New Toulouse

Sister Butta threw a housewarming party for Trolley Trollop in the Red Drum courtyard to celebrate Trolley’s new digs at Red Drum Place. The music was provided by La Freese, and the party theme was flappers—flappers with bananas. They were there to lure the Tunnel Man. The bananas were. Well, all of us were.

And it worked! Kristine Jinx-Kristan spotted him in a cupboard under the bar. He wanted bananas and drinks. Then he climbed up in the kraken chandelier, and then he realized he was afraid of heights.

How exciting! Most of us had never seen him. He looked like a monkey, and he acted like a monkey. Could this really be Tunnel Man?

Poppy Valentine suggested, “Maybe we should put out two cages. One with a banana and one with a dark-haired girl. And see what he chooses.”

Then they all stared at me. I refused to get into a cage.

I feel sorry for the poor little fellow. Edward Ramsey has been talking about tar and feathers. Doctor Avalon wants to lobotomize him, like she wants to do with our cool reporter Jack Mondieu.

I hope I made everyone feel uncomfortable about their behavior when I asked them if this was a lynch mob. Shouldn’t everyone get a fair trial before getting lobotomized?

If the mob hands him over to Doctor Avalon, I will call the NTSPCA for sure.

So it seems the monkey, now called “Tunnel Monkey,” is still around. And someone is leaving banana peels all over town. Be careful, they are quite slippery.

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Photos courtesy of Ms. Sister Butta, Ms. Arijah Ankh Khalid-Zyn, and Ms. Liza Veliz.

Liza Veliz, being a ghost, has no fear of Tunnel Man or Beast and loves everyone and everything.

New Toulouse got a very strange visit on Monday that has left residents scratching their heads (and possibly anything else they can reach). Ms. Sister Butta, a cousin of private investigator Trolley Trollop, was doing some housekeeping at the TNT Detective Agency when an individual showed up and claimed to be the infamous Tunnel Man, who Ms. Trollop says is responsible for the fates of several missing young women.

The visitor says he’s one of the good guys. “He claims he was sent by Scotland Yard to teach Trolley a lesson,” Ms. Butta said. “He was very curt with me.”

The individual claiming to be Tunnel Man then stormed out of the detective agency and headed down the street. A startled Ms. Butta managed to get this photo of him with a zoom lens.

His progress down the street attracted a small crowd—most of whom watched from their windows and called their neighbors on the phone. The individual went on to say that he was not a murderer and that Ms. Trollop’s confidential informant “Deep Tonsils” had framed him. “Have you found any bodies?” he asked. “No. And you won’t.” He maintained that he was in town on official business for Scotland Yard, but he refused to say more on that topic. He did, however, have quite a bit to say about Ms. Trollop’s suitability as a private investigator.

“It is impossible for a woman to be a detective,” he asserted. “They should stay home and have babies.”

He was interrupted in this rant by Ms. Liza Veliz, who (being a ghost already) wasn’t afraid of him, regardless of whom he claimed to be. She gave the so-called Tunnel Man a banana. He gratefully finished it before telling anyone within earshot that women should “stick to their knitting” and leave the detecting to men.

He said he was going to go retrieve his mining equipment because Ms. Trollop was “too stupid” to find it. Still not sure if this was a prankster or a murderer, or just a mouthy monkey, a couple of residents attempted to phone the police but got no immediate answer. Someone helpfully suggested that this so-called Tunnel Man should look for Ms. Trollop in the bayou, near Swamp Manor, but left out the part about it being an area infested with zombies. The visitor took off in that direction.

Witnesses to the incident are still debating its significance; for one thing, a misogynistic monkey bears little resemblance to the tale told by Ms. Trollop of a suave British gentleman who smelled of lavender and lured away attractive young girls to be his brides. Some residents of the city and bayou don’t believe there is such a person, and they say there are more mundane explanations for missing young ladies.

“I can’t believe they have all just run off. It’s not logical,” said Ms. Butta, citing heartbroken relatives who hope for their daughters and nieces to return. “But I guess anything is possible here.”

In the meantime, Ms. Trollop told a neighbor that she’d received a letter that smelled of lavender but she hadn’t opened it yet. Some residents have taken up a search—whether for an actual Tunnel Man or a depraved attention-seeker capitalizing on the infamy of a local legend, no one is quite sure. Even Ms. Maggie Hawksby’s goat, Trollbait, went wading through the bayou, looking for clues.

So far, the searches have turned up nothing—no Tunnel Man, no mysterious visitor, and no bodies of missing women or zombie victims. 

