CTW Ave. 11/8
Domestic dispute call at 102 CTW. The swank section of town. As I walked
up the
steps to the second floor, I heard voices, one sharp and nasal, one dull
and full of
bass.
Bass: "It's not fair. It's mine. How many times -"
Nasal: "Don't tell me what's fair! You ruined my life, that's
unfair! You
bitch!"
Then a slap. Probably the bass getting hit. I heard him whimpering.
"You're jealous.
You've always been. Because I'm the one everybody likes. Because
I sing the
song - "
"Don't start that song. I mean it -"
Singing, with malice: "Rubber duckie, you're the one -"
"Cut it out!"
"...you make bathtime lots of fun--"
Another slap. I forced the door. Bert and Ernie, wearing towels.
I smiled: "Listen, fellas, you two keep it down or I'll have to can both
of you."
They both just stared at me.
"Swear to God, never seen such a couple. Bert, come here a second."
He came over, his head bouncing up and down.
I whispered, "You know about the chip?"
"No, I I haven't heard anything ... what chip?"
"You know, for a second I might have believed you. Now tell me what's
with the chip
we found near that dumpster yesterday. Who planted it?"
"Why don't you talk to the mutant himself? That sounds like his work."
"I think he's being set up. So do you. Now spill, before I take both
of your fairy asses in."
"You don't want to get involved in this." Big fear.
"Involved in what?"
"It's bigger than you think."
"I'm gonna count to three..."
"Alright! It's - the letter B. That's all I can say. Now if you want
to arrest me..."
"Take it easy. Who knows about this?"
"Ask the frog."
The letter B. Bigger than I think.
Gordon checked back: "Zero hink on the bloodsucker. He doesn't know
shit."
"So who does?"
"He says brace the frog."
"That's the second time I've heard that line today."
"You haven't got any leverage with him since you spilled about him and
the porker."
"Well, leave it to me. But I've got to make another visit first."
The Monster's pad was easy to find. Big Oreo on the front door. Nice
suburban place,
paid for with residuals from overseas cash.
I knocked.
The door opened and a blue wall of fur came out running, almost
knocked me over. Cookie swilling moron too stupid to slip out one of the
windows. I hit him hard in the gut, grabbed a handful of blue hair.
His eyes flashed. I forced him back inside, pinned him - my knees on
his arms. Took out my piece.
"That was your crumb."
The eyes got googlier. "Please: No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"
The way he sang those last seven "No's" to the tune of "ABCDEFG..."
pissed me off. I cocked the hammer. Once more: "That was your crumb."
Then he started with "HIJK" "No, no, no, no-"
I shot the carpet above his head. Pupils going totally fucking berserk.
Crying like a kid.
He didn't know anything. I picked him up, dropped him into a beanbag
chair.
"Where'd the chip come from?"
No answer.
"This is an electric chair bounce, CM, and you've got guilty written all
over your blue face. Now I'll give you about two seconds to spill."
"Me eat cookies!"
"And you killed two of your own."
"NO!"
"I want to believe you, CM, so give me something. Who would want to set
you up?"
"Yellow!"
"What the ..." Flash: Check the cupboards. Find Chips Ahoy and haul him
in.
Into the kitchen. Pulling open cabinets, then -
!!!!!!!
Dried apricots, bananas. Calcium pills. Boxes of pasta.
In the fridge: Tupperware of salad. Chilled gazpacho.
Celery.
Cottage fucking cheese!
Back to the beanbag. The monster was whimpering now.
"Me eat cookies. All of them!"
I threw over the coffee table. Give him one more shot.
"Nilla wafers...."
I shot out a window.
"Not me! The big..."
Monster bawling, saying he never liked cookies. Not even
Pop-Tarts. Not even fucking sugar.
Monster responsible for $435 million in annual cookie sales.
Press finds out the Monster's queer with celery. Image shot.
Possible new shakedown. $5,000 a month and nobody knows.
Feature: The Monster didn't kill those muppets. Poor schmuck's being
framed.
More: Big. Yellow. Letter B.
Shit.
Bigger than I think. The squeakiest clean bigshot on the Street.
Nobody
who could have anything on him
Except the frog.
Time to check the obvious. Hooper's five and dime shithole. Nothing
anybody would
ever buy unbreakable combs, steel wool, Alpo. Hooper ran illegal jacks
games out
of the back room.
He was wiping the counter. Looked up at me and back down.
"No hello?"
He kept wiping.
"You sure like a clean counter."
"Yeah, well - "
"Well, where's the frog?"
"How should I know?"
"Cause he's your best customer."
He nodded at the back room. "He's in an all night game."
Everybody froze when I walked in. Muppets and people. Bob, Susan,
Grover. Smell like
paint thinner - Hooper's Homemade Hootch. The frog sitting at the head
of the game,
dapper as always in his trenchcoat and fedora.
"Hello, Kermit. You ahead?"
"Oooh, not so bad," he said, playing cool.
"I hear you're better than not so bad," I said easing toward him. "I
hear you and the bird are tight as ticks. What do you know about him?"
"Quiff. Hung like a bull moose." Laughter from the other jackheads.
I lunged at him, jacks and red ball flying. Got a hand on his neck and
pounded his
face into the floor. Gasps all around the game.
The Frog spit teeth. "What do you know about the bird?"
He sputtered, scared.
Another faceplant. "What's his boost in the dumpster snuffs?"
"Nothing! He's meshuggah - nobody lets him in on anything."
King Shit on the street. Totally clueless about his own operations.
"What about this imaginary friend he's got?"
"He's real. They meet on the street at three in the morning."
"How do I talk to him?"
"You don't."
"You're gonna set up a meeting."
"I haven't got that kind of pull!"
I let him drop. "Make it happen, frog," I said, walking out.
![[sesame
street tabloid]](img/tabloid.gif)