Monday, May 9, 2011

Dear Vincent D'Onofrio: I am so, so sorry.

So, backstory: Criminal Intent is a great show. The lead Detective (Vincent D'Onofrio) is basically a modern Sherlock Holmes. Also he's totally cute. Anyway, Detective Goren is always writing in this notebook, and today E and I came to the following logical conclusion:

Detective Goren is working on his self-insert Sherlock Holmes Gary Stu fanfiction.

And then, because we do this sort of thing, we started round-robin writing the story that Detective Goren would write, if he had a account. Enjoy:

The Adventure of the Silent Partner

Chapter One: Death Takes a Holiday

Super-sleuth Detective Inspector Coren walked into his elegant New York apartment after a long day at work. He and his parter (Detective "Skull" Feames) had been working doggedly to bring down the self-styled criminal mastermind Doctor Death. In reality, the criminal's name was Gary Studdard, and Detective Coren was working hard to understand Studdard's psychology as he undressed after work and put on his favorite vinyl recording - a Tuvan throat-singing group covering ABBA's greatest hits.

Coren had just begun to hum along to "Dancing Queen" when his phone rang. Detective Feames, ever at a loss without Coren's expert opinions and brilliant feats of inductive logic, exclaimed breathlessly down the line, "We need you at 152nd street, now!" Coren dashed from the apartment, leaving the vintage bottle of wine he'd selected for the evening untouched on the kitchen counter.

The ever-dedicated detective hopped into his Ferrari 308 GTB, a generous gift from an anonymous benefactor of Coren's astounding skills. Naturally, he knew it was from the heiress of a particular diamond company who he had exonerated of murdering her ex-boyfriend. Coren smiled fondly as he recalled how grateful the curvaceous blonde had been. Her not-so-subtle flirtations had been flattering, but Coren had politely informed the much sought after scion that he was dedicated to his work. Truthfully, Coren had to turn away many prospective partners over the years since he was yet to find the perfect mate. He needed an intellectual equal, someone who could really understand his eccentric demeanor. Someone who could understand the pain in his heart.

Detective Feames was relieved to see her partner. She ran over to the Italian sportscar parked haphazardly on the curb. Without hesitation, she opened the driver door for Coren and complimented him on his stylish sunglasses. He stepped out and thanked her, modestly.

Detective Coren then strode toward the obvious center of activity up the block, with the ever-impressed Feames trailing in his wake. She updated Coren on the nature of the late call even though they both knew Coren could tell (from the stances of the other officers as well as the locations of the four unmarked vans) that the lair of Doctor Death - née Gary Studdard - had been discovered. Coren removed his embossed leather notebook from his stylish trench coat, eager to note down the particulars of the case before the final confrontation with this latest menace to the peace of his home city.

After interminable minutes of briefing and debriefing with his superiors and other officers, Coren and Feames quickly got into their personas for the final sting operation. Coren had already discovered the floor on which Doctor Death operated (the fourth, judging by the state of the windowsill), the nature of Doctor Death's lair (pseudo scientific research, according to the papers and boxes Feames had fetched from the dumpster), and the people Doctor Death was most likely to trust (anyone delivering Chinese food, if the call Doctor Death had just made to the restaurant up the street were any indication). It was the work of mere moments for Coren and Feames to waylay the hapless deliveryman, and Coren and Feames slipped into their personas - she, a hardened veteran of the delivery service; he, an eager student learning the ropes as he attempts to pay his way through college.

All too soon and not soon enough, our intrepid Detectives were standing at Death's Door.

Feames knocked harshly on the old door, several red paint chips crumpled under her pounding fist. She cast a glance at her disguised cohort and tensely gripped the plastic delivery bag. Calm as a majestic stag sleeping in a fragrant meadow, Coren gave her a reassuring pat on the back. She managed to stretch the already ratchet-tight skin across her face into a nervous smile.

On the other side of the door there were loud clicking noises and Coren noted that the so-called Doctor had at least six additional locks on the entrance to his lair. The villain's excessive precaution had to be due to the perceived importance of his research and acknowledgment of his illegal practices.

A middle-aged man wearing goggles over his eye-patch and single piercing ice-blue iris swung the door open. His gaze immediately focused on Coren whose figure was surprisingly flattered by the unisex polo shirt-khaki pants combination of the Tao Wei Chinese Palace uniform. The cut of the polo sleeves accentuated Coren's carefully sculpted biceps and his rebellious chocolate locks peeked out from under the white baseball cap. The man was finally able to pry his eye away from Coren to scowl at Feames who tragically looked as though someone had stuffed potatoes into her outfit and knocked her hat askew.

Before the evil twin brother of Bill Nye could notice that Feames was holding the pencil completely wrong for a veteran of the food- delivery industry, Coren stepped in to salvage the situation with his usual perfect blend of boyish charm, impish humor, and faux confusion. Tilting his head at an angle painstakingly calculated (during a lazy summer many years ago) to be coquettishly disarming, Coren mildly inquired, "Is the the correct address? Only, we have an order of North Prince Chicken for two, and this apartment clearly belongs to one, very lonely, man." Before Studdard could reply, his one eye widening and fixing on Coren's two piercing mahogany orbs, Coren continued, "No, not a man at all, are you? You see yourself as something more. A scientist? A seeker of all the knowledge of this world and the next?"