If a zombie ate a monkey brain, I asked police chief Pazzo Pestana, would it get a hairball? He answered, “Only if the zombie were a cat while it was alive.”

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Photos courtesy of Ms. Sister Butta, Ms. Liza Veliz, and Ms. Maggie Hawksby.

Jane Moreaux keeps all four eyes on New Toulouse.

In a flurry of industriousness no doubt brought on by temporary Lenten sobriety, New Toulouse saw a number of renovations, relocations, and new businesses in recent weeks. One “coincidence” that a less-observant colleague (I’m looking at you, Jack Mondieu) might have missed is two new detective agencies opening within three days of each other. Sensing a story (or several), I sat down with both to get the scoop.

Part 2: Trolley Trollop at TNT Detective Agency

At TNT Detective Agency, in Red Drum Place adjacent to the cemetery, Ms. Trolley Trollop ushered me into the comfortable office and immediately began the southern tradition of making guests feel at home by offering them copious amounts of food. I turned down the meat pie (I’m vegetarian) and the chocolate cake, because I’m already bursting the seams of my mesh skirts, but what reporter could resist a cocktail? 

Before I’d swallowed my first delicious sip, Ms. Trollop was already talking about her highest priority case, finding a murderer she calls “Tunnel Man.” Ms. Trollop, who said she graduated from the Frederick Walker School of Detection in New York City, came to New Toulouse because her sources indicated that this Tunnel Man was here.

I asked her to start from the beginning, in case any of our readers haven’t been following the story. “Tunnel Man was working in the tunnel, and he didn’t have anything to eat, and nobody came to save him,” she said. “So he kinda turned into something not even his mama could love, and started taking young girls to be his bride. Well, one thing led to another, and Tunnel Man heard about work in New Toulouse and got himself here on a big old freighter. Been here ever since. I think.” She added, “But I ain’t got the proof. Yet.”

Her informant’s letters, she said, seemed to involve a particular building. “The one place that keeps being mentioned in the letters of those poor dead girls is Mrs. Varnish’s rooming house. Tarantula Arms. You know anything about it?”

When I told her that I had lived at the Tarantula Arms until the building got condemned, Ms. Trollop asked if I had ever seen anybody go missing there. I had, in fact—pretty much every time rent was due.

She handed me a letter she said was from a Euphemia Johns who had lived at the Tarantula Arms. I hadn’t met her, but quite a few people at the boarding house kept to themselves.
“You read that letter,” she said. “You’ll see why we are pledged to find those poor girls. Bring them home. Bury them decent in St. Louis Cemetery.”

Were city officials taking her concerns seriously? “I got to say that Mr. Mayor doesn’t seem to be taking a real active interest in doing anything about Tunnel Man.” She had more positive things to say about the local police. “I have your sheriff’s assurances that he takes it real serious. Put out extra patrols during Mardi Gras. And he noticed right off that Tunnel Man seems to favor young women with dark hair. Doesn’t seem to have a taste for blondes.”

I asked if she and her second-in-command at TNT, Mr. Al Terego, were focused exclusively on the Tunnel Man. “We is here for anybody that needs our services. Women in particular. You know, I think there’s a place for a woman to be helping other women with faithless lovers and philandering  husbands and sweethearts. Matters like that … well, we just ain’t gonna talk to a man about our female troubles. But we take anybody as a client. Dead people, vampires, living folks. We don’t discriminate. We are just a little business, but I think there’s lots of work for us. And if there isn’t, well, we’ll just keep putting out meat pies and being friendly to folks.”

As for Mr. Ramsey, she hopes they “become good friends and we can help each other,” adding, “If Mr. Ed has more business than he can say grace over, we’d be much obliged if he’d pass it on. I’m just a poor little gal from South Alabama trying to make my way. I ain’t gonna ever win the Miss Alabama contest now, so I got to start making my living with my brains.” Unlike her fellow detective, Ms. Trollop is less interested in cases involving the paranormal. “I think I had best get some practice in solving crimes of the flesh before I go after the haints,” she said.

And how close is she to solving the case of the Tunnel Man? She crossed herself and said, “I think I smelled him late one night.”

I asked her what he smelled like, expecting an answer like swamp gas or fire and brimstone or Jack Mondieu’s morning breath. “It was real strange,” she replied. “Smelled of lavender water.”

A man who lives in a muddy tunnel under a swamp smells like lavender water?

“Well, he is British.” 

