Chasing Frankie the Fin's Murderer

Let me tell you something, Chicken Antonucci doesn't care whether or not you read the shit he wrote ten years ago. He was drunk when he wrote it and he's drunk right now. So go shit in your hat.

That said, here is a Chickenhead detective story.







March 12, 2001

It took me two years, but I finally caught up with Little Billy
Johnson. He was a cagey six-year-old who was wanted for illegally
transporting shipments of paste and Cherry Kool-Aid, scalping tickets to
Duck Duck Goose games, and the murder of Frankie the Fin. I had waited a
long time for this moment. You don't avoid Joe Hollandaise for very long.
I had Little Billy in my interrogation room. This was my world and not
even a crafty criminal mind like his could put one over on me. He sat in
the chair all calm and collected. He even had a big grin on that baby
face of his. He put a candy cigarette in his mouth and looked at me
coldly.

"All right, Little Billy, talk," I said. "Where were you on the night
Frankie the Fin was murdered?"

"You have a funny voice." "Listen, kid. This voice won't sound so funny
when you're hearing it from behind bars. Now, tell me about Frankie the Fin."

"You're weird."

"I know you are, but what am I?" I saw that I was getting nowhere. I
moved the light up real close to him to see if I could sweat it out of
him. "Talk, you," I said before he giggled and honked my nose. That was
it. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

I walked out without saying a word. When I came back he was hiding
under the table. He should have known. You can't hide from Joe
Hollandaise. I stood back and showed him what I brought with me: I had a
package of Hostess Cup Cakes in one hand, and a Teddy Bear in the other.
He came out from his hiding place and sat back in the chair.
"Look, kid. This is how it's gonna go. If you tell me who killed
Frankie the Fin, you can have these cupcakes. If you don't, Mr. Teddy
Bear gets it." He just sat there grabbing for the goods. I knew I had to
play rough. I whipped out my pistol and pointed it at the Teddy Bear's
head. This trick worked. The kid was balling his eyes out. I had him. I
had him good. But before he could spill it, we were interrupted.

"Hi, Joey."

"Oh, hi, Mr. And Mrs. Johnson."

"I hope Blly didn't give you too much trouble.

"No, not at all."

He was off the hook for now. But I'd be watching him.