11/10: CTW Ave.
3:25 am. Waiting by the streetlamp, a mass of hair in the shadows,
leaning out
from behind a parked truck. A giant woolly mammoth, covered in what
looked
like brown straw. Wearing sunglasses and a phony moustache. Great
disguise.
He started talking, slow and gravelly. "I'm doing this because I think
it's the
right thing to do. I have always - "
"Let's have it."
Pause.
"Ohhh! About a week ago, a certain very powerful man for whom I was
employed as a ...
negotiator found himself engaged in a very heated debate with a certain
blue-furred
monster, who threatened to reveal details about some of my employer's
activities. The
nature of these activities is not important: let us simply say they are
such that
the revelation would result in a great loss to my employer and the CTW.
In the course
of the argument, my employer threatened to expose the monster's
predilection for - "
"Apricots. Celery. Gazpacho ... "
The mammoth's eyebrows moved up a foot. "Indeed. You are very
knowledgeable."
Press him: "Who's your boss?"
The mammoth stuttered: "You do realize that if he discovers the nature
of my, ah,
involvement with a man such as yourself, I could find myself in a
precarious
situation."
"So why are you telling me?"
"Let me just say that I have recently felt that my employer, ah,
undervalued
my services and that I am presently engaged in a new, ah
enterprise."
I reached over, yanked off the moustache and shades.
Snuffalupagus.
He waddled further behind the truck. "Now, now ... Ohh! I don't want
anybody to find
out..."
"Listen. I know the Bird is on the rise in this burg and he's got his
wings into you
for something good. I don't care about that. Tell me: Who was your old
boss? He was
obviously onto the monster's secret habit. Who?"
"I have to know that my, ah, safety -"
I grabbed his snout with both hands. Gave it a yank. Big tears from his
droopy eyes.
"Look ... Look in the garbage can."
Bingo.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I waited, then gave the lid another tattoo. When I got to the fifth or
sixth knock,
I heard a voice: "Who is it?"
"CTW Police. Open the lid."
Scrambling inside. "Just a minute ... one second ... "
I backed off fast, just in time for a blast that shot the lid fifty feet
in the air.
Then saw him - the Grouch, rising from the smoke, drawing down on me. I
rolled behind
a car, piece out. He fired, hit a tire.
I looked over the hood, saw him trying to scramble. He was in the can
and hopping
down the street at a good clip. I ran after, aiming:
First shot: hit the can - he fell on his side, pushed himself up,
started hopping again.
By now some kids were crowding in to watch. A muppet in Bela Lugosi drag
was counting
the hops as the Grouch bolted: "A-seex ... a-seven ... a-eight hops!
Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!"
I emptied the chamber into the can. All of them bounced off.
Bulletproof. I ducked
behind a truck delivering nineteen coconut custard pies.
He took another hop, then spun and let loose with a tommy gun.
Windshields exploding. I tore up the sidewalk side of the truck to
cut him off.
He was stopped, reloading. I walked up behind him. Fired three times
into his back. Kids
screaming. The grouch a mess. Stuffing everywhere.
The Grouch spun around and I smashed the side of his head with a
trashcan lid.
He tried to burrow into the can and I went in after him. I don't know
how we both
fit in there, but I made it all the way in.
Dig the interior: slot machines, roulette wheels, green muppets working
crap tables.
Muppets no older than 16 doing lap dances for chump change.
Grover tending bar, bleary eyed.
Kermit on a persian pillow, cross-legged, packing a gigantic hookah.
The Grouch stumbling past, trying to make it out a back exit.
I tackled him. We rolled. He pulled a butterfly knife. I turned his
wrist and planted
it in his fat green heart.
Kneeling on top of him, I had to ask: "Why did you frame the monster?"
"Because I'm a fucking grouch!
Dead.
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