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THE FRENCH CONFECTION

Episode 2: Juan Eructo

* * * * *

Carmelita sat in her office, reviewing a smattering of materials on her desk. She chewed a blueberry doughnut shaped like the letter "B". On her desk, her phone was making an audio recording of her verbal notes.

Her expanded rear was now comfortably contained in a new pair of jeans. Her fluffy stomach pooched a tad over its waistband: a muffin whose top was only beginning to rise. Her full breasts, just a little more luscious than a week ago, felt tight in her current bra.

She looked to a photograph of an unwitting iguana looking over his shoulder. "Juan Eructo. He's a slimy little iguana and a specialist in 'bubbly': to wit, sparkling wine. He operates in Spain, so he doesn't deal in champagne, but he runs the gamut of Spanish vineyards, from Rias Baixas to Andalucía.

"He brokers wine for L'Bouffer. He was good friends with Byron, and he kept no shortage of shady company. If Byron fell in with the wrong person, it could have been through Juan.

"So, I contacted our Madrid office. They pointed me to a dive called 'El Vientre Cantor.' They called it a 'belching parlor.' Today, I make my way to Spain."

She polished off the doughnut. Its sweet icing and fluffy cake were delightful, and she considered having another.

"Today was my turn to pick up doughnuts for the office. I ordered the usual two dozen, but today, they gave me 25: 24 regular doughnuts and one B-shaped doughnut. That's the first time they've ever made a mistake on the order."

* * * * *

Carmelita pulled open the wooden door of El Vientre Cantor and strut inside, wagging her enhanced rump and swaying her chunky hips. The place was poorly lit. Most patrons were seated at small, round tables accompanied by chubby hostesses. Burps and belches of all lengths and pitches filled the air, some distant and some close by.

Carmelita walked up to the bar. Seated at the bar were a stout, hairy walrus and his ditzy goat companion. "Hey," Carmelita said to a frog standing behind the bar.

The bartender frog, the walrus, and the goat looked to her and saw her badge nestled in her cleavage. The frog bartender cleared her throat and stammered, "What can I get for you?" Her eyes were wide and nervous.

"Relax," Carmelita said, "I don't have jurisdiction here." She looked out over the barroom.

At one table sat a slender chipmunk hostess with modest breasts. She was accompanied by a hulking lion in a leather jacket. She blasted out a shotgun belch, loud and crude. "Oh, excuse me," she said in a light, sweet voice. She batted her eyelashes.

At another table, Carmelita saw a corpulent elephant. Her breasts spread broad atop her gut, which draped itself in so many folds over her hefty thighs. Her ass filled two chairs. She rubbed her stomach lazily. Seated with her was a mouse that had dyed the right half of her head fur purple. The elephant luxuriated in a lengthy burp that must have gone at least 10 seconds.

Yet another table had a pair of vixens. Each one was hefty, with butt cheeks drooping off the chair, lap-filling guts, and heaving tits. An eagle wearing business casual sat with them; he was conspicuously well-dressed for a joint like this. Each vixen held a cola bottle to the other's mouth, and they poured fizzy soda down each other's throats. They set down the bottles and sighed in unison before belching hard at the same time. They giggled and pawed each other's belly. After a good laugh, they burped playfully into each other's face, burping back and forth.

Carmelita turned back to the bartender and continued talking. "Not that I know what could possibly be illegal in a belching parlor." Merely saying the term "belching parlor" made her want to take a shower. "I'm just looking for a man named Juan Eructo."

The bartender extended her arm over the bar and pointed to an iguana in the crowd. "There, in the bright green scales."

"Thanks," Carmelita said, turning away.

The bartender added, "Are you gonna order anything?"

Carmelita said over her shoulder, "Just a water, thanks."

She walked towards Juan's table. He was seated with a busty sloth sporting a healthy potbelly. She wore a low-cut scarlet-colored barmaid getup, complete with corset. Her blonde hair was done up in a bun in back, but wavy locks of it draped down either side of her face. On the table before her was a pizza pan with just one slice remaining.

The sloth burped long and low: a lazy, easygoing burp with a snappy ripple like summer locusts. She smacked her lips afterward.

Juan said to her, "You got this, baby. Just one more slice."