At that point I made the mistake of joking that since Mr. Ramsey is British, I should sniff him next time I pass him on the steps of Spiegel Hall. (The fact that he’s easy on the eyes is entirely irrelevant.) Ms. Trollop started to fan herself and nearly fell out of her chair.

“Oh my god! You think maybe Mr. Ramsey is Tunnel Man in disguise? Oh my god!”

Imagining having to explain to my neighbor how I accidentally sent a pitchfork-armed posse to his doorstep, I answered with an emphatic no. She seemed disappointed.

Still, Ms. Trollop does believe that the mystery will be solved in New Toulouse—with or without the mayor’s help. “We many never find Tunnel Man, but I just feel in my bones that we can find whatever’s left of them poor dead girls and we can bring ’em home and have a fine jazz procession to Number 32 at the cemetery. Let them girls have a resting place.” She expects that her agency will have help locating the so-far-elusive tunnels, and not just for the sake of justice and community spirit. “I think Dr. Avalon wants to get Tunnel Man real bad so she can use him in her experiments,” she said. “Might even cure him and turn him into a productive member of the community. He might even run for mayor one day!”
 

After finishing my chat with Ms. Trollop—and at least a couple of her delicious cocktails—I went to the police department to see what Pazzo Pestana thought about all these detective agencies opening up.
 
“I’d say that the advent of the Tunnel Man mystery presented an opportunity for investigative minds to set up shop and begin to offer their services to the community,” he said. “The police have been cautious in their investigation, having found a dearth of tunnels in the city.”

He did hint that a discovery “centered around the hospital” has caused them to intensify their efforts and ask the mayor for support. “In the meanwhile, an APB for all muddy men carrying mining tools has been sent out.”
 
TNT Detective Agency is at #2 Red Drum Place. (All photos courtesy Ms. Trolley Trollop.)

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Jane Moreaux keeps all four eyes on New Toulouse—six, after she’s had a few cocktails.

From the Desk of TrolleyTrollop
29 March

While some of my fellow citizens have been suffering the effects of fireballs, runaway streetcars, absinthe, and one too many hits on the opium pipe, “Deep Tonsils,” my confidential informant and lead detective at the newly formed TNT Detections & Investigations Bureau, took advantage of the hullabaloo to sneak into town and pass me his report that provides irrefutable proof that Tunnel Man has walked among us.

And still not a word of response from Mr. Mayor, who claims Tunnel Man is nothing more than a fiction of fevered female imaginations.

Tunnel Man’s latest victim, a Mrs. Violet Howell Vowell, was a foolish woman, perhaps, but surely she deserves better than to be yet another forgotten victim of Tunnel Man. The men of our community may not identify with our plight, but surely we women will band together to obtain justice for one of our sisters.

/s TrolleyTrollop

Boney-fried investigative reporter and recent graduate of the world-famous Frederick Wagner Correspondence School of Detection in New York City

Open Letter to Mayor Godenot
From the desk of TrolleyTrollop
Wednesday, March 26

Dear Mr. Mayor,

Seeing as how I am new to your fair city and seeing as how I likes to get along with just about everybody I meet just in case it might turn out that they be kinfolk, I am gonna be real tactful and not say exactly what I thought after I read your letter of 23 March that appeared in that fine example of journalistic excellence and incisive reporting, the Tattler.

Instead, I am going to take the high road and just inform you that I am now in possession of a letter from a fine, upstanding woman living in Chicago (well, we can’t hold that against her) who has reason to believe that her baby-girl niece, a Miss Otelia (Tilly) Goodnight, fell into the clutches of the Tunnel Man while she was staying in Miz Varnish’s Tarantula Arms rooming house. Mrs. Weatherby (that’s Tilly’s aunt) sent me a photograph of the poor child that like to broke my heart. Just as soon as I figure how to operate the mimeograph machine Fr. Camara’s got set up to print IOUs, over at his reading room and gaming establishment, I’m going to make sure everybody in New Toulouse gets a copy of that poor girl’s picture and a copy of her auntie’s letter.

So, Mr. Mayor, are you going to sit on the sidelines and tell the good folk of New Toulouse to hide in their houses, living in fear that Tunnel Man is going to get their women? Or are you going to help bring Tunnel Man to justice and get whatever remains of the poor dead girls he done took for his brides decently put to rest in St. Louis Cemetery?

We the people are going to be taking to the streets to make the parish safe for every young woman who calls New Toulouse home. Are you with us? Or are you not wanting to be re-elected?