As Coren continued in this vein, using the low, hypnotic baritone that worked so well on skittish suspects and injured animals alike, he and his partner wafted into the Doctor's apartment as though propelled by the softest of breezes. The entire situation was moving exactly according to Coren's master stratagem - distract and disarm - but Coren had, as ever, missed one simple detail in his otherwise brilliant examination of the Doctor and his living quarters. If queried much later (although he never was), Coren would have been hard-pressed to answer whether he was unhappy with the way the situation rapidly spun out of control. The order of North Prince Chicken was indeed intended for two diners: Doctor Death and his Chinese Crested canine companion. Coren could read the tag as the furred avenger lunged at Feames - it appeared that "Nom Chompsky" was about to take Coren's partner out of the running, and rip the spell he had so cunningly woven around the Doctor.

The hideously deformed rodent passing as man's best friend latched onto the cuff of Feames's left pant leg. It tugged and growled. Feames tilted her head down to regard the assault with the same expression one might use when noticing one has stuck a foot in a bucket.

"You have a dog," she observed with no inflection.

Coren mentally slapped his forehead in exasperation. He had always been quite fond of the woman despite her frightening visage, but she had never been able to grasp the subtle art of detective work that he had mastered years ago. Sometimes he wondered how she had even passed the exam to enter the Major Case Squad. Nevertheless, her loyalty and continued reverence of Coren's talent made her an invaluable companion and it was his responsibility to protect his partner.

"Ah, yes," Doctor Death finally spoke, his accent clearly originating from the Skåne region of Sweden probably near the city of Malmö, "I'm afraid Mr. Chompsky has an intense disliking for authority."

Feames paled, "Why is he attacking me? It's not like I'm a cop or anything."

Thinking even more quickly than usual, Coren decided that a smart (not as smart as himself, but very nearly beginning to approach it) man would have trained his dog to respond to a command that caused it to cease its attack. After all, only an idiot would fail to implement a failsafe for every eventuality. Mustering a not inconsiderable amount of command into his voice, Coren started with a simple "Nom Chompsky, ligg!"

Doctor Death merely wheezed out a sinister laugh, as "Fot!" and "Kom!" similarly failed to arrest the miniature death-hound's attack - Feamon was beginning to look decidedly ashen by the time Coren realized, based on the bad Doctor's heritage and speech patterns, that the stop command must be something slightly more esoteric. In a blinding flash of insight, and just before Feames could gather herself enough to turn her service weapon on the minuscule hound, Coren began again. "Burlov! Eslov! Trelleborg!" Doctor Death's once-triumphant laugh became a shaky shadow of its former self, and he backed ever-so-slightly toward the control panel of his infernal device. "Lund! Skurup!" bellowed Coren, before finally, in a tone of triumph, "STAFFANSTORP!"

In a thrice, Nom Chompsky had released the (now ragged) edge of Feames' nice yet serviceable slacks and sat down, eyeing Coren and its former master expectantly.

Unfortunately, Feames' obvious distress at the unexpected assault had bought precious moments for Doctor Death to plan the fall of this, his greatest, handsomest, and most intelligent enemy. Before Coren could begin to expound upon how he had known that one of the "heel!" commands must have been the name of a municipality within Skane County, Doctor Death had pounced on the controls of his dread machine - and Coren had not yet finished discovering its intended purpose.

With the light-footedness of a jackrabbit, Coren rushed toward Doctor Death, poised to tackle him as Coren had done so many years ago when he was the MVP of his basketball team in high school. Even as he rushed forward, his ears picked up the minute sounds of the machine whirring to life, although Feames was clearly unable to distinguish such minuscule sounds. He stopped dead just in time to miss a Tesla coil as it shot through the floor of the apartment, already giving off huge bursts of electricity.

Doctor Death bellowed, "MY MACHINE, SHE AWAKENS! TASTE YOUR FINAL DEATH, DETECTIVE COREN!!!!!!!!!!" Wishing to savor the horror on Coren's handsome visage, Doctor Death first turned his laser sights onto the immobile form of Detective Feames. Feames, ever certain that Coren possessed the capability to save them both from any harrowing situation, said merely, "He has a laser."

"No!" shouted Coren, "Your quarrel is not with my feeble-minded partner! It is with me - let us engage in a true battle of the minds." Doctor Death concurred, "Let's get dangerous." Unheard in the heat of the forming battle, Detective Feames commented, "Au contraire."

Doctor Death swung the laser sights around to the gallant Coren, but Coren had just spotted a toolbox in the corner. Harnessing all of his lightning speed (matched only by his love for puns), Coren sprinted to the toolbox and, with a single swift motion, completely appropriately threw a monkey wrench into Doctor Death's devious plans - literally!

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--" exclaimed Doctor Death as the machine sparked and rumbled, "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO---" until the lighting arced from the Tesla coil and formed a perfect sphere, "OOOOOOOOOOO--" and finally sucked Doctor Death into the ball of light "OOooooooooo." Meanwhile, Feames was staring vacantly into the pulsating orb of unknown origin, "It is bright." Unbeknownst to Feames, she was within the radius of the orb's pull. "Feames! Back away! It is clearly an extension of the gravitational lensing effect!" but Coren's desperate yet mellifluous cries fell on deaf ears.

With no other solution, as Feames was pulled closer to possible demise, Coren threw himself bodily at Feames. She was pushed to safety, but Coren was not so lucky. He could feel the inexorable tug of the light source throbbing through his veins like some irresistible but yet-undiscovered drug. With a sigh, he was pulled through.

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