She replied, "What a strong, supportive man you are." Her voice was low and sultry. She opened her mouth, extended her tongue, and put the tip of the pizza slice on it. She folded the slice and bit down. Before chewing, though, she pushed the slice inward and bit again, and again, and again, gradually pushing the whole slice into her maw bite-by-bite. Her cheeks bulged. She mashed her teeth down, and her cheeks expanded as more food got pushed into them from ger constricting mouth. She opened her bite, and her cheeks receded while food moved into her opening maw. Then she closed her jaws again, squishing pizza between her teeth. She swallowed what she could and went on.

Juan watched, enthralled.

She chewed up and swallowed the whole slice. Then, she slowly untied the corset's lace knotted over her belly. Her gut surged forward in her lap, happily expanding into the newly available space. "Phew," she sighed. "After that, I need a drink to wash it down."

She picked up a half-drank two-liter bottle from the table. She guzzled a few gulps, then set it down and put her hands on her stomach.

"BhoourrruuUUPH!" she belched heartily. Burps cascaded one after the other, "Burp, urp, gurp, hurp..."

Carmelita approached the table and looked down at the iguana. He looked to her. She began, "Jua--"

"BWARP!" the sloth interrupted. Her fatty flesh bounced from the force of her burp.

Carmelita put a hand on her thick hips. She was not in the mood for this. Again, she said, "Juan Eru--"

"Borp."

"Juan--"

"Ghurrp!"

"Juan E--"

"BurrAP!"

Carmelita scowled. "Stop," she ordered.

The iguana said, "She can't help it."

The sloth burped again.

"But if you're looking for Juan Eructo," the iguana continued, "you've found him, in the scales. My friend here is Elizaburp."

The sloth burped deep. Her furry rack rippled as she did.

Carmelita pulled over a chair from a nearby table and sat. "Sure she is. My name is Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox. Juan, I've got some questions for you."

Juan turned to Elizaburp. "Think you could sing us something quiet and light?"

"Anything you want, tiger." Elizaburp took a chug of soda. She began periodic cute, demure burps that popped out of her lightly: "Bop."

"Thanks, baby." Juan turned to Carmelita. "I don't know what you think I did, but I didn't."

"This isn't about you, Senor Eructo. This is about Byron Nourrisseur."

Juan snapped into sobriety. Over the itsy bitsy urping and burping of Elizaburp, his expression lengthened. "Good kid. Didn't deserve it."

"Didn't deserve what?"

"To get bumped off like that. He was a baker's baker, and one of the best. And for that, the world got to him and devoured him."

Elizaburp continued, almost whispering, "Urp... burp... gurp..."

Carmelita thought. The official word was that Byron was missing, not dead. Carmelita asked, "Do you care to tell me what you know?"

Juan stared blankly at Carmelita for a moment. "He's not the first member of the L'Bouffer staff to go missing. Something sketchy is going on over there."

Carmelita knew the Lyon PD had investigated L'Bouffer management up and down. If there was foul play at the restaurant itself, they would have known. No--L'Bouffer and its owner, Brioche Bombe, were squeaky clean. Juan's instinct was wrong, Carmelita knew.

She pressed him on it. "What do you mean by 'something sketchy'?"

Juan shook his head. "I don't know. It's just a feeling. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. I don't stick out my neck for everyone, but I'd make an exception in Byron's case."

Elizaburp blew softly, "Bwwwooouurrrphhh."

"About that," Carmelita said. "We're looking into Byron's international contacts. Can you tell me where he worked before L'Bouffer?"

"He used to bake for this underground betting ring run by Pola Pozerac in Poland. And after that, he was one of the great mafia bakers for Adele Gonfiarsi in Italy. Byron had some nasty connections, but they seemed to clear up when L'Bouffer took him on."

A tubby tabby cat waitress walked to their table with a jiggly gut. She belched loud and dropped off a stein of water for Carmelita. Then she walked away, her feline tail swaying over a gelatinous ass.

Then, a tall, lithe mantis in a black pants suit entered the bar. She was followed by and a short, stout beetle in a tuxedo.

Juan stared at them. "Shit," he muttered. "They said I had until next week."

The bugs scanned their eyes across the room.

Carmelita asked, "Who said you had until next week?"

"Pozerac," Juan said. He looked to Carmelita now, hesitating.

"The underground betting ring?" she asked.

