Tusk Page #7

Yes, he's a big ol' brown recluse.

- Yeah. They call it the hobo spider.

- Oh.

And it's mean. I called the police.

And the lady on the phone said to me,

"Oh, we'll send somebody

out in a few days. "

Well, I have to regret...

Regretfully inform you

that I'm not the man.

I'm not that man who was sent by the

lady who said she was sending someone.

I'm not him.

You're not gonna shoot the spider?

As an inspector of the

Surete du Quebec, er...

I'm actually not authorized

to discharge a weapon...

- ... at a bug.

- Oh.

One of the downsides of the job.

But I come today because

I'm investigating...

Well, a disappearance.

- Oh?

- Yes, sir.

The hockey player, Gregory

Gumtree, from Quebec City.

A lot of people have heard of him.

I have even heard of him once or

twice before all of this happened.

So, many people have heard of him.

Have you heard of him perhaps?

- No.

- No.

No. Well, last month,

he was drafted by the New Nordiques.

Oh, well... Piss on the New Nordiques!

Give me back my old Nordiques.

I...

Do you know something, sir,

I truly respect your, er, passion

for the game of the hockey.

Huh?

So anyway, this hockey

player, Gregory Gumtree...

I guess he'd seen some

sort of advertisement

in a bar bathroom that said,

"We can give you a place to live

"in a living situation

that's not far from here. "

But somewhere between

here and Quebec City,

the hockey player, Gregory Gumtree...

- Well, he went missing.

- Oh.

And so I stopped by to see

if maybe you might have heard

or seen something that was

a little out of the ordinary

the other night on that

Monday... Monday night.

Oh, no, not Monday night,

because I'm down at the rink.

I'm down at the ice rink Monday

nights, with the little mites.

Oh, do you coach the hockey mites?

No, no, I'm not the coach. No, no, I'm

just the coach's helper monkey, you know.

On Monday nights, I come

and I pick up the sticks,

and I bring the little ones

water, you know, during the drills,

- and all

that. - Uh-huh.

And then on Monday nights

we go out for poutine.

Have you ever been to

Poutine-ee Weeny, on Rue de Jour?

Poutine really does not agree with me.

- Oh, I'm sorry.

- My innards...

It creates such a, er...

Poutine gives me just the worst shits.

I'm sorry to be so crass

about it and everything.

By the way, you know, I

didn't even get your name.

Bartholomew Moseeay.

You sure you don't have time

to come in and kill a spider?

You know, I would... I swear

to you that I would help

- in any way that I could...

- Yeah.

I would help, but I'm really

just a lowly homicide detective

and I'm really not paid enough to, er...

To deal with the savage

animals, you know.

You know what I think, Mr. Lapointe?

I think that the real savage animals

are the human beings.

Oh.

- Thank you.

- Oh, thank you so much.

- Thank you.

- Thank you, sir.

- Thank you.

- Have a wonderful day, sir.

Thank you very much.

In all of the Canada,

there is no record...

Of a man named Bartholomew Moseeay.

There is no local rink,

there is no hockey mites.

And I would also assume that

there is no Poutine-ee Weeny.

But ever since that day,

I've stopped making the

assumptions, you know.

The hockey player, Gregory Gumtree...

He was probably in that house, you know.

And I was standing on the porch,

assuming that I was talking

to some harmless simpleton

who spoke funny.

But, um...

But one month later,

we find what is left

of the hockey player, Gregory Gumtree.

His torso was blocking up a

sewer pipe outside of Gatineau.

So...

The man-child, Bartholomew Moseeay...

Or Howard Howe, went poof!

Poof! Disappear.

He disappeared.

Do you want to know what my theory is?

The theory that got me excused

from the Surete du Quebec?

Please.

All of the victims

have holes in the mouth.

He cuts off the legs,

he sews the arms...

But he puts something in their

mouths that we don't get to see.

Some of the cops were

saying that the holes

are from the meat hooks,

you know, if they...

They hang up the body, while you use

to rip it up, the flesh and all that.

You know what I mean?

I beg to differ.

- Well, what do you say?

- Ah, well...

The hockey player, Gregory Gumtree,

the boy that I failed to save.

Just like all the rest,

he had missing legs,

missing tongue, missing teeth,

the hole in the roof of the mouth.

But the medical examiner,

he found something...

Inside the hole of his mouth.

It was a tiny piece of the victim's

own tibia bone. No bigger than this.

So why would a piece of his

leg bone be in his mouth?

Oh, I don't know.

So I go to see this mama of the

hockey player, Gregory Gumtree.

And I say to her, "You are the mama

"and you know the

things about the child.

"You feel things that no

police or nobody can feel.

"So, how do you think

your boy was killed?"

And the mama, she's...

She is crying, you know.

And now it is as if she is

like my own mama, you know.

And then the mama, she say to me...

She say to me...

"This man is making a monster.

"This man is making a monster. "

Mr. Tusk...

Why do you blubber so?

Are you really mourning

your loss of humanity?

I don't understand.

Who in the hell would want to be human?

God almighty!

In all my travels,

I've only ever known a

human to be an ocean of sh*t.

And my vessel lifts...

And is leaking.

I am so very tired, Mr. Tusk.

Battered by a life of cruel fate...

And poor decisions.

And the terrible consequences of both.

The water is wide

And I dare not cross over

Nor have I wings...

Wings to fly

Build me a boat

That can carry two

And both shall row

My love and I

Oh.

You must be terribly hungry by now.

That is a mackerel.

Bon appetit, Monsieur Tusk.

Yes...

Now go to the fish, Mr. Tusk.

Take the mackerel.

Feed.

So this is nice and very

roomy for an economy.

I should have rented

this model, I knew it.

- Did you pre-pay for

the gasoline? - Uh, yeah.

- So where do we go first?

- Now, where?

Where is for wolf.

We look for the which.

As in, which one of you knows

this missing podcaster the best.

I do.

- You do.

- Yeah.

Okay, so on the phone message, it said he

was driving for, like, two hours or something.

So you know him best, you know

what he likes to do when he drives,

because nobody does nothing in a car.

Does he smoke the cigarettes,

does he chew the tobaccos

or toothpicks, does he drink the coffee?

Does he have some other

thing? I don't know.

Me, for example, all I do...

I cannot start the car without

having the double-double

with eight sugars and

just a dash of cream.

So what we really need to do

is discern this podcaster's

ritual while he is driving.

He likes big, goofy

convenience store drinks.

Oh, my God! It's Mr. Mustache.

- Colleen! Hurry up!

- I'm coming.

Oh, my God, what?

No way! It's Mr. Mustache.

"Mr. Mustache"?

No, it's not the room I'm interested

in as much as you, Mr. Howe.

Yeah, tonight would be... That would

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote