratonic, “Hold on. I need to get another.”

Oratonic stands and watches. Puffer buys another. Oratonic is now pants-less.

“It is hot out here,” Oratonic explains before returning to his backstory. “Only thing was, I wasn’t murdered all the way.”

Puffer goes to lick his dip cone. Unfortunately, it’s completely melted. He frowns.

“So when I realized I wasn’t all the way…”

“Hold on,” Puffer instructs. “I need another.” He turns to buy another. Oratonic stands and waits. Puffer obtains another dip cone.

“Proceed.”

Oratonic is now dressed only in a pair of boxers.

“Realizing I wasn’t murdered, I knew I had to do something. And that’s when…”

Puffer tries to lick his dip cone. But, it’s melted. “Ah man,” he interrupts Oratonic. Hold on. I need another.

Jack buys another. “Okay, please continue.” Oratonic is completely naked. Again, he remarks about the heat.

“So, you see, I got this job and…”

Puffer tries licking his dip cone. It’s melted. “Man,” he remarks. “Hold on.” He turns to buy another.

“One dip cone, please.”

“You sure do like these dip cones.”

Puffer has no comment. He takes his new dip cone and turns around, “Okay, continue.”

But, Oratonic is gone.

Puffer looks down. Oratonic is rolling around in the liquid ice cream.

“You okay?” Puffer asks.

“Yes, I’m just really hot. Need to cool down.”

Puffer goes to lick his new dip cone, but Oratonic reaches up, grabs it, and smears it all over his body. He stands, covered in semi-cool cream that is getting warm and sticky very quickly.

"You feel better?"

“Kinda.”

Puffer nods.

“Kinda not.”

Puffer nods.

“Kinda think I maybe need a shower.”

Puffer escorts Oratonic to his motel.