"My last bet was supposed to dig me out of the hole. Instead, it got deeper."

Carmelita huffed. "You placed a bet with Pozerac that you couldn't pay, and now these bugs are here to collect." She chugged her water. It popped on the way down; she hadn't noticed before, but now she realized that it was carbonated. And maybe spiked--it felt strangely gassy within her stomach.

Juan nodded. Then, the mantis' tapping steps came up behind Juan, and she put a foreleg on Juan's shoulder. Juan gulped. The beetle stood next to them.

The mantis said, "Sounds like you have described your scenario accurately to Miss..."

Carmelita spoke. "Inspector. Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox. Juan Eructo is undUrrp--burrp--hurrp!"

The beetle chortled. "He's in trouble is what he is," he said.

The mantis said, "Now don't be hasty. Maybe Mister Eructo will provide what he owes."

Carmelita stood. "This man is (GURRP) aiding INTERPOL in an impOouUURP--important matter. However, (mmbrraap) if you want to confess to (BWARP) collecting for an illegal gambling ring, I would be hauuOORP--happy to help."

That damned water. She should have known better.

The beetle snickered. "What was that? I'm afraid I couldn't make it out. Your performance is too compelling."

"You know damn wURP--well what I said," Carmelita replied.

The mantis said, "Look, this is between us and Mister Eructo. You can look away for a few moments or have a smoke or whatever you need to do while we discuss a matter with him. I'm sure we can be reasonable about this."

Carmelita and Juan exchanged sidelong glances: his nervous, hers serious. Elizaburp kept going. Her lighthearted burps were a poor fit for the tense situation.

Carmelita said, "Whatever you need to discuss,"--she paused with a paw on her belly--"HUORP! You can do it in front of me."

The mantis spoke while staring at Carmelita. "Bruno, can you restrain our friend a moment?"

The beetle walked up behind Carmelita. He prepared to grab her, but she elbowed him in the gut and uttered a bombastic belch: "BRAAP!"

The mantis swung a foreleg at Carmelita, but she ducked it, pushing out a deep belch: "GOURP!" Then Carmelita returned with a right hook across the mantis' face, belching again: "BURR--UP!"

The beetle rose and swung at Carmelita. She grasped his wrist, bent forward, and pulled his momentum past her. With an extended "bwwooOOooUUuurrRRP!" she slung him through the air. He crashed onto the mantis.

She put a foot on the beetle's stomach and dug in a little with her heel. "I don't have anything to boURP--book you two on. Why don't you make yourselves scarce before I can think of (ha-urrp) something?"

She lifted her boot and put it on the ground. The beetle and mantis stood slowly and haggardly. Their eyes shot daggers at Juan.

"We'll catch up with you another time," the mantis said.

The mantis and beetle then limped out of the bar.

Juan spoke. "Carmelita, if I may, your burps... they are burps with passion, burps with soul. You are a natural. Have you ever considered a career in performance art?"

Some thanks that was. She gets Juan out of a jam with debt enforcers, and the first thing on his mind is how she burped. "First. No, you may not. Second. That's Inspector Fox to you. Third--I won't dignify that with a response. Fourth, I need to register you with witness protection." Her belly grumbled. "...Fifth, I need something to (URRP)--something to eat."

* * * * *

After sundown, a hotel room overlooking the Manzanares. It was dark until the door opened. Light flooded in instantly; Carmelita lumbered in slowly. The door clicked shut behind her.

She kicked her boots off on the moonlit carpet. Her pants had long been unbuttoned, her belt unbuckled. She burped wet and rude. It was a mistake grabbing dinner with Juan. Her belly felt heavy like a bowling ball.

She tugged her pants down past her bubble butt, its blubber jiggling as it popped free. She gently stroked her taut tummy. She belched thick.

She slowly sat down on the bed while carefully cradling her gorged gut. It coaxed more gas out, "hurrph."

Tomorrow, she'd return home and look into the intelligence she learned from Juan. After that, she would find the next step in her investigation.

She laid back on the bed. Outside her belly, she could feel with her fingers that she had grown a fluffy muffin top, a midsection that bulged with pudge, a bulge that was only aided by her oversized dinner. But inside, it felt like she'd packed an entire fridge in there.

"Gurp."

He did have good taste in wine, at least.