Your constituent and bony-fried member of the Reputable Established Media (REM: We don’t sleep so you can and read the news with your morning coffee and beignet),

TrolleyTrollop

In another clandestine meeting with confidential informant Deep Tonsils, investigative reporter TrolleyTrollop has learned that Tunnel Man may be a railway worker who was thought to have been buried alive during the 1882 construction of an extension of London’s underground Metropolitan Railway between Aldgate and the Tower of London.

The lone worker to survive the construction accident, Tunnel Man, as he was later dubbed by police, turned to cannibalism to sustain himself. Eluding identification and capture by the combined forces of metropolitan police, Scotland Yard, and Sherlock Holmes, Deep Tonsils claims that Tunnel Man ultimately found his way New Toulouse and sought employment during a major period of city construction.

In an off-the-record interview with New Toulouse lawman Pazzo Pestana, Trollop learned that sources close to the investigation fear that Tunnel Man may use upcoming Mardi Gras celebrations as a diversion to once again stalk the streets and bayous of New Toulouse in search of a new bride to kidnap and install in his hidden lair.

Be on the lookout, citizens and visitors! Pestana has promised extra patrols during the festivities, but it may not be enough to keep the young women of the parish safe. Visiting Dominican friar Father Rob toured St. Louis Cemetery yesterday and told Trollop he would not rest easy until the bones of those poor dead girls were returned and given a proper burial with a Basin Street jazz procession to a waiting crypt.

Trolley Trollop here and on assignment in the Gloryville district, New Toulouse, after a confidential source whispered a tip in her ear when Trolley was busy dancing, catching her some beads, and having more fun than a preacher at a tent revival during Saturday’s Krewe Bayou parade.

Well, weekend’s over and Trolley’s back in New Toulouse, hot on the trail of what may be the Story of the Decade. Trolley even got herself a room in Gloryville down on Basin Street, right across from the cemetery, so she can work the story up good and stick her nose into everybody’s business. Rent costing her all her lunch and pocket money, but that’s all right. People’s got a right to know the Truth, and Trolley’s aiming to sniff it out faster than a hog digs up one of them truffles her Sister Cousin who lives in France is always raving about.

But Trolley’s getting off track. You folks know all about France, seeing how this is LousyAnna (that’s how we sound it out where I comes from in South Alabama). Trolley’s source—and don’t you even try to get her to cough up his name, ’cause Trolley go to jail before she reveal a source. Miss Peggy Hull wouldn’t do it, and neither will Trolley—told her that there are tunnels under this place. Tunnels! Imagine that, in a part of the world where the water table is up to your neck after a rain and you got to bury the dead six feet over the ground so they don’t float up and scare the horses.

Anyway, long time ago it seems there was trouble with those tunnels. That’s the mystery Trolley’s investigating, ’cause nobody’s talking and they just glaze over when Trolley even mentions the word. Mighty suspicious behavior on the part of some folks, ain’t it?

But don’t take my word for it; here’s what Deep Tonsils told Trolley. You read it over, and then you pass on anything you know to Trolley. She’ll be mighty obliged and might even send you some hot biscuits and tupelo honey to say thank you kindly. Trolley gots to solve this mystery, make Mama proud! So you listen up and read the word-for-word, unexpurgated, and gospel-Truth transcript of what Deep Tonsils told Trolley.

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Deep Tonsils: Well, there were a lot of people working on those tunnels, and there was a cave-in one night, Trolley … you know what that is, don’t you?

TrolleyTrollop: Like when the earth moved at Sister Cousin’s place?

DT: Well, yes … but there was a guy trapped down there in the rubble.

TT: Oh! Did they get him out? Or did he pass and now he’s a haint? Oh my god—the gators didn’t get him, did they?

DT: Nobody knows, Trolley. He is a memory, to some at least, but every thirty years, a woman goes missing … a young woman. Some might say it is him, choosing a bride, till she becomes too old, and then he chooses another one. But of course, what do I know?

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Now, ain’t that jest about the most exciting thing you read in a month of Mondays? You got any information at all, you send it along to Trolley, and she’ll jump on it! Slip it under the door of my place here at #3 Basin Street, or send me one of them notecards. We got a story to break!

Respectfully, as befitting a member of the 4th Estate,
Trolley Trollop

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TrolleyTrollop is her Sister Cousin’s (SisterButta) poor relation from south Alabama making her way in SL as a journalist. She ain’t got no portfolio, but she’s got a picture of Miss Peggy Hull on her wall, so you know she’s